#this was going to be more polished but I liked it loose and kind of messy so here it is lol

[thegamingcatmom]

Helloooo, you asked for RE village asks.

What kinda pampering do you think Miranda likes? (Especially from an s/o)

I think she'd like having her wings massaged but only if she really trusts the other person.

YES HI HELLO

I meant to answer you right away, but then I got distracted writing a lil smt about Miranda and her housewi-I mean assistant. It´s a one-shot, so it shouldn´t take all too long to finish, hopefully. 🤭

...And then I got distracted writing a lil smt about Miri the Workaholic, which you will find further down. 🤭

SPEAKING OF-

(Someone´s very much looking forward to this one...)

First of: It is crucial to understand that I view Miranda as a rather...practical being. She´s not big into all that lovey-dovey stuff, simply because she prefers getting straight to the point. Everything else is a waste of time in her opinion, and while she does technically have all the time in the world (perks of being immortal), she quite lacks the patience for it.

Besides, she´s a workaholic. Ynow what has her undead heart soaring? Seeing her papers neatly organized in separate stacks. Bonus points if they´re labeled. 😩🤌

So, when it comes to actual pampering (as in: things you do to her), what immediately comes to mind is preening because that actually has a use, yknow what I´m saying? Yknow, plucking those loose feathers (gently, if you know what´s good for you), and keeping the good ones nice and clean. That may or may not include a bath.

(She does quite enjoy those, it has to be said. With or without feathers...)

But yeah, it´s not so much about what you can do to her, and more what you can do for her. (That also includes looking pretty for her btw.) Therefore-

Pampering Birb Momma would include:

keeping her lab nice and clean

just like her feathers

taking notes for her so she can do other stuff in the meantime (she´s a sucker for proper time management)

keeping her jewelry spotless (mask, handchains, etc.)

handing her tools, adjusting the light, anything she might need when she experiments on someone (that one might get a satisfied smile out of her)

awaiting/welcoming her when she gets home like a good little waifu

that will do wonders for her mood, especially when she´s had a rather tiring day with her "children"

bonus if you´re wearing an apron (they just...do smt to her, it´s all about that domestic stuff I´m telling ya)

polishing her cutlery (she has no use for it, but she loves shiny things)

(...she´s part bird yall, cmon)

luring ppl into her lab for her to experiment on so she can take care of other things in the meantime (it´s all about that time management, ppl)

bonus if you wrap them up like a present, bow and all

that will actually get a laugh out of her

(Miri has a rather dark humor)

applying her makeup (not that she´d ever admit it, but...that one drives her wild)

So ye, any kind of pampering is more related to how you can help her with her work because that IS all she does, basically. That´s what she lives for. However-

She could be persuaded into taking a break now and again. Perhaps. If you ask real nicely. Apron and all.

What I´m saying is: Don´t use words. She´s not listening anyway because she´s already knuckle-deep in her next specimen, mumbling to herself as if possessed. If you wanna get her attention, you have to demand it. Be the aggressor, yknow?

...Meaning:

HOW TO APPROACH A WORKING BIRB MOMMA 101:

(Participate at your own peril.)

Start by grazing the tips of your fingers against the feathers located at the very edge of her wings - known as the primary feathers. Go nice and slow, so as not to spook her. (Failing to do so could result in fatal consequences.) A light ruffling of wings or a flitting of eyes in your direction typically means your touch has been accepted. (Should you find yourself faced with neither of those things, don´t let that deter you! You´re still standing, which means your presence is tolerated regardless.) Proceed with firm but gentle precision as you slowly work your way to the base of her wings. You may apply slight pressure here and there, but make sure to keep your eyes trained on her face and posture at all times to avoid missing any signs of discomfort or unease. (Failing to do so could result in fatal consequences.)

Those signs could include:

a furrowing of eyebrows

a twitching of her jaw (typically a result of chattering)

a puffed up chest

a sudden and strong ruffling of wings, usually accompanied by a puffed up chest (a defense mechanism to appear bigger and more threatening)

a strong release of air through mouth or nose (resembling a hiss)

a low humming sound (resembling a growl)

in extreme cases: loud, harsh squawking or screaming

Body language is a primary form of communication for many species, and knowing hers is essential for survival.

By now, you should have reached the feathers located midway between the base and the outer wings - known as the secondary feathers. Those are more sensitive to the touch, so start by softly running your fingers along the plumage towards the base - your goal. Now, the same strategy applies: Be on the lookout for any signs of discomfort or unease as you move along. (Failing to do so could result in fatal consequences.) If you find neither of the aforementioned signs, you may also try and slip your fingers between the feathers. As those are more sensitive, your touch might evoke a stronger reaction, such as a violent twitch or a strong ruffling of wings. If that happens and it is not accompanied by a puffed up chest: don´t.panic. It is vital to understand that this isn´t a sign of discomfort, and showing fear or hesitation in such a moment could trigger a fight or flight response. Given the nature of her species, fight is the more likely reaction. (Which will most likely result in fatal consequences.)

This is why I cannot stress this enough: understanding her body language is crucial.

If you´re able to read this: good job! You´ve made it to the base - known as the tertiary feathers. Those are the most sensitive, so it is strongly advised to proceed with caution. (Failing to do so could result in fatal consequences.) If any pressure is being applied at this point, lessen it until the mere tips of your fingers are resting against the feathery coat. Due to the sensitivity of that area, you might notice a slight tremor - let it guide you! Tremors are a telltale sign of victory, so continue feeling for more as you draw closer to where wing and body meet. The trembling might become increasingly more violent the closer you get, so don´t let that deter you. On the contrary: you´re nearly there, so keep pushing forward! (Failing to do so could result in fatal consequences.)

You will know you have reached the spot when her wings begin to droop, as if gravity is gently pulling at them. Once that state has been achieved, initiate the ultimate checkmate by dancing your fingers along her spine - pressure optional. Proceed to watch in a mix of awe and self-satisfaction as her head tilts back and her eyes begin to close in complete and utter bliss. If you listen very closely, you might be able to perceive a low humming sound.

Got you.

Your hand finds purchase on her shoulder, but before you can apply the slightest pressure, she yields, sinking into the chair behind her with an irritated sigh that more resembles a hiss.

Someone´s angry.

If there is one thing she detests more than failures, it is resting when she could be doing something instead.

You saunter around the chair with a little more sway to your hips than usual before claiming all the space her lap provides to make sure she stays resting. Her muscles ripple beneath you, and you choose to ignore the fact she holds enough power to obliberate armies.

If she wanted to, she could throw you off with a mere flick of her wrist. But, alas...

Her icy blue eyes glint dangerously as she opts to stare at you with a mix of resentment and irritation, eyebrows furrowed and full lips flattened into a thin line. In fact, her gaze is so vicious that you almost believe she wants nothing more than for you to drop dead on the spot.

Almost.

If it weren´t for the fact her arms had wrapped around you as soon as you sat down.

"And what, pray tell, do you think you´re doing?"

How she manages to sound calm despite the storm clearly raging within her never ceases to amaze you. It used to terrify you.

A long time ago.

"Sitting," you reply with feigned innocence, even going so far as to throw your arms around her shoulders as far as the halo adorning her back would let you to settle in further.

"I see that."

...

"Cool."

Conversations with her are always so fulfilling.

"Why?"

Ah, there it is.

"...Why what?"

You can´t help it. Pushing buttons and testing boundaries has become your favorite way to pass the time. You blame the endless spiral of cleaning, and cleaning, and some more cleaning. You get that you have to contribute something, but your mind craves stimulation.

Hence you being a massive pain in her ass from time to time.

"Dove..."

Sigh.

She´s no fun when she has the patience of a boiling pot.

"You work too much…" you admit meekly, avoiding her piercing gaze as your fingers gently bury into the feathers closest to them.

"I wasn´t aware this was for you to decide."

Fair point.

"Well..." you sigh dramatically, making no move to untangle yourself. "If my presence causes such pain and misery for you, then I guess you can always just...let me go?"

Both of you are aware that you aren´t merely talking about her arms currently wrapped around you. They tighten their hold at the mere mention, causing you to risk a peek.

...

It takes everything in you to keep from grinning like the Cheshire Cat as the fold between her eyebrows deepens and the glint in her eyes transforms into an ominous glow.

Got you.

Again.

With slow and deliberate movements, your right hand shifts from the feathery prison of its own making to her face, where your index finger begins to smooth out the persistent crease between her eyebrows with gentle precision.

"I´m bored," you whine, uncaring of the fact you sound like a petulant child.

Now it´s her turn to let out the most dramatic sigh in history. "I´ve given you tasks-"

"Yeah, cleaning. Which I´ve done, by the way. Everything´s spotless."

A moment of tense silence passes.

"Don´t interrupt me, little bird."

Sometimes, you forget that she still scares you. And then you go and do something stupid.

Like interrupting her.

"...Sorry," you mumble, your finger trailing down the bridge of her nose, focusing on how perfect her skin is rather than acknowledging the weight of her judging gaze.

Another sigh fills the air before her hand catches your wrist, stopping your fidgeting and drawing your attention back to her words.

"As I´ve said..." she emphasizes, throwing you a pointed look that makes you want to go back to admiring her flawless skin. "I´ve given you tasks. Tasks that go beyond cleaning, as you well know."

You do know. And you’ve tried your damnest to avoid them since she gave them to you weeks ago.

"I...I don´t wanna..." you admit meekly before letting your gaze drift down to her necklace.

Her chest rises, lifting you slightly as she takes a deep breath - probably to keep herself from tearing your head off in sheer frustration over discussing this topic at least once a day.

You brace yourself for the worst, as always.

...

But it never comes, as always.

Instead, a finger rests against the underside of your chin, applying slight pressure to force you to meet her gaze.

It´s not the all-consuming fury you expected, nor the silent judgement you had grown accustomed to. Instead, it´s something far worse:

Disappointment.

"You don´t wanna?" she mocks you, the crease you fought hard to smooth out now back in full force as her eyebrows furrow in irritation. "Are you truly so selfish to deny me? To deny The Black God? We all must make our sacrifices, little crow. I have told you this time and time again, and I am tiring of this conversation. My patience is but a flicker, and you have long since extinguished it."

And yet, it's been weeks since she tasked you with the ultimate betrayal.

Or the ultimate proof of devotion, in her eyes.

"...Sacrifices?" you echo in disbelief, the temper you fight so hard to contain in her presence starting to rear its ugly head. "You´re asking me to send innocent people straight to their doom! People I´ve known my entire life! People I love!

You try to break free from her grasp, fully intending to storm to your room, lock the door, and remain there for the rest of the day.

You barely manage to stand before her arm shoots up, forcing you back down as it curls around you in a vice-like grip. You begin to thrash and push against her, but her other hand surges up to seize your throat in a firm hold, yanking you back towards her in one swift movement.

Her hold doesn´t hurt much, but it serves as a reminder that it could.

"Was it not you who wished for variety?" she hisses, her breath hot against your cheek. "Was it not you who wailed about setting foot outside again? Was it not you who wept for those pests to quench your thirst for companionship?"

Her grip tightens at that, reminding you of her possessive nature. She doesn´t show it often, but you know it´s there - lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

"That is what is due," she snarls. "That is your sacrifice."

She releases your throat, but her arm remains firmly wrapped around you. You feel her piercing gaze drilling holes into the side of your head, daring you to oppose her again.

You say nothing in response as you keep your eyes trained on a speck of dust on the floor that you somehow missed, stubbornly refusing to meet her gaze. You know how much she despises that.

Being ignored, that is.

"Perhaps I´ve made a grave mistake by placing my faith in you, hm?" she continues in a low hum, trailing the back of her finger along your cheek. "Perhaps it would serve me better to have you strapped to my table? Transformed into my next specimen? Perhaps then you will discover a sense of gratitude for the position I´ve so generously offered you."

It´s not the first time she´s playing that card - trying to bend you to her will by threatening to make good on the promise she made all those months ago, when you first stepped out of line. Maybe that´s why, instead of fearing for your life as you probably should, all you feel is exhaustion.

You refrain from opening that can of worms, however. Despite all evidence to the contrary, you´re not that stupid.

Just like you refrain from addressing the fact that you were never really offered anything. An offer implies having a choice.

Instead, you continue to ignore her, your eyes idly scanning the floor for any more dust particles you might have missed. How can such a small space get dirty so quickly? It feels like once you’ve reached one end, you could start all over again. It´s ridicul-

A finger on your jaw interrupts your thoughts, turning your head to face her once more.

Her eyes are the only sign that you´re getting under her skin - that ominous glow is back.

"Don´t tempt me, dove..." she warns. "My tolerance for your perpetual insolence is tied solely to your more appealing qualities as a potential vessel, should I ever find myself out of options. Keep testing me, and that day might arrive sooner than you think."

You know you shouldn´t. You didn´t merely poke the bear today - you speared it. The best course of action now would be to keep your mouth shut, nod in humbled defeat, and hope you look convincing enough doing it.

But you´ve never been one to follow your own advice. If you were, you wouldn´t be stuck with the Devil today.

"...You think I´m appealing?"

...

There is a moment of silence.

And another.

And another.

The silence stretches on as you watch her watching you. Her eyes take their time mapping your face, scrutinizing every inch with a precision usually reserved for the unfortunate souls strapped to her table. You´ve yet to feel the hard wood pressing against your back or the cold leather cutting into your wrists and ankles, but you very much feel the raw power she radiates.

And then her eyes stop.

Her finger trails along your jaw towards your chin, where it lingers - tapping once, twice, thrice, as if considering something - before your jaw is seized between her pointer and thumb. She uses the hold to pull you closer, stopping only when the tip of your nose nearly brushes hers.

You can´t stop your eyes from mirroring hers as they dart down, fixating on her plush lips.

The breath catches in your throat.

"I think you have tasks to complete."

And just as quickly, it´s released again as you sink into her, your body deflating in a frustrating mix of relief and disappointment.

Only to feel disappointed in yourself for feeling disappointed in the first place.

And then you take the time to acknowledge her words, and a new wave of frustration washes over you. You know she won´t yield on the matter, but you can´t stop yourself from pushing it one last time.

"...Can´t I just...sacrifize a goat or two?" you sigh, fingers starting to fiddle with her necklace. A nervous habit of yours.

You´re surprised when, instead of finding yourself on the receiving end of one of her outbursts, a low, melodic chuckle reaches your ears. It´s a beautiful sound, and one you´ve managed to evoke only a handful of times since she bound you to her service.

You´re unable to stop the hope from blossoming in your chest-

"Insolent little bird..."

She says nothing more in response, and that hope wilts again like a dying flame.

This conversation is over.

With a heavy sigh, you release her necklace and begin the process of untangling yourself-

Her grip tightens.

You glance at her in confusion for a moment, taking in the slight curl of lips and the lidded eyes, before you realize-

They have yet to leave your lips.

The realization barely has time to settle before her thumb begins tracing your lower lip. Her touch is no more than a whisper, nearly prompting you recoil from the ticklish sensation.

Her icy blue eyes snap back up to yours then, keeping you rooted to the spot as her thumb continues to drive you mad.

It´s clear what she wants, but she makes it your responsibility to provide it. She always does.

Another way of proofing your devotion to her.

Your eyes stray downward in response and, at this point, you´re no longer ashamed to admit that the tantalizing sight clouds your mind almost instantly, pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

She always does.

Just before your lips brush hers, you´re hit with the compelling urge to seek out her gaze once more.

Her eyes are burning.

Then, suddenly, the world around you darkens, and your eyes just so manage to catch a glimpse of feathers before you´re plunged into total darkness.

Save for those burning eyes.

And then, you´re burning. Your lips have barely grazed hers before she´s consuming you, the restraint she´s shown until now discarded as she takes what is due.

...

It´s not the stimulation you had in mind, but you´re not about to complain. Lest she does make good on that promise...

At least you got her to stop working.

.

.

.

Any mistakes you might find: keep em. I was too lazy to read it back. 💀

Besides-

Since this will become the 1st part of (hopefully) many of my planned series (which is really just a way for me to indulge in my obsession for Birb Momma without having to worry too much about the plot), this version will probs undergo some tweaks and adjustments first before it´s released on ao3 too.

Hope to see yall there! 🐦‍⬛🖤

(The next part is already in the works. 🔥🤘)

.

THANKS A LOT FOR YOUR ASK! 💋

(Btw: I´ve been rewatching the part of Shadows of Rose where Rose meets Miranda to get some inspiration, and DUDE-

Miri´s eyes are positively crazy, I cant- 🫠❤️‍🔥

Also the way she breathes the words?? Yknow what I´m saying?? 😩🤌

Also also: TALL. 🫠)

[olessan-lokenosse]

Each year the annual meeting of the ambassadors brings a new face or two 🐍

[fingertipsmp3]

Guys I have a job interview at a law office and I don’t have a single fucking thing to wear

[bleedingoptimism]

Steve likes to watch youtube videos of a guy who restores old consoles. It soothing to him, it relaxes him. He likes watching how he restores them, fixes them, makes them look brand new.

He also enjoys watching him work for… other reasons. Weirdly, he thinks the guy is kind of hot, even if he never shows his face. He looks fit, with the way his shirts stretch over his chest and are loose on his tiny waist and he’s always wearing cool belts, black leather with studs or chains. He likes the way he moves around, manic and a little clumsy but incredibly precise when necessary.

Steve especially likes watching his hands, thick strong fingers, bony wrists, noticeable veins, and short clean nails that sometimes have chipped black polish adorning them.

He sometimes thinks about those hands when he's alone, but, well… no one needs to know about that.

🎮🤲💖

Eddie has a fairly popular youtube channel… And a huge crush on his next-door neighbor. He simply cannot decide if the dude is cutter than hot or vice-versa.

'He sure is nice, though,' he thinks, when one day he gets a large package of replacement parts that he’s struggling to get inside and the guy walks up to him, asks if he needs any help, and takes the heaviest box with no effort at all.

He says his name is Steve and then stares at Eddie's hand for a really long time when Eddie extends it for him to shake after getting the boxes inside his studio.

He hears Steve’s little 'oh', under his breath and then sees him blush prettily before mumbling ‘He needs to go, now.' And stumbling out of Eddie’s place.

Eddie chuckles to himself as he watches him leave, definitely cute AND hot in equal parts.

🎮🤲💖

A few weeks later Steve's mom tells him she needs help getting rid of some of his nonno's old things and he finds a LOT of cool stuff that look just like the ones Eddie restores on his channel.

He and Eddie have been slowly getting friendlier over these last couple of weeks and he’s been dying to have an excuse to talk to him more, so he takes the items home and then goes to Eddie's and very nervously tries to offer them to him but doesn't know how to explain he knows he's a youtuber without looking like a weirdo because Eddie’s never shown his face.

He stumbles and blushes a lot, barely making any sense and Eddie mistakenly thinks he's trying to ask him out and says, 

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Smiling and hiding his dimples behind a lock of hair he's been playing with since the moment Steve started stuttering.

Steve completely forgets what he was trying to say or do and says he'll pick him out at 6.

The date is amazing, it feels like they are meant to be. They get along so well, talking, laughing, and already making fun of each other as if they’re old friends. And they are definitely attracted to one another. If the way Eddie practically tackles Steve with his rush to get his mouth on him when they get back, it’s any indication.  

Steve is very on board with this and he enthusiastically kisses him back. They kiss desperately as he fumbles with his door handle to get it open. When he succeeds, he walks them backward into his place not wanting to stop kissing Eddie, but stumbles and falls flat on his ass.

When Eddie turns on the light he sees Steve sprawled on top of a bunch of boxes full of old technology. A lot of emotions go through his face, ‘he’s so expressive’ Steve thinks a little enamored, having still not realized how much trouble he’s in.

But Eddie looks confused, then shocked and scared, and finally, angry,

"Steve, what the fuck?"

‘Oh, shit…’

“I can explain!” he says immediately, standing up and walking toward Eddie as he backs away,

“I didn’t want to ask you out-” Steve starts but interrupts himself when Eddie huffs, turns, and starts walking towards his own apartment, “Shit, fuck! No- That’s not what I meant, Eddie! Wait-”

He turns again and glares at Steve but then his eyes go wide, “Steve,”

“Please, let me explain-”

“Steve-”

“I did- do! Want to ask you out! I like yo-”

“Steve!” Eddie screams and Steve stops, shocked, and finally focuses. Eddie is staring at him and he’s so pale even his freckles have changed color. But no, wait. He’s not staring at him, he’s staring at his arm and Steve looks down to see… a lot of blood.

“Oh,” he says faintly. He must have cut himself on a sharp edge when he fell. Too worried about Eddie, he hadn’t even noticed the pain, but now that he’s seeing the cut, it fucking hurts.

“Oh,” he says again, realizing he’s feeling kind of dizzy, ‘that's way too much blood,’ he thinks.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie huffs, takes off his flannel shirt and wrapping it around Steve's arm, he pulls Steve by his other hand toward his van.

“Oh no, your cute shirt,” he mumbles and hears Eddie snort before he slams the door of the passenger seat and goes to the driver’s one.

They go to the hospital in silence. It's tense. Steve tries to explain himself but Eddie shuts him up harshly, tells him to save his energy.

Even so, when they get there, Eddie still holds him gently by his good arm as he helps him inside. He tells the nurse what happened because Steve is having a hard time focusing right now and then tells him he’ll wait outside for him.

He gets stitches and a tetanus shot just in case because he doesn't remember when was the last time he got one and gets weird looks when he refuses painkillers, but no arguments. He’s given a little juice box and is told he can't get up until he finishes it.

A few seconds after the nurse leaves, the door opens and Eddie walks in. Steve looks up and smiles at him, but Eddie doesn’t smile back and Steve shrinks a little on himself.

Eddie sits on the chair facing the overbed table Steve is perched on and sighs, moving his hand in little circles motioning like, ‘Well go on. Explain yourself’

Steve looks around the room and thinks about where to start. He can't look Eddie in the eye, so he stares at the little juice box in his hands. It's got a cartoon orange in the front. The drawing it’s awful and kind of scary.

Taking a deep breath, he starts, “I've been watching your videos for a long time now. I have- I am- I-”

He fumbles for what to say, even if this date is already ruined…it's not exactly a good first date topic, is it? How fucked up he’s inside.

In a flash, images of his father’s violence, running from home with his mom, going to live with his nonno, taking care of him as he slowly lost his mind with age while his mom worked her ass off to feed them, getting cheated on, losing his “friends” because he didn't want to bully freshmen, working as a babysitter and getting almost beat up to death by his kid’s stepbrother… he shakes his head and shrugs,

“I've been through some…stuff” is what he says in the end, looking up at Eddie. He doesn't look mad anymore, his expressive eyes look concerned. Steve worries about what was it Eddie saw in his own expression, but it surprises him how easily he read him. He’s usually so good at hiding it. 

He breathes in again and keeps going, “Your videos, they calm me down when I've, sometimes I get anxious and-” he clears his throat, again, not wanting to tell Eddie about the panic attacks, the nightmares.

But it seems he doesn't have to, Eddie looks at him like he gets it.

It makes Steve want to keep talking, “Watching you work, seeing you fix things, leave them like new, no sca- marks, no problems, just working again and beautifully clean. It makes me feel better.” 

Eddie gives him a small smile and Steve returns it, “I really like your hands…” he blurts out and then closes his mouth quickly, blushing furiously.

Eddie’s eyes go wide and then he smirks and stands up slowly walking up to him and taking Steve’s hands on his own, they both stare at their joined hands for a while, the touch feather-like and soft.

“You recognized me because of my hands?” Eddie asks him a little incredulous.

Steve giggles, “I saw the logo for your channel on your studio that day I helped you with the boxes,” he clarifies sheepishly.

Eddie blushes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘oh,’

Steve draws small circles on Eddie's knuckles with his thumbs, “When I came over today, I was just trying to offer you those stuff at my place, they were my grandfather's” he explains, “I didn’t know how to say I knew who you were without looking like a weirdo and I got nervous and you thought I was going to ask you out and I wasn’t planning to but you are so beautiful I-

Eddie kisses his cheek and Steve shuts up and looks at him surprised,

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Eddie says, “I thought- I don’t know what I thought- I was just upset you didn’t actually like me.” 

And Steve immediately answers, “I like you” a little too excitedly.

Eddie smiles at him so warmly it makes his heart rate pick up, “Good. I like you too.”

He blushes and looks down at their hands again unsure, “Do you really? Even tho I’m…”

“What?” Eddie asks, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

“Broken?” Steve whispers.

Eddie hums and drops his hands to hold his face, “Not broken, baby” he says lovingly and kisses the crease between Steve’s brows, the top of his eyelid, his nose, and the corner of his mouth. Then hugs him and Steve buries his face on Eddie's neck, and breathes him in.

A minute goes by or an hour, Steve is not sure, and Eddie leans back enough to kiss him again softly and whispers, “Some things don't need to be fixed Steve, just held.” 

𝒻𝒾𝓃

coffee? a hug? ☕🥐💕

[silent-stories]

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇

aka spending some time with a very sleepy noah at the airport

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile, harsh glow over the airport terminal, reflecting off the polished floor you were sitting on and highlighting the exhaustion that hung in the air like a thick fog. It was the middle of the night, and the bad weather outside showed no signs of letting up.

The storm had rolled in faster than expected, grounding flights for hours and leaving the terminal packed with travelers who all seemed to be in the same state of weary frustration.

You glanced around, noting the rows of filled seats, people sprawled across chairs, bags tucked under their heads or against their chests, trying to catch any sleep they could. It was a sea of tired faces, everyone resigned to waiting out the storm.

A few rows over, Jolly, Folio, and Nicholas had spread out on the floor, each of them settling in for the long wait. Jolly leaned back against his backpack, scrolling through his phone while tapping his fingers rhythmically against his knee. Folio and Nicholas, crouched by a nearby vending machine, were peering through the glass, trying to decide between stale pretzels and some kind of fruit bar.

You shifted your gaze to Noah. He was standing a few feet away, staring blankly at the departure board, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Even from where you sat, you could see the fatigue etched into every line of his body. The long tour had been relentless, every night spent pouring his heart out on stage, every day moving from one city to the next, barely catching any rest in between.

You knew how much he loved it—how much he lived for the music and the energy of the crowd—but it had taken a toll. Now, with the tour finally over and the promise of home so close, the flight delay was like the final straw.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the notification you’d been expecting. You unlocked it to check the latest update from the airline. Another two-hour delay. The flight that was supposed to take you back home was now pushed even further into the early hours of the morning. You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand.

Noah caught the sound and turned to you, his brow furrowed.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked, his voice rough, like he was fighting to stay awake.

“Two more hours,” you replied, shaking your head. “Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

He exhaled sharply, the sound part sigh, part groan. He walked over to you, his steps slow, like he had to remind his legs to move. When he finally reached you, he dropped down beside you on the floor without hesitation, his back resting against the cold wall.

The seats were long gone to other passengers, so the floor was the only option. He slumped there for a moment, his head tilting back to rest against the wall. His eyes drifted shut, his face a mask of sheer exhaustion.

“I don’t even have the energy to be annoyed,” he mumbled, half to himself.

You smiled softly, scooting a little closer to him. “I don’t think anyone here does,” you said, gesturing toward the scattered crowd around you, many of them in similar states of defeat.

He chuckled weakly, but it was a tired sound.

For a few minutes, you both sat in silence, the noise of the airport around you reduced to background static. You watched as his head slowly tilted forward, his chin dropping toward his chest.

He jerked awake once or twice, the familiar battle to stay conscious playing out in the slight twitch of his shoulders, the brief widening of his eyes. It broke your heart a little to see him like this, running on fumes.

Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. His hand was warm, his skin rough from years of playing guitar, but the contact seemed to ground him. His grip tightened around your fingers for a second, as if he was reassuring himself you were there. He glanced at you, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the terminal.

You smiled back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey.”

Noah sighed, and his shoulders slumped even more, like just holding your hand had taken the last of his strength. He let out a breath, long and slow, and shifted closer, leaning into you slightly. You didn’t mind, scooting a little more to give him space. The floor wasn’t the most comfortable place, but it didn’t matter—not when he needed you like this.

After a few moments, Noah let go of your hand, moving to rest his head on your lap. He hesitated for just a second, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, almost like he was checking if it was okay. You smiled down at him, brushing a strand of his dark hair back from his face.

“It’s fine, Noah. Just rest,” you whispered, gently stroking his hair, encouraging him to relax.

That was all the permission he needed. His body seemed to melt into the floor, and he shifted slightly to get comfortable. His breathing slowed almost instantly, and within minutes, his eyes were closed, his face peaceful as sleep finally claimed him.

You looked down at him, your fingers still gently threading through his hair. He was always so strong, so full of energy when he was on stage, commanding the attention of thousands of fans with just his voice. But here, in the quiet of the terminal, he looked so vulnerable, so tired.

It was rare to see him like this, to see the weight of everything he carried so clearly written in the softness of his features. His features seemed softer in sleep, his lips parted just slightly as he breathed deeply, his body completely still.

The chaos of the terminal faded into the background as you focused on him. You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, careful not to wake him. He shifted occasionally, nuzzling deeper into your lap, his breath warm against your leg.

Every time he moved, you smiled, feeling the quiet contentment that came from knowing you could be there for him, that you could give him this moment of peace when he needed it most.

Time seemed to pass in a blur, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours as you sat there, cradling Noah’s head in your lap, your fingers continuing their steady rhythm through his hair.

The sounds of the airport—the distant overhead announcements, the murmur of conversations, the occasional clang of luggage wheels on tile—became a distant hum, lulling you into a sense of calm.

Despite the uncomfortable floor and the exhaustion gnawing at your own body, you didn’t move. You didn’t dare disturb the fragile peace of the moment.

Noah shifted again, this time turning his face slightly toward you, his breath brushing against your thigh. His expression was so relaxed, so open in sleep, and you found yourself smiling down at him, your heart swelling with affection. It was moments like this—small, quiet moments—that reminded you just how much you loved him, how much you cherished these fleeting instants of vulnerability when he let his guard down.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the faint ding of an announcement over the loudspeaker. The gate attendant’s voice crackled through the terminal, announcing that the weather was clearing and flights would soon be boarding. You checked the time on your phone—it had been almost two hours, just like they said. The wait was almost over.

You glanced down at Noah, who was still fast asleep, his breathing deep and steady. You hated to wake him, but you knew you didn’t have much choice. Leaning down, you brushed your fingers gently over his cheek, your touch light as you whispered, “Noah… Hey, it’s almost time.”

He stirred at the sound of your voice, his eyes fluttering open slowly. For a moment, he looked dazed, like he didn’t quite remember where he was. Then his gaze met yours, and a small, sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as he shifted to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, “But it’s fine. You needed it.”

He smiled, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned into your touch for a moment longer before sitting up fully. He stretched, his joints popping as he groaned softly.

Then, without a word, he leaned in, his gaze flickering down to your lips just for a second before he closed the distance between you. His lips were soft, warm against yours, and the kiss was gentle, slow, like he was savoring the moment. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his touch tender as he pulled you just a little closer.

You kissed him back, the noise of the busy terminal fading away as the world shrank to just the two of you. There was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet, sweet feeling of being with him in that moment, connected after a long, exhausting journey.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and he smiled, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you."

You smiled. “Always.”

As the gate announcement continued, you both stood, gathering your things, reuniting with the rest of the band, and getting ready to finally board the plane.

Despite the long wait and the exhaustion still clinging to both of you, there was a sense of calm between you—a quiet understanding that no matter how chaotic things got, you would always be there for each other.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion

[theprongspotter]

Percent - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - Day 21 - 643 words

James and Sirius are lounging on the couch in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, their sides pressed together in a way that speaks of years of comfortable friendship. The firelight bathes the room in a soft, golden glow, crackling gently as it burns, the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. Everyone else has long since retreated to their dorms, leaving the two of them alone in the tranquil warmth.

James stretches out, his head resting on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if lost in thought. Sirius glances at him, his fingers idly toying with the loose threads of a cushion. The silence between them isn’t awkward—it’s peaceful, easy. It’s the kind of quiet only best friends can share, where words aren’t needed to fill the space.

Without warning, James blurts, “I’m in love with Regulus,” and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in shock at his own admission. His heart races, and he looks at Sirius, as if expecting an explosion.

But Sirius doesn’t explode. He just smiles, a soft, knowing expression that James rarely sees on him. “I know,” Sirius says quietly, his voice warm and devoid of any judgment.

James hesitantly lowers his hand from his mouth, staring at Sirius in disbelief. “What? And you’re not mad?”

Sirius chuckles, the sound low and reassuring, like the crackle of the fire beside them. “James, when you love someone, you wear it on your sleeve. You always have. It’s one of the most beautiful things about you.” He glances away for a moment before meeting James’ gaze again, the warmth in his eyes unwavering. “And of course I’m not mad. You look happy, mate. Happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

“Yeah?” James asks, his voice barely above a whisper, suddenly feeling exposed but hopeful.

“Yeah,” Sirius nods. There’s a brief pause before he adds, more gently, “Maybe I’m a little hurt that you felt like you couldn’t tell me. But that doesn’t mean I hate your love.”

James can’t help it—he practically launches himself at Sirius, wrapping his arms tightly around him, a wide grin splitting his face. Sirius grins just as widely, his arms circling James in return, and he tucks his head into the crook of James’ neck, laughing softly. It’s a moment of pure joy, of relief, of two best friends rediscovering their connection.

When Sirius pulls back, there’s a playful glint in his eye. “Are you two together, then?”

James’ face heats up, and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “No. I’m not even sure he likes me back. Actually, I’m pretty positive he hates my guts.”

Sirius snorts, shaking his head. “He doesn’t. Trust me. Regulus has been smiling more these days, and the dark circles under his eyes aren’t as bad as they used to be. From what I’ve noticed, anyway. I think you’ve had a bigger impact on him than you realize.”

James sits up straighter, his heart leaping in his chest. “Really? You think so?”

“One hundred percent.” Sirius nudges him with his shoulder, a crooked grin on his face. “You’ve probably been dying keeping this a secret. So, go on. Tell me about him. What do you love about my little brother?”

James doesn’t need to be asked twice. He grins, eyes lighting up, and begins to talk, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement. He tells Sirius everything—how Regulus’s eyes glint like starlight when he’s amused, how his sharp wit makes James’ heart race, and how, underneath all that cold, polished exterior, Regulus has moments of softness that make James fall for him even more. Sirius listens with a small, fond smile on his face, as James finally allows himself to speak openly about the boy who has quietly stolen his heart.

[anathemaspeaks]

dandelion wishes

character(s): shoto todoroki synopsis: always the bridesmaid, never the bride - isn't that how the saying goes? my name is momo yaoyorozu, and in my case, it's true. word count: 1.3k warning(s): none a/n: not my best work, but here you go anon :) likes, follows, and reblogs are appreciated <3 this is all from momo's point of view.

it happened at my birthday party, a day after i turned 16.

kaminari managed to somehow smuggle booze into the house. still teenagers and drunk off the excitement more than the liquor, someone suggested we play 7 minutes in heaven. everyone cheered in agreement - except bakugou, of course. he opted to stay sober and make sure we don't have too much fun.

after a few uneventful rounds, it was finally my turn to spin the bottle. i wished it would land on shoto. this was my chance to tell him how i feel about him. maybe he'd say something back? well, a girl can dream...right?

my heart hammered in my chest as i gripped the bottle, spinning it on the polished wooden floor. every spin felt like an eternity until it finally landed with a decisive click. i traced the path of the neck, breath catching in my throat as i saw it pointed directly at todoroki. this was it. this was my chance.

we awkwardly shuffled towards the closet, the door creaking shut behind us, the dim light casting shadows on the wall. before i could calm my nerves and speak, todoroki blurted

"listen, about the spin…" his voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost hesitant.

"yeah?" i forced a nonchalant reply, inhaling to try and calm my nerves. he ran a hand through his dual-colored hair, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

"actually, there's someone i... well, someone i kind of like." a sheepish grin tugged at the corner of his lips. it felt like the wind got knocked out of my lungs. my eyes darted around the cramped space, landing on a crumpled magazine lying forgotten on the floor. this was happening. finally.

"oh, cool," i choked out, my voice barely above a whisper, "who is it?" i asked nervously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

a beat of silence.

"y/n" he mumbled, a shy smile on his lips. the name rang in my ears, shattering my dreams of a chance with shoto. i forced a smile, "oh."

maybe this was for the best.

maybe y/n would make him happy in a way i couldn't, maybe she was what he had wanted all along.

maybe y/n wouldn't have walked out of this closet with a broken heart hidden behind a painted grin.

of course it was her. it made perfect sense. her smile could light up a whole room, kindness radiating from her like sunshine. she was effortlessly beautiful. she was everything i couldn't be. everything i wanted to be. pretty, smart, funny, strong and kind.

how could i ever compete with that? a pang of jealousy, sharp and unwanted, twisted in my gut. i should be happy for them.

and yet the feeling wouldn't leave.

my gaze flickered up to shoto's shy smile, and the way his eyes seemed to light up just at the mere mention of her. a hollow ache settled in my chest, envy so deep it felt like a barbed wire wrapped around my heart.

shoto's turn.

i held my breath, the unsettling feeling in my gut worsening each second. when the bottle stopped spinning, it landed on y/n.

of course it did.

as if tonight could've gotten any worse.

they emerged from the closet looking like a tornado had hit them. clothes askew, hair a mess, and faces flushed with a kind of unspoken ecstasy that left little to guess.

the next day, they walked into class hand-in-hand. it was official.

today marks 2 years since that day.

over this period, they became the textbook definition of the perfect couple. they were disgustingly cute. sneaky, affectionate, glances in the middle of lectures, whispered jokes that erupted in shared laughter, their hands seemingly glued together.

shoto 'resting bitch face' todoroki, weak, a complete loverboy for y/n. he'd wrap his arm casually around her waist, brush stray hairs from her face with a lingering touch, and steal kisses during training breaks. it was a side of him no one had ever seen - a shoto who wore his heart on his sleeve. for her.

here i was, stuck watching their picture-perfect love story unfold, a constant reminder of the confession that will forever remain trapped on my tongue.

we were sprawled across mina's living room floor, empty pizza boxes scattered around like confetti, and a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on a mountain of rom-com CDs. the topic, just like a normal beginning to a girls' night, was boys.

"boys are the worst!" mina declared, prompting a chorus of agreement from everyone.

"mine just left his gym socks under the bed again. seriously, how hard is it to use a laundry basket?" uraraka chimed in.

just then, y/n came in from the kitchen with a bag of marshmallows and sat down next to us. well, she wouldn't be participating in the complaining.

"look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," i teased, nudging her playfully.

"so, how are things going with the ice king, anyways?" asked jirou.

she blushed a bit. "oh, the usual. he's amazing, and he's surprisingly..." she trailed off, a sly smile on her face.

"surprisingly...?" mina prompted.

"let's just say his quirk isn't the only thing that's hot and cold."

the room erupted in laughter and whoops for her. i forced a laugh, feeling an all too familiar pang in my stomach.

the conversation continued, everyone chiming in with their recent stories about boys. including y/n. every detail felt like a knife to my heart. 'that should've been me' i thought. i pushed it away. i wouldn't let my jealousy get the best of me.

they all seemed so happy, while i was stuck on the sidelines, yearning to feel their joy. we all fell asleep in that room while watching movies and gossiping, a smile on everyone's tired faces. i still couldn't help but feel a little bitter. but i couldn't let it get the best of me.

now we all have finally graduated. we decided to still meet up every saturday for dinner, and this week, it was at todoroki's. the familiar buzz of anticipation and excitement filled the house as we all talked about our first week after graduating.

then, shoto and y/n walked in hand-in-hand.

"hi everyone!" greeted y/n, smile so bright it was contagious.

"sit wherever you're comfortable, dinner will be ready soon" announced shoto.

"but before that, there's something we have to tell you." she was practically shaking in eagerness.

todoroki cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "we, uh, well…" he fumbled for words, a rare sight for the usually composed half-and-half hero. she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"we're engaged!" she blurted out, a wide grin on her face.

the air crackled with shock. wide eyes, dropped jaws, and a silence followed the announcement.

"wait, married?!" kaminari finally found his voice, his eyes wide with surprise. "but you guys are only eighteen!"

todoroki chuckled, a sound rarely heard before y/n. "we know," he admitted, a hint of shyness lingering in his voice. "but we knew what we wanted, and well, here we are," he added, a hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

and then, as if a dam had broken, the group erupted. mina squealed, launching herself at y/n in a bone-crushing hug. kirishima gave todoroki a hearty back slap, nearly knocking him over. uraraka, tears welling in her eyes, showered them both with congratulations.

"dumb brats, you're gonna regret this!" yelled bakugou. but i saw him turn away and wipe away a falling tear. both y/n and shoto engulfed him in a hug. he threatened to burn their arms off if they did it again, but the smile on his face was hard to ignore.

congratulations continued, hugs going all around. the surprise announcement had cast a whole new light on their evening. it was a celebration not just of friendship and graduation, but of a love story that had blossomed within the very walls of U.A., a love story we all saw unfold.

married. at eighteen. the words echoed in the hollow space where my confession had died. cheers rained down on them, a cruel confetti shower on my silent tears. my wish for him was as futile as willing a dandelion's wispy white petals not to fly away with the wind.

they were a love story written in stolen glances and secret touches, a masterpiece i could only watch unfold from the sidelines - a happy ever after that couldn't be mine.

to the anon who requested this, i know you wanted it to be more angsty so i tried to make it as vengeful as i could, i hope you like it! <3 (i accidentally deleted the ask I'M SO SORRY)

please send in requests everyone 🫶

[nirvanawrites111]

Set My Wings on Fire (DPR Ian x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You're smitten by the love of your life, Christian Yu and he's being painted as a dangerous person. But, you don't care cause that's your man and you're going to stick beside him. You're pretty much in love with a villain, but he's super sweet to you. Non-celebrity AU.

Pairing: DPR Ian x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: Smut, PIV, oral sex (male rec), mentions of murder, praise kink, good girl, unprotected sex, creampie

This is part of a NEW SERIES called Duality. It's all about embracing switch!energy. Part 1 will be sub!reader and Part 2 will be dom!reader. Some of the stories will be 2 idols x reader, and some will be just 1 on 1.

Smut below the cut.

"You need to leave him alone," Your best friend voices as they stare at the large television on your wall. The dim glow casts a shadow across your living room.

You press your lips together and cross your arms. A tightness crawls up your chest. This is the last thing you want to hear right now. You are tired of hearing this comment right now. You feel around your couch for the remote. You can't bother to listen to the news channel any longer.

"Look," you begin, forcing yourself to meet their gaze. "I know Christian very well. The media is trying to make up stories about him. He's not the monster they're making him out to be," You speak up and express your feelings. You twist his ring that he gave you a year ago, and you decide to wear it as a necklace.

You know Christian better than anyone. Everything he does has a meaning and purpose behind it.

You stare at the image of his picture plastered on the television. His usual neat dark brown hair is a mess, and his eyeliner is smeared. Underneath his picture are large red letters "WANTED" that contrast against his pale complexion. Sure, he might seem dangerous to someone else, but to you, something magnetizes you to him.

"The man is a killer, Y/n. If he comes here, you need to turn him in. You don't want to go to jail for housing a fugitive, do you?"

"He isn't a killer. I don't care what the media is saying."

You pick up your phone off the couch table and see that he texted you five minutes ago that he was on his way. You quickly text back and tell him to wait until your best friend leaves.

"This man has brainwashed you. Hopefully, you realize the truth before it's too late." Your best friend raises their hands in defeat and stands up. "I gotta go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"He's not, but thanks for stopping by," you reply, trying to smooth things.

Your friend stands up and hugs you. You're glad they are leaving. There is nothing that will convince you that Christian is a bad person. Even with everything you know about him, you would never turn on him.

You walk with them to your front door, and the soft patter of your bare feet echoes against the polished hardwood floor.

Once they leave you close the door only to be slightly pushed open, revealing Christian.

There he is.

The only man that can make you melt to your knees. You want nothing more than to feel his hands all over you.

"Beautiful," Christian, your accented lover, whispers your favorite nickname. He steps into your home. His words allow you to fall to your knees and please your man. But, you don't want to act too thirsty.

He removes his hood with both hands and reveals his hair in messy, shoulder-length loose curls. The two of you stand in your foyer, and your eyes connect.

Christian has such a dark energy around him that it attracts you to him for whatever reason. It pulls you in so closely, like a moth to a flame. Regardless of what others say, you can still see the good in him. He's been nothing but kind, patient, and loving to you. So, really, that's all that matters to you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him.

Christian removes his sweatshirt, and your eyes trace over his tattoos. You run your hand over the one tattoo over his heart, your name.

"I'm so much better, now that I'm with you."

"I'm sure you know they're looking for you."

"I know," Christian sighs. "I'm also wanted for something. What is it this time?"

"Murder."

Christian stares into your eyes, and he can heart your heart beating fast. No one has ever cared about him more than you. Your unwavering loyalty is something he's searched for many years. Now, he's found exactly what he needs within you.

"Do you think I'm guilty?" Christian asks you.

"No, but if you did it, I know there was a reason."

"Good girl. You know your man oh too well," Christian praises you. He knows it's exactly what you need to hear in this moment.

Your lips curl into a smile, and you haven't looked away from him. He knows that nothing about him scares you. He's told you his deepest, darkest secrets. Because he knows he can trust you.

"I do. My best friend was just running their mouth talking about how I need to leave you alone. But, they don't know you like I do."

"Do you need me to handle that?"

"No, never that."

"We have some catching up to do. Don't we, angel?"

"Yes."

***

You turn on the shower and step into it first. Christian follows behind you. He presses you against the shower wall from behind. "My angel.. so pure. So innocent," he whispers into your ear.

Christian runs his hand down your back, enough to give you chills. You've missed feeling his touch against your skin.

"You know I'm far from innocent."

"Compared to me. You're a saint."

Christian attacks your neck with kisses. This instantly sends a warmth throughout your body. You've missed the way his lips feel against your skin. You don't care what happens when he's out of your sight. Because this man adores you, he'd do anything to protect you.

"Sweetness, tell me.." Christian pulls away from you and turns you around to face him. His gaze penetrates your eyes, searching for something unspoken. "Do you really love me?"

His eyes are full of emotions, and you can see the pureness in his question. But, at the same time, why would he question you this way? You've always supported him no matter what.

"Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"Even if I had to leave you for a bit?"

Your breath quickens, and you can feel your stomach churn. Is he going to up and leave you? Does this mean he's going to end things with you?

"Where are you going?" You twist your necklace.

Christian picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as the warm water cascades down the two of you.

"I'm not sure. But, I'm leaving in 48 hours."

"Because of what I saw on the news?" You try to piece everything together. Did this mean that it was true? You didn't want to ask him what happened because you trusted him.

He promised you he would never do anything that would jeopardize his time with you. He stated that from the beginning. But, now, it felt like things were going differently.

"Yes."

"I'm coming with you."

"Hell no. I will get this sorted out. I will come back for you."

"No, I'm coming with you."

"Angel?"

"Yes."

"Don't I always come back for you?"

"Yes.. but."

"No, buts. Listen, you have to trust me. I will come back for you, okay?"

You nod. But, your fear is he's going to leave you.

"Angel, don't look so sad. I wish I could take you with me. It's going to pain me to leave you."

"Well let me taste you for the last time."

"Of course, angel."

Christian releases from his arms, and you get down on your knees. You look up at him.

He strokes your face and looks at you in such a loving way.

You hold your hands behind your back and swirl your tongue around his dick until he's halfway in your mouth.

You hum your favorite song and move your mouth up and down his length. This could be the last time you taste him, so you want to savor the moment.

You close your eyes and move faster and hear him moan. You love hearing him vocalize his satisfaction for you.

"Go deeper for me, angel," Christian instructs you, and you have no problem following instructions.

You take him deeper into your mouth, and he cradles the back of your head. He's moving with you to the point where you two are rocking as one.

At this moment, you are breathing through your nose because you only want to please him. You live to serve him. You are hopelessly devoted to him.

"Fuck.. just like this," Christian groans. "Don't stop, angel. God, you're so beautiful like this."

"Mmmhm," you barely manage to say because you have your mouth full and wouldn't want to have it any other way. Tonight has to count and hold you over.

"No one else can suck me the way you do. You're so amazing, angel," Christian continues to praise you, which encourages you to keep going because you know he's so close.

"You want this nut don't you?"

You nod without missing a beat, and both of his hands are on the back of your head. He's practically fucking your throat at this point.

He cums down your throat, and you swallow all of it.

Christian pulls you up to kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth and kisses you. As the kiss deepens, you can't help but run your fingers along your pussy only to find that it are dripping for him.

"Thank you for that amazing blow job, angel. You're always amazing."

"No problem."

Christian wraps his arms around you. "Mhmm.. I'm ready to feel all of you now. You want that, baby?"

"Yess.."

"How do you want me?"

"From behind.. like this." You turn around, place your hands against the shower wall, and arch your back.

Christian places his hand against your lower back and moves his dick along your entrance. "You know I love taking you from behind. Do you want me here or do you want back door."

"Here.. I want to feel you deep inside me. I prefer anal when I'm pegging you."

Christian kisses on the side of your neck. "I know baby.. next time when I come home. We can celebrate with pegging." He sucks on your neck and inches himself into you.

Feeling him inside of you feels like home. There's nothing like having him deep inside of you.

"You're so tight for me, angel," Christian whispers against your neck, kissing gently against the spot he just sucked on.

You moan out his name and enjoy him being inside of you again.

The feeling is euphoric, and you get lost in the moment of being one with your lover again. His hands cover and clasps with yours as he strokes into you.

You hope you celebrate with him, but you want to enjoy this moment. You arch your back a little more as he increases the pace. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure throughout your body. It feels too good. You deserve to experience this type of heaven on earth.

Christian holds you in place as he slows down with each backshot he gives you, and he reaches from behind and runs his hand down the front of your love nest. He moves to your clit and strokes it.

"Yesss, baby! I love when you rub my clit," you moan out.

"I know you do." Christian continues to rub it while you tighten around his dick. "My baby is close. Are you going to cum on my dick?"

"Mmhmm," you moan. But, at the point, you're already trembling from the combination of his teasing your clit and being buried inside you. The sensation is perfect. It's a feeling that never gets old. No matter how many times he gives you an orgasm, it always feels as good as the first time.

"So, be a good girl and cum for me."

"That's it.. baby. Cum on dick." He instructs you and talks you through it. You obey him easily. You release onto his dick. He's right there with you as he pumps into you until he cums inside you.

"Mmm.. thank you, baby," you say, trying to catch your breath.

"No, thank you angel. You were wonderful as always. I can't wait to celebrate with you when I come back."

If you enjoyed this please reblog. It helps other find my work.

Part 2

[synamartia]

[ Featured Artwork © lustylita ] ❀ [ Featured Divider © cafekitsune ]

[ Story © synamartia ] ❀ [ Text banner created via TextStudio ]

Content Warnings: Alastor x Reader ; Afab!Reader ; No pronouns or Y/N used ; Use of gendered pet names like "good/dirty girl" ; Explicit / MDNI / 18+ ; Sexual situations ; Sex pollen trope (Love Potion) ; Begging ; Thigh fucking ; Self-harm (kind of? Reader intentionally scratches themself hard enough to draw blood) Hematolagnia (blood play) ; Dacryphilia ; Choking ; Dom!Alastor ; Unprotected sex ; Vaginal penetration ; P in V sex ; Creampie ; Alastor gets a little mean, and is his own CW ; If I missed any, let me know! Word Count: 6,695 Summoning: @hazelfoureyes ; @minkdelovely ; @sugoi-writes ; @fraugwinska ; @lustylita ; @eris-norwega ; @rapturenyx ; @sirens-and-moonflowers ; @swagkittybear ; @l3rittany ; @chibistar45 ; @aceumbrellaheroes ; @pearly-sadness ; @mydickisjuicy ; @daisy-figmund ; @lunaorlunareclipse Author's Notes: This chapter is a direct continuation of the previous one, with slightly heavier emotional undertones. For those that have been here since the first Smutmus ask, ya'll remember when I said Alastor had Reader "in every position in the Kama Sutra"? Yeah, we explore that a bit in this one! There is a small part where Alastor becomes more forceful that may be triggering for some, so I've added a divider at the beginning and end of that particular scene for those that wish to skip past it. Alastor's dialogue will be in bold red, thoughts in italics red, and Reader's will be in blue. If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know via ask/comment!

Alastor watched as you swallowed the water he had conjured for you, admiring the rosy tint of your flushed face and the movement of the muscles in your neck with each gulp. He wanted so badly to sink his teeth into the soft flesh, curious for a taste of your blood as it seeped from the small gashes they would undoubtedly leave behind. He wondered what sort of sounds you would make if he did. Would you gasp and moan, or would you scream and beg him to stop? He could feel the blood rushing back to his groin as his arousal began to build again, his half hard cock springing to life once more at the thought of it all.

After you had fully emptied the glass, you turned slightly to place it on the polished mahogany and moved your hands to pull down the hem of your skirt. Despite a lack of evidence, you believed that Love Potion wore off after the first orgasm, which is why you had assumed Alastor and you were done - both sides having fulfilled one another's desires. You were disappointed that you couldn't take things further with the Radio Demon, but it was common knowledge at the hotel that he didn't like to be touched. And with the way he had tensed and shied away from your touch at every turn, you knew that once the effects wore off that he would be done and go about his evening as usual. But then, Alastor did something completely unexpected on your part and grabbed your wrists to stop you from redressing.

"Alastor? What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Alastor started, his eyes roaming over your half-nude form - admiring the way your now ruined dress shirt hung loosely from your shoulders and bunched in the crevices of your elbows; the way your breasts filled the cups of your bra and threatened to spill over with the slightest tug to the center band; the wrinkles in your skirt caused by the fabric being pushed up to your waist; the way your heeled shoes accentuated the plump tissue of your rear; the faint trails of mascara present on your cheeks as a result of your earlier crying. He soaked up every little detail his mind could process as he stepped toward you, his pants that were still wrapped around his ankles restricting his movements, pushing you back against his desk. Leaning forward to arch his body over your much smaller form like he did during his flight on cloud nine, Alastor let go of your wrists and placed his palms on the cool mahogany to your sides, trapping you as he moved his face closer to yours - his eyes shifting between your innocent laden irises and your beautifully swollen lips.

Alastor was looking at you like a man starving - a thin trail of drool seeping from the edges of his smile; his antlers growing to double their original size only to shrink back down a few moments later and repeat the process. He was trying so hard to maintain control of his own body, but there was just something about you that evoked the most primal of instincts from him and he couldn't pinpoint what that thing was. Your heart jumped to your throat when you locked eyes with him yet again, completely unsure of how to feel. You were excited and a bit happy that your earlier desires were still attainable - but also confused. You didn't have any first hand experience with Love Potion, so you had no choice but to trust in the information you had gathered from other people that did.

"Did it not work?" you asked, staring up at him as your heart pounded in your ears like a bass drum - ringing louder and louder with every beat. Had the testimonies been false? They had to be. Love Potion was the only thing that made sense for Alastor's still prominent arousal, you thought - the only possible explanation for him using his nail to tear a line down your skirt from waistband to hem, the fabric soon falling from your lower half as the sharp edges of his claw effortlessly glided through the material like butter. You swallowed the lump in your throat that you were positive had been your literal heart as you rubbed your thighs together, unable to contain the excitement, the lust still pumping through your veins and clouding your mind.

You heard him chuckle lowly as his eyes roamed over your body, his predatory gaze tinting your cheeks pink with embarrassment. Transparency never was a trait Alastor appreciated in other people - but with you, it was oh-so-amusing, and he thought it absolutely adorable how hard you were trying (and failing) to hide all of the lewd thoughts he knew were racing through that naughty little mind of yours. If he wasn't already smiling, this would definitely be a moment that would pull an honest one from him. When was the last time he truly smiled, anyway? He couldn't remember - or if it ever happened at all. He was going to have fun trying to figure out how you were able to get under his skin so easily, so effortlessly. He loved a good brain teaser, and this would definitely provide him with a little entertainment.

"This drug is quite persistent," Alastor mused, conjuring a handkerchief and beginning to wipe at the spittle still on your face. After he was done, he tossed the cloth to the side to be forgotten, his hands returning to either side of your figure a moment later. His eyes roamed over your form, specifically your still clothed upper body, making it his goal to remove those pesky garments next. "You have already given me your consent, and informal though it was, I've no intentions of letting you back out of our deal now," Alastor stated flatly, bringing his right index finger up to the band of your bra nestled between your breasts, toying with the taut threads as his eyes rose to lock with yours, his bright red irises flashing pink and slitted pupils dilating. "But if you would like to postpone the next part for another night, I would not object. I am a patient man."

Tracing the tender flesh of his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Alastor brought his face as close to yours without making any contact - searching for a sign that you wanted to stop. He really did plan on holding you to it, but he wouldn't force it if you wished to end the night here. It wouldn't be the first time he had to endure, to fight back some of his baser urges - but it would be difficult, it seemed. Already, he could feel that pesky itch growing beyond containment, demanding every ounce of his attention and begging to be scratched. This concoction was rather annoying - he rarely felt attraction of any kind for another person. It felt like that damned spray was generating these emotions and forcing him to indulge in acts so uncouth. It didn't matter what you decided though. One way or another, Alastor made a vow to himself to have you beneath him in every conceivable way - with a little more effort to woo you, it was only a matter of time. Adding a chase to the mix would make it more enjoyable by a large margin, he thought.

"Although, I must warn you. If you choose to keep going tonight, I cannot promise any restraint on my part," Alastor told you, his sclera flashing black and irises shifting to radio dials for a moment, then back to their usual appearance. "I'm just not the type to leave a 'meal' unfinished," he said, a dry chuckle following his wordplay regarding his earlier actions and sending a shiver up your spine.

"N-no, I- ... uhm..." you started. It was infuriating how he was able to reduce you to such a timid, almost virgin-like mess with so little effort. It made you wonder how things would go if he did put in the work.

"'Uhm' is not a word, my dear," Alastor clicked his tongue against his teeth, the first few strands of the center band of your bra snapping apart as he pressed lightly against it. "Do you want to stop?" he asked you again, his eyes narrowing in delight as a slight release of tension sent a ripple through your chest with each string that he cut. Curling your lips inward, you tried to hold back an immediate 'no' response in an effort to appear less desperate, but you were starting to realize that ship had already sailed by the way Alastor's smile widened and your center band was finally severed - your breasts falling from the cups as they sprung apart.

"No, don't! Alastor... don't stop," you breathed, holding back a pleasurable sigh at the relief that coursed through your veins when the taut garment no longer held you tight. You moved to slide the remnants of your shirt and now ruined bra (yet another favorite item you would force him to replace later - they were expensive in life, and Hell only made it worse) off your body - now fully nude except for the heels and accessories adorning your figure. You saw the dim lights of his room flicker as Alastor leaned even closer, his breath fanning your face and his lips grazing yours as he uttered,

"As you wish, Mon Cherie."

Without a moment's hesitation, you found yourself being lifted to sit upon the edge of his polished desk like before. Only this time, he urged you to lie flat on your back as he raised your legs so that you were positioned at a 90° angle. You tilted your head to peer around your own limbs at him, curiosity brimming in your eyes as you silently awaited his next movements. "If you would be so inclined, I would like to try a couple of things first - just to see what all the hype is about. May I?" Alastor asked, tilting his own head in the same manner as you. You had to stifle a giggle as the action was just too cute, you thought. And you just couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little as you began to feel more comfortable and relaxed in his presence.

"I'm up for it. But you know, curiosity killed the cat," you remarked, raising your hands to lay beside your head as he shifted behind your thighs. Alastor laughed at that just before you felt his fingers sliding through your slick folds, eliciting a moan from you. "Ah, yes! But satisfaction brought it back!" he responded, not missing a single beat in the light banter. He peered around your legs once more, only this time with a sultrier look as you felt something hard and wet slip in between the space of your joined thighs and pubic area. "And I intend to revive all nine of its lives, my dear," he drawled out, savoring the way your thighs engulfed his member as he thrust forward, his hips and lower abdomen pressed flush against the backs of your legs. Sighing at the way your soft flesh surrounded him, he wrapped his arms around your knees and lifted your lower half up slightly. "Oh my... I believe I'm going to enjoy this," he said, holding you there as he gave another experimental thrust while keeping your legs pressed against his torso - your ankles now dangling over his right shoulder as you hummed softly each time his hips pushed forward.

Soon, the room was filled with the soft clapping sound of skin on skin and heavy pants on Alastor's part as he built a steady pace. Chewing on your lip as you stared up at the Radio Demon, you smiled as you watched his face contort with pleasure - his brows furrowed together and eyes narrowed, sweat beading on his forehead and his ears laid flat, his smile twitching and shifting between an open, toothy grin to a closed lip, almost serene type; but not once did it falter. It was a sight to behold - Alastor letting his instincts take over but still somehow managing to keep that illustrious grin of his. Part of you wondered if he was even capable of frowning.

"Does it feel good?" you asked, watching as Alastor turned his head to kiss your calf, occasionally licking a stripe up the length of it as he stared right back at you. "You've no idea, Cherie," his response was low and gravelly, his voice thick with his trademark filter as he began to pick up the pace, chasing his second release of the night.

You let your gaze drift down from his face to the gap between your thighs and crotch, the tip of his dick poking through to the other side with each thrust, each grunt he let out. Lifting your legs up another half inch off the wooden surface, Alastor angled himself so that when he pushed forward, his length would slide between the outer lips and his head would catch on your clit, pulling a gasp or a sigh from you at the unexpected sensation. You curled your lips inward around your teeth, enjoying his actions almost as much as he seemed to be.

"Must I remind you already?" you heard him speak suddenly in exasperation just before you felt the claws of his left hand wrap around the back of your neck, tangling in your hair at the roots to yank your head back and force you to look up at his face. His features had become more demonic as he gave a hard thrust and pulled your hair again. "Keep your eyes on me," he told you, enunciating each word as he willed his features back to a tamer appearance - well aware that his full demon form was quite frightening, especially to those that have never seen it before (you).

"Trust that I will discipline you thoroughly if you look away again."

With that said, Alastor released his grip on your hair and brought it back up to your legs. Thrusting forward once again, Alastor released his hold on your calves and drew your legs closer to his chest, resuming his previous pace. With one arm wrapped around your knees to hold you in place, he reached down between your legs to rub slow, tantalizing circles around your clit - using his thumb to push back your clitoral hood to further expose the little bundle of nerves. Alastor could feel the tension in his belly rising, and in an attempt to slow things down, to draw this out just a little bit longer, he asked, "Are you enjoying this as well, my dear?" He watched your brows knit together and your jaw go slack at the continuous stimulation he now provided you, trying to keep himself quiet to better hear the noises pouring from your throat.

You fought the urge to throw your head back and squeeze your eyes shut, somehow managing to resist when you recalled his previous warning. You kept your eyes focused on his face, eyelids drooping as you felt the beginnings of that oh-so-familiar knot start to build with every deliberate motion of his thumb. "M-mmhmm!" a hum and a curt nod was all you could manage as Alastor turned his head to place more kisses on your sweaty skin. Opening his mouth, you felt his teeth glide against the soft flesh of your calf near the ankle, nipping sporadically but never taking a legitimate bite. "Mmphh..." he pressed a muffled moan to your skin as he stared down at you from the corner of his eye - biting the inside of his cheek at the delectable sight before him in an effort to ground himself.

"Do tell me, Cherie," Alastor spoke, drawing you out of your bliss clouded mind for a moment. "Have you ever dabbled in blood play before?" he asked you, fighting back the urge to just sink his teeth into your calf without waiting for a response. Your eyes widened a bit at the question, not sure how to answer at first. "N-no... I haven't. Why?" you asked, that lump returning to your throat. It was an idea that never appealed to you in that sense, so you never explored the possibilities - but that didn't mean that you weren't willing to try it. Who knows, maybe you would enjoy it. But then your paranoia started to kick in, and you were beginning to feel like your life was in danger. Alastor is a cannibal, after all - and anyone in their right mind would be terrified under these circumstances with someone like him.

Smile twitching, Alastor picked up the pace - his hips slamming against the back of your thighs and your breasts bouncing up and down in tandem with each one delivered. "I asked for your consent to have sex, not to cause you any amount of bodily harm," he explained, running his claw up along the side of your calf from knee to ankle. "But the thought of tasting your blood is quite..." he trailed off as he traced his pointed nail back down from your ankle to your knee - adding just enough pressure to leave a red streak but not enough to draw any blood, "... tempting," Alastor finished - taking a moment to bask in the fear evident in your eyes, chuckling ominously for added effect.

"There's no reason to be afraid. I'm not going to eat you," he said, putting your mind at ease and allowing you to relax. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplated his question, still slightly afraid that he may actually attempt to literally consume you. Your fears were founded, considering what he had said earlier: that he wasn't sure if he could show any restraint. Even if he promised not to, what was stopping him from ignoring said promise after the first drop? You weren't exactly in a position to defend yourself, especially against someone as powerful as Alastor. "If that were my goal, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he said, ramming into your legs again, forcing you to reach up above your head and grip the edges on the opposite side of the desk.

Then again, now that you think about it, what was stopping him from doing it anyway, at any given moment? Staring into his eyes, you searched for any sign of sincerity, but couldn't see anything past his crazed, lust riddled gaze -a knot tightening in the pits of your belly from the constant stimulation to your clit. Alastor wasn't an easy man to read, even in as vulnerable a state as this. "A-Al..." you breathed out, biting your tongue as you lifted yourself up to rest your weight on your forearms. It sounded like a 50/50 gamble to you, and considering how your luck has been tonight, you were liking the odds.

'Fuck it.'

Alastor nipped at the skin near your ankle, patiently awaiting your response to his request. He expected you to outright refuse the proposal, which he would respect - but he would have been disappointed all the same. 'Another time, perhaps,' he thought to himself as your silence dragged on. Shifting your weight onto one arm, you reached up with the other to trace your own pointed digit along the side of your calf where he had been kissing and scratching. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you pressed your own claw into the muscle until a few drops of blood began to ooze out of the shallow, crescent shaped wound and roll down the length of your leg.

Alastor lost his composure for a second, letting his shock at your actions show on his face before donning his mask once again. His smile widened further as he threw his head back and laughed dramatically, then returned his gaze to your divine features. "My, you're quite the interesting little enigma, aren't you?" he said, his tongue rolling out to catch the few droplets of blood that had reached your knee and licked back up to where you had punctured the skin. Alastor grabbed hold of the finger you cut yourself with, bringing it up to his face and into his mouth - his tongue swirling around the digit as he sucked any traces of blood from underneath your nail. Satisfied, he pulled your finger out of his mouth with a pop, his arms snaking back around your legs and mouth returning to your self-inflicted wound.

Placing his lips over it, Alastor began to suck and lick, craving more and more with each drop - savoring the metallic taste of your blood mixed with the salt of your sweat. He had to stop himself from taking a bite out of the muscle, not expecting your blood to be so intoxicating. But he essentially promised you restraint on this part, and it was a personal principle of his to keep every promise he made - even the indirect ones.

A rather loud growl erupted from Alastor's throat as he felt the impending release barreling towards him now. Your actions seemed to have a greater effect on him than the thought initially as his soft grunting soon turned into sonorous moans - the rapid clapping sound of his balls hitting your skin filling the room. It was surprising that he managed to continue pushing forward when the crimson liquid first touched his tongue and coated his taste buds. "I'm-! God fuckin-!" Alastor started, his eyes closing and his jaw tensing, causing his pointed fangs to sink into your supple skin. You winced at the pain that it caused, but the way he pressed his thumb down further on that little button between your legs had you forgetting the pain almost instantly.

Squeezing your thighs even tighter around his cock, you stared up at Alastor as he chased his high. You drank in the rare sight before you, taking in every detail you could - putting them to memory and tucking them away like the most precious of treasure, because they were. Even if Alastor didn't look at things the same as you, this night was something that you would hold near and dear to your heart, because it was the first time you ever had the option to participate since spawning in hell. But more than that, you would forever cherish the fact that he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him, drug or no. And in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to provide him with everything he sought. Your body, your heart, your soul - if didn't matter what it was; if you could give it to him, you would.

You could tell that he was close to his next release by the way his hips began to lose their rhythm and how he struggled to keep his appearance under control. You watched his antler grow as testament, the vertebrae in his neck contorting into unnatural positions beneath his ashen skin, a dark liquid beginning to seep from the edges of his smile - it all had you wondering what it would be like to have that side of him, to experience sex with an uninhibited Alastor. 'That poor cat,' you silently mused - if things kept going this way, you'd have to start calling it Prometheus. "Al," you called, reaching up to touch him - his arms, his face, anything that you could reach to draw his attention back to you. If he wanted you to look at him, then you would make him do the same. "Alastor," you called his name more clearly now, your voice ringing in his ears as he opened his eyes to look down at you. "Hm?" he hummed in response, lips pressed tightly together while he tried to hold back his release, to drag this moment for just a little bit longer.

'Not yet,' he thought. 'Keep going- ... fuck, not yet!'

"Look at me, Alastor," you moaned, holding his gaze as you brought your hand down from his face to rest on his wrist as he continued to draw heavy, fast circles on your clit. "Please... I want you to look at me when you cum," you pleaded, heart racing at your own words. Electricity shot up his spine as Alastor stared you down - his hips halting for a moment, his body right on the cusp of euphoric gratification. "... You sure know how to drive a man crazy, doll," he mumbled against your leg, tongue slithering out to lap at the blood that was dripping form the gashes your nail and his teeth had caused. His hips began to move once more, finding their previous pace almost instantly and his salacious groans filling the room - eyes not leaving yours for a single millisecond, just as you requested.

"Da- ... Darling," Alastor rasped out suddenly, pulling his face away from your calf and leaning forward, pushing your body into a more angled position. Unwrapping the arm that had been coiled around your legs, he placed his hand next to your head, palm laying flat against the cool surface of his desk. "May I-?" he asked, his voice desperate as he tried to hold back those needy whimpers your beautiful body and rapturous sounds dragged from him. He didn't have a chance to finish his question. You already knew what he was asking to do - and it was something that you were more than happy and quite eager to give your consent. "Yes!" you agreed with a curt nod of your head. Drawing your hand back from his wrist as he hovered over your folded figure, you reached up to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, your other arm supporting the rest of your weight behind you.

Halting his movements, Alastor pulled away almost reluctantly - not wanting to leave the comforting embrace of your thighs for a single second, but the promise of an even greater pleasure gave him the motivation to do just that. As he parted your legs slightly with one hand, his other reached down to grip his leaking cock and guide it to the opening of your drenched core. He rubbed the tip up and down your slick folds a couple of times - gathering enough of your essence to use as a lubricant when he pressed into you for the first time that night. Placing both of his hands on the backs of your thighs, a whine of respite escaped his throat and his jaw fell open as the pressure, the heat of your sweet, sweet cunt finally engulfed his throbbing member. Your pliant walls were effortlessly molded to the shape of him as he slid deeper and deeper into you, bottoming out not long after the initial penetration. "Oh, fuck!" he cursed, his hands groping at your legs as he leaned forward again, folding your body over once again.

With your ankles now dangling over his shoulders, Alastor began to slowly and shallowly thrust into you. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, screaming for that delicious relief of a well-earned orgasm. He was trying to give you time to adjust to his intrusion before he took on a more brutal pace, not wanting to cause you any pain or discomfort (not yet anyway). But he was already so close - he couldn't stop himself from splitting you in half on his cock. His body refused to listen to his brain, having essentially developed a mind of its own separate from his consciousness and moving involuntarily.

Alastor's conflicting thoughts and actions showed in his body language. He was still trying to hold back, that much was evident by the inconsistency of his thrusts - speeding up momentarily only to slow back down a couple seconds later, his cock dragging against your walls with long, deep thrusts then becoming short and shallow. Even though you were curious to see him lose it, you were still appreciative that he was trying so hard not to hurt you. Letting your hand travel up from the nape of his neck to run your fingers through his hair, you pulled him as close as this angle would allow. "It's okay, Alastor," you reassured him, giving him a warm smile as his mind and body continued to vie for control.

"It's okay," you repeat, panting and moaning as you could feel your own orgasm approaching. "I promise, it's okay," nodding your head while you let your hand join the other in his crimson and ebony hair, you used him to support your weight. Alastor lowered his hands from your thighs to rest flat on the polished wood, allowing your legs to fall from his shoulders and hook around his biceps. Bringing your hands up a bit higher, you lightly traced your fingertips around the base of his ears - causing Alastor to flinch and bow his head at the unexpected contact.

"Holy sh- ...!" he hissed through gritted teeth. A shiver traveled up his now rigid spine and nudged him over the precipice straight into that blinding, white hot ecstasy he so desperately sought. Alastor's nails were digging into the hard surface and leaving large, unsightly tears in the mahogany while he shot his seed deep within you. Having not expected your light touches to have such a profound effect on him, you smirked proudly and began to massage his twitching ears to ground him as well as help him ride out his high to its fullest extent. "You like that?" you asked, stroking their backsides with your fingers and pressing your thumbs against the inner, more fleshy side.

Alastor couldn't think in that moment, drowning in the pleasure that coursed through his veins with each rope of his cum that he pumped into you. Clenching his eyes shut, he pushed further forward and lowered his head to rest in the crook of your neck, nodding in response to your question. When you moved your hands from his ears to his antlers to massage them in the same manner, he winced and let out a strangled whimper, pressing his lips against your carotid and sucking harshly. Eventually, the pleasure turned to pain and Alastor reached to pull your hands away by the wrists, breathing heavily as the waves subsided and his muscles relaxed.

"... My ears have always been sensitive, even when I was alive," Alastor began to explain, unnecessary though it may be. "The sensitivity increase when I am... aroused," he finished, raising his head and pulling back from you until he was standing upright again. Staring down at you contentedly, he quickly realized that you hadn't reached your own peak yet, and he started to rock his hips into yours. He wasn't able to see your face earlier, so he could only imagine what you would look like, what expressions you would make when you came undone beneath his touch. The thought alone was enough to keep him from going soft, his body already seeking out that next mind numbingly exquisite release.

Raising your hands above your head once more, you curled your fingers around the edges of his desk and tried to roll your hips into his. Alastor had his fun - now it was your turn, and he was more than happy to provide his assistance. "Al-..." you called out to him, your voice barely a whisper and eyelids drooping as you struggled to keep them open. A chuckle filled the air as Alastor began to pick up speed, his cum mixed with yours allowing him to plow into you as easily as a hot knife cutting through butter.

"No need to fret, Mon Cherie. I won't leave you unsatisfied," he reassured you.

Knees sliding down his biceps to link with his elbows, Alastor slipped his hand between your legs again, pressing his thumb to you aching bud and drawing fast, harsh circles. "That was more entertaining than I expected. You deserve a reward for a job well done," he told you, choosing to ignore the fact that you barely did anything this time around while he chased you to the edge of your own end in a matter of seconds. "What would you like, my dear? Tell me, and it's yours," Alastor cooed sweetly, watching your tits bounce with each slam of his hips, stopping for just a moment to pull your lower body closer - your ass no hanging off the edge as it dug into your lower back. Picking up his initial pace, the desk began to rock and squeak beneath you with every rapid movement he made.

Now you were the one struggling to form any coherent thoughts or words, barely aware of the fact that he was talking to you. "H-hah! Ah! Fah- ...! Fu- ... ah-ack!" you cried as you felt your release draw closer with every snap of his hips, every whispered word of encouragement and praise. Then, you heard movement and muffled voices coming from the hallway just outside Alastor's bedroom door. Your heart began to race as you felt your orgasm slipping away, propping yourself up on your forearms - forgetting all about his prior warning as you turned your head to look at the door. Who was it on the opposite side? Could they hear what you two were doing? Somehow the idea of being heard made your cheeks flush an even deeper crimson more than anything else the two of you had done so far.

In an embarrassed panic, you shifted all of your weight to one arm and brought the other up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle the uncontrollable noises he pried from you. "Someone's out- ...! Ah, fu- ...!" you whispered against the palm of your hand, turning your head back to look up at Alastor with a pleading expression on your face. But when your eyes met his, you immediately realized that someone hearing you being fucked by the Radio Demon was the least of your worries. "A-Alastor?!" you gasped as you felt his girth grow and stretch your walls nearly to their limit, his ears falling flat against his skull as he wrapped one hand around your throat. His already large stature became even more so as he seethed in his anger at your blatant disregard for the one rule he had set for you. But more than that, he was angry that you attempted to silence yourself.

How dare you try to hide those melodious sounds from him! And you took your eyes off of him, too? You done fucked up! Alastor wasn't about to let that slight go unpunished, especially when he had been generous enough to let you off with a warning, twice.

"Who fucking cares?" Alastor asked through gritted teeth, momentarily dropping his radio filter and neon green stitches manifesting over his smiling lips. "Let them hear you!" his pace became more brutal the higher his anger spiked, his thumb tormenting your abused clit with circles so harsh it had become more painful than pleasurable. Laying back again, you reach your hand down to wrap around his wrist in an attempt to stop him, or at the very least get him to let up. But before your fingertips could even graze his skin, a black tendril wrapped around yours and forced it back up above your head along with the one that had been covering your mouth.

Struggling against the ebony appendages holding your wrists, you pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to plant your feet on his torso to push him away. You didn't expect him to stop entirely (nor did you want him to), you just wanted to make him go easier on you - but the gap in raw power mixed with the exhaustion of a full day's work and your previous orgasm wouldn't allow it. Just as one of your feet found purchase within the crevice right below his clavicle, your heel digging into his flesh, you felt more tendrils wrap around your ankles and pull them back down - holding them apart as he continued to pound into you with reckless abandon.

"Al, please! I-it hurts- ...!" you tried to tell him, but your cries only added fuel to the flames. Alastor's antlers grew in size along with the rest of his body, only this time he didn't try to bring himself back under control as he chortled heartily at your failed attempts. "And?" he asked, static crackling through the air and the filter returning to his voice as he pinched the pink nub - rolling it roughly between his fingers and laughing gleefully at the pain it so clearly caused. A violent wince wracked your body at the action, and you tried to pull yourself free, but with no slack in those dark tendrils of his, you couldn't even bend your limbs. "I don't like repeating myself, darling," Alastor told you, his grip tightening around your throat and his elongated nails digging into your flesh, restricting your airflow and making it difficult for you to produce any type of sound.

Tears began to well up in your eyes the longer this went on, being unable to do anything except endure and hope that he would show you a little bit of mercy. It was unlikely though, considering the clear warning he'd given you earlier should you look away from him again. You tried to blink the tears away at least, but the lack of oxygen was getting to you, and it became harder and harder to open your eyes again after each flutter of your lashes. Seeing that you were close to losing consciousness, Alastor loosened his grip and allowed you to breathe again, watching with utter delight as you greedily sucked in air, the color returning to your face. He made a mental note to explore breath play at a later time, among other things.

"I- ...! Please- ... I-I'm sorry- ...!" you stuttered through your coughs, the tears cascading down your cheeks now as his tip relentlessly bullied your cervix. Another laugh filled the air as Alastor, much to your relief, pulled his hand away from your puffy clit and leaned forward again - moving his hands to press into the curves of your waist. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling merciful right now," he started, nails digging into the soft plushness of your midsection - his form shrinking back down as your tear-soaked apologies quelled his anger. "Do keep in mind that I will not be so forgving next time," he told you, to which you nodded vigorously, thankfully - the black tendrils loosening from your wrists and ankles once you showed your compliance.

Letting one hand drift from your side all the way up to your face, Alastor caressed your cheek in a belying manner of affection and kindness. "Now, where were we?" he asked you, raising a single brow as he began to rock his hips into you once more, his other hand returning to your clit - this time, more gently. Immediately, you opened your mouth to let out one of the loudest, most sinfully sounding moans you would make that night, eyes locked with his as your body began to make that steady climb back to your peak. As embarrassing as it was to know someone could be listening to any of this, you were much more fearful of the punishments Alastor would unleash upon you should you disobey again.

"Good girl," Alastor praised you, his claw tracing down your neck and over your collar bone, then further down to your breasts. Having lost himself entirely in his rush to that first high, he didn't get the chance to appreciate them properly - something that needed to be remedied right away. As one hand continued to rub tantalizing circles on your clit, he let the other cup one of your breasts in the palm of his hand. Alastor gave it a light squeeze before he began to knead the soft mound. The pointed tips of his nails pressed into your skin, threatening to break it and draw blood - which he would be all the more happy and eager to lap up.

[ Master Post ] ❀ [ Chapter One ] ❀ [ Chapter Two ] ❀ [ Chapter Three ] ❀ [ Chapter Four ] ❀ [ Chapter Five ]

[yoongihan]

Paint My Nails - HJS - OneShot

pairing: jisung x femreader

genre: f2l, almost pwp probably, slice of life smut, fluffy too

rating: M (so not for minors)

word count: 4.5k or so

warnings: smut in the forms of fingering (fem receiving), penetrative sex (protected - responsible people here in this fic), cursing, a lot of kissing and mc fantasizing about Jisung in ways that are not platonic. They (Felix makes an appearance as the roommate) are all the same age, but mc is older by a few months so they call her 'noona' to annoy her. Mc has a few too many drinks, but most of it is burned off by the time anything provocative occurs. everyone is of age to drink and consent. there's a mention of penance and self-flagelation, but not in a literal sense. mc is just being dramatic.

a/n: i wrote this today. i barely edited it because it was like a race against time because it's still his birthday here where I am and my god, I love this man so much that I hate him (you know what I mean). so in typical me fashion, here's another fic of just pure han jisung adoration, kinda friends to lovers (typical me again), and all inspired by the skz-code episodes of them at the sauna and nail-painting. I'm kind of sure this is just a mess and I apologize for any inconsistencies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock on your apartment door and you lift your eyes from attempting to paint the nails on your right hand (why can’t you be ambidextrous? It’d be so helpful. Like you know…for spy stuff and nail painting) to Felix who is seated on the floor, leaning back against the sofa you’re both using for tonight’s chill night.

“Who’s that?” you ask, squinting at the door now, like you might be able to perceive who’s on the other side. You have had a couple of drinks. Sweet sweet cocktails premade in bottles and cans. Both you and Felix have been indulging in an evening of dumb 80s teen films and self-care. You’d already done his nails, a very pretty lavender, and he was letting them dry.

“Jisungie,” he answers, carefully pushing off the floor to go and answer the door.

“What?”

You don’t mean for your voice to go so shrill, but this is brand new information and there should always be a warning when Felix invites people over.

Especially the Han Jisung.

Felix pauses to look back at you. “Jisung. I invited him over. He was bored at his place.”

“And you didn’t think to let me know?” You gesture wildly. “When I look like…” You wave at yourself, encompassing the loose sweatpants and cropped t-shirt that you definitely first bought in middle school. It wasn’t cropped then. It was normal. You just got taller and a little more…endowed. 

Wearing something like this was fine in front of Felix. Because it’s Felix, your beloved roommate. Yes, he’s one of the prettiest humans on the planet, but because the world is weird, you don’t feel anything but massive amounts of love and affection for him - platonically. Which works out well because romance is the subject you struggle with most. 

Felix cocks his head to the side and you remember that he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how you feel about his friend, Jisung. 

Probably because you keep that shit to yourself because the moment you ever share stuff like that with someone, it comes back to bite you in the ass. Broken and strained friendships, accusations of trying to steal someone’s crush, loss of contact…a mess. 

“You look fine…he knows we’re just hanging out.” 

Oblivious boy.

You huff and close the nail polish bottle tightly (you don’t need to add a tangible mess to this evening’s agenda). You also decide to finish off your off-brand vodka-cocktail-in-a-can as though liquid courage can save this night.

Never mind that you usually say way too much under the influence. 

The door opens and you stare as Felix embraces the newcomer. Jisung’s smile is tired, but warm as his chin rests on his friend’s shoulder. He sees you and mouths a quick ‘hey’. 

You wave. Or you mean to wave, but you actually knock over the empty can instead. 

“Shit,” you mutter, picking it up then cursing again because you definitely messed up a fingernail in your can rescue. 

“Okay there?”

You look up as Jisung slinks off his windbreaker, tossing it on the arm of the sofa and sitting down in the middle. You have one side and Felix was on the floor of the other side. Cuddling would happen after fingernails were dry and safe. 

“Just clumsy,” you say, feeling your face heat up. Hopefully, it shows up just as too much alcohol and not embarrassment. “Hi.”

“Beer?” Felix asks. “Water…Coke?”

“Coke’s good,” Jisung states and glances at the television. “Is this…Teen Witch?”

“Oh my god,” you practically squeal. “How do you know that?”

“My older brother’s girlfriend loves eighties movies. Like…so many…” he glances over at you, grinning. “You know this is like shitty cinema, right?”

You make a face. “You can walk right out that door, Han Jisung, if you’re going to mock our viewing preferences. Tonight is classics,” you point to the screen. “Drinking.” You hold up an unopened bottle. “And nails.” You flash your mostly finished left hand at him. “To stay here you have to participate in at least one of those. Unironically.”

His grin has just widened as he takes a glass of soda from Felix, the latter who plops back down on the floor and unpauses the movie. 

“I do?”

Felix shrugs. “She’s the noona.”

You sigh dramatically, turning back toward your bottle of liquid ‘Starry Night,’ an almost blue-black polish.

“We’re all the same year, losers. I just showed up in the spring instead of the fall like you two.”

Felix and Jisung fist bump (Felix is very careful again because nails) in September solidarity and you huff again. 

“Noona,” Jisung says just to irritate you before taking a swig of coke and reaching into the big bowl on the coffee table in front of him for some trail mix. 

Felix wiggles and groans. “My butt is numb.”

Jisung laughs. “Then sit on the couch, idiot.”

Felix points at you both. “There’s not a lot of room.”

“Since when did you have personal space, Lix,” Jisung scooted closer to you, bumping your arm and you pouted. Another messed up nail. “Sorry.”

“I’d be mad if I actually had had success with this hand,” you reply as Felix plops in the empty space at the end. You can smell Jisung this close. Sort of like cloves and rosemary. He turns to see you sniffing. 

“You okay?”

You are such a moron.

“Sorry…” You stare back at your hand, trying to undo the damage of the last attempt. “You smell good.”

“You can smell me over that?” he points to the open bottle. He has a point, but to explain, you’d have to detail how hyper-aware you are of him and that isn’t going to go well at all. 

Felix pipes up about the movie and Jisung is momentarily distracted from your lack of reply. You try again to paint your right pinkie nail.

“I can do it for you?”

“You can?”

Jisung laughs bashfully, head ducked down as he takes the polish bottle from you. He turns toward you, crossing his legs and patting his knee for you to rest your unpainted hand on. 

“I’m not claiming I’ll be great at it, but I feel like I’ll do a better job than you doing it on your own.” He snorts. “Felix should have offered.”

“I can’t until mine are dry!” The youngest protests. 

“Obviously, Felix is a terrible friend,” you say, placing your hand gently on his jean-clad knee. 

“Both of you suck.”

You and Jisung both coo over Felix’s pout, but Jisung starts painting your nails. You watch his face more than his hands (either feature is one you’re weak about, so it’s really like which type of suffering do you want to inflict on yourself); the furrow in his brow as he concentrates, the pursed lips (okay you cannot stare at those too long because getting horny while drunk is just asking for a restless night), how soft his hair always looks. It’s currently his natural black after having it wavy and orange for a time. He’d worn the unusual color well, but it wasn’t like you could see anything but stars when you looked at him anyway.

“So…” you begin. “Drinking, movie-watching or nails?”

“Hmm?” He lifts his head to meet your gaze and you want to just openly stare (you are the heart-eyes emoji). He has such big pretty brown eyes and when they’re focused on you, you lose all ability to function.  

“Which are you going to do? To stay?”

He smirks at your persistence. “I guess nails. I drank too much last night and still feel like I need to recover.”

Felix holds up his nails. “She does a pretty good job, Sungie.”

You preen at the compliment, making them both laugh. 

It gets quiet (except the movie) as he continues your nails. You press your lips together to not speak, because having his hand holding each of your fingers might be the most erotic moment of your life.

Which is just sad when you think about the last time you had sex. 

“Why were you out drinking?”

“Bin and Hyunjinnie won their bowling league tournament thingy.”

“Why didn’t you go, Lix?” you ask, looking over at your roommate.

“I didn’t get the text until I woke up the next morning,” he says. “Also, are you both going to talk through this…the whole time?”

You and Jisung share a smile. 

“Does it bother you?”

Felix shoots you an unamused look. “I’m going to grab us more drinks and food if you both are going to talk over this.”

“And miss the witty dialogue?” Jisung mocks. You smack his arm with your already dried and done hand and he winks at you.

Fuck. Why is everything he does so impactful?

“Are you okay to drive?”

Your roommate rolls his eyes. “I've had two of those…the rest…was all you.”

You look at the empty cans. “Oops.”

You’re rewarded with laughter from both of them as Felix grabs Jisung’s windbreaker and heads to the door, slipping on shoes. 

“Stealing this, Sung.” 

“It swallows you.” The owner of said windbreaker seems unperturbed by the theft. 

“Because Felix is a delicate flower.”

You get a defiant middle-finger from Felix as he shuts the door behind him. 

Leaving you alone with Jisung.

Which you just realized. 

“How’d I do?” he asks as he holds up your right hand, looking at it with critical eyes. 

“Much better than I was doing.”

He grins at you. “That was a pretty low bar, noona.”

You pull away your hand, mock-annoyed. “I guess, thank you.”

He leans back on the sofa as you screw the cap to the polish back on and set it on the side table. You lift up a green bottle for his inspection.

“This color?”

“For what?”

“For you, Han Jisung.”

“Oh….” He crosses his arms over his chest, drawing your eyes to the width and breadth (is that the same thing, your brain questions) of his torso. He’s not a big guy, not like Chan or Bin, but Jisung works out at the same gym as them and my god, you can tell. 

He once wore a sleeveless t-shirt at a cook-out and you nearly fainted. 

Felix thought it was just the heat and humidity, but you knew it was Jisung’s glorious shoulders. 

“I think I’m going to be super basic and go with black nail polish.”

You grimace. “Ugh, why so boring?”

His eyes are warm. “Cause I am boring.”

“Bullshit.” You hold out your last can of whatever you’ve been drinking. “Please open.”

He pops the top and hands it back to you. You take a long swallow, knowing you’re flushed with his proximity more than anything else. 

“You don’t think I’m boring?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment?”

He straightens up and leans toward you as you continue to look through your supply of polishes. “If I am?”

He probably has no idea that his breath has hit the exposed skin of your neck. Like there’s no way he knows that you shiver because of him.

“If you want me to wax poetic about you, just say the word.”

You can hear his chuckle as you finally find your black polish and turn. He’s only half a foot away and you see his eyes widen at how close you are. 

“Really?” He swallows and draws back just a little, which reminds you that he most definitely does not feel about you the way you feel about him. 

You shrug and hold out your hand. “Hand please.”

He doesn’t immediately do as you ask, and it makes you look up at him. He isn’t smiling, he’s not frowning either. He looks thoughtful, like he’s trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle. 

“What?”

“You can’t see the movie like this.” He says it slowly, as though he’s testing…something. 

You look at the television then back at him. “So?”

“I thought movie-watching was vital to this evening’s plans.” One corner of his mouth lifts and there’s the beginnings of a smirk. “I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”

You roll your eyes, a little nervous for some reason you can’t really explain. “What do you suggest then?”

He adjusts so he’s facing the screen, leaning against the cushiony back of the couch, and then pats the space between his legs. 

“Sit here. Then we both can watch.”

If he sees how wide your eyes get then he doesn’t show it. He just looks at you expectantly, innocently like sitting on his lap, in between his legs is the most normal of things to do.

Which…with Felix, yeah, you totally have. But Felix isn’t Jisung.

Jisung is not Felix. 

It’s probably only a few seconds (it feels like an hour) but you shrug again and move to sit right there.

Oh this is a bad bad idea.

He curls around you, hands coming to set upon your thighs, ready to be decorated. One of your friends might diatribe about Minho’s thighs and you never really got it, but sitting with Jisung’s flush against yours is up there with all transcendent experiences; seeing the Sistine Chapel, getting high in a field at sunset, hearing Led Zeppelin live…

You shake the bottle and undo the cap, placing the bottle in one of his hands before taking the other in yours. 

“You have nice hands, Ji.”

You feel his chin touch your shoulder before resting fully. He’s so close to your neck that he could press his lips (those perfect lips - full bottom and sharp top lip) without having to move much. 

“Thanks.” His voice seems deeper but that’s probably because he’s so close. You start with his thumb, trying to focus on doing a good job and not that your body temperature went up a million degrees in the last two seconds. 

A few minutes pass, not that you’re watching the movie because nail-painting takes all your concentration. You don’t know if he is and if you try and look, your faces would be so close and you don’t think your self-control is that good. 

You know it’s not.

“Are you cold?”

“No, why?”

“Your legs are shaking,” he says softly and you look past his hand to where your legs, clad still in sweatpants are indeed trembling.

Yeah, you’re not cold. You’re so turned on that your body is about to go into a lust-frenzy. 

“Just fidgety,” is all you can come up with.

His head moves on your shoulder, turning a bit more toward you. “Yeah? Do you need to get up, move around?”

God, he’s so nice. Worrying that you might be atrophying and here you are, trying to imagine his hands were under your shirt. 

You might need to do some major penance after this. Some self-flagelation too. 

“I’m good.”

Yeah, you’re so good. All you want to do is turn your face and kiss one of his beautiful cheeks, trail along his jawline, nip a little at that neck, climb him like a fucking tree…

You squeeze your eyes tight in an effort to calm the fuck down. 

You finish one coat on both hands despite your wandering mind. You take the bottle out of his hands, recapping it and shaking it well. He shifts, one hand (the first, the drier one) touching your waist which is bare because of the way too small t-shirt you still have on. 

His touch is scorching. 

“Um,” you squeak. “Do you need to get up and move around? Legs falling asleep?”

You feel his chest move against your back as he takes a deep breath. “No.”

You do turn (stupid really) to see him, confused as to why he’s now gripping your waist as though to keep you in place.

“Jisung?”

His eyes, closed when you turned, now open and stare into yours in a way that makes you forget how to breathe. 

You turn a bit more and as you do, you realize why he’s holding you still. So you couldn’t feel him.

You’re not the only one stimulated right now.

His cheeks are red and he drops his gaze. 

“M’ sorry. I wasn’t…”

With guys, you know that anything can encourage such a response physically. It doesn’t mean that he likes you back. That he even really thinks of you like that. Your nearness to his dick and movement might just be all it is.

But you prefer a different interpretation. Fueled by alcohol and your overactive imagination. 

You kiss him.

Just a light kiss because he’s embarrassed and though you really want to like go full ‘rip off clothing and fuck’ mode, your heart is pretty soft for him. And you just want him to be okay. To know that he’s wonderful and every part of him is wonderful and he doesn’t have to be embarrassed around you.

Because he’s wonderful.

You draw back and offer him a smile. His eyes are wide again, looking at you like you might be speaking in a foreign language. 

“It’s all good, beautiful.”

You’ve never called him that before, but you don’t take it back. Because it’s true and even sober you wouldn’t argue that fact. 

He’s really just beautiful. 

You hear and feel him take another breath, this time a bit shaky. 

“How drunk are you?” His voice isn’t much more than a rumble. 

“Not enough to pass this off as just a drunk mistake.” You fiddle with the closed polish bottle. “Unless you want me to.”

His mouth covers yours in less than a millisecond and you’re too stunned to react immediately. The bottle of nail polish falls from your hand, you hear it plunk on the floor as he turns you around, lifting you so you face him, straddling him. Any worry of the damage to his unfinished nails flies out of your head because holy shit, Jisung is kissing you. 

His mouth is so warm, tongue wet and slick. You fist the front of his tshirt, your other hand tracing his ear and down his jaw. He hums at this, holding you by the hips, pressing you down so you can feel exactly what he wants you to feel. 

“Fuck,” you breathe against his lips. He’s hard and when his hips roll, the contact is delicious. Your head falls back when he does it again, a moan that echoes in the empty apartment. 

He presses kisses to your neck, his teeth catching slightly and you tremble. 

“So damn cute,” he mutters into your skin. He lifts his head, pulling you back down for another kiss. “Cute as fuck, telling me I’m beautiful, watching me like I’m special… I really hope you aren’t drunk because I want you so bad.”

Super reluctant, you draw back, staring at him. His hands have drifted; one is up and under the back of your shirt tracing along your spine. The other has spread over your ass. 

“Not drunk…a little bewildered.” 

He grins up at you, pressing a kiss to your chin. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

His eyes are nearly black, blown out with as much desire as you feel. Lips bright red, plump. Skin flushed. 

“That I see you.” He lets go of your ass, cupping the back of your neck to maneuver you into another kiss. “That the moment Lix said that it was just him and you hanging out, I wanted to come over.” He tugs on your lower lip with his teeth, making you whimper. “That I really hope he gets stuck in traffic and doesn’t come back for several hours.”

“That’s not very nice of you to say about one of your best friends.” You brush his hair back out of his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve never wanted to fuck Felix.” 

The sentiment reverberates through your body and you wrap your arms around his neck, mouth finding whatever skin available. He holds you like that for a while, groaning when you suck a bruise in the curve of his neck. He stands up, letting you slide down his body until your feet touch the floor.

“But you know, in case the universe isn’t listening and there isn’t any traffic, can we go to your room?”

You laugh at his sheepish expression.

“If you want, I mean.”

You link your fingers with his, tugging him away from the living room and down the hall. You gesture to your open door, but he backs in, pulling you to him, one arm wrapping around your waist. Another kiss or five as he shoves close the door. 

He laughs when he falls back onto your bed, letting you straddle him and start untucking his shirt. 

“How long?”

“Hmmm?” he replies to your question. He’s secured you by your hips, only letting go so you can pull off his shirt. You trace one finger down the center of his chest. 

“How long have you–?” Liked you? Just wanted to fuck you? 

“Wanted you?” He watches as you smooth his tousled hair before you lean down and kiss his forehead then his nose then his lips. “You remember when you took one more green tea shot than Bin?”

You raise up to meet his eyes. “Then? Like the fact that I drank too much?”

He smiles, clasping his hands together at your lower back. “You got pretty sick after that, but you didn’t care. You were so happy to beat Bin.” His fingers slide down past the back of your sweatpants’ waistband. “Fuck…you aren’t wearing anything?”

“I mean…it was just a hangout night…with my roommate. I didn’t expect you to show up.”

He pouts as he pinches your butt. “You’re saying you’d have on underwear and a bra if you’d known?”

“You knew I wasn’t wearing a bra?”

He rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

You try to smack him on the arm, but he catches you by the wrist. He props himself up (hand leaving your un-underweared butt) on one elbow before kissing the hand he’s captured. Just one peck in the middle of your palm. Then he rolls you over, tugging on your shirt. 

You dutifully raise your arms as he rids you of it. Watching his eyes sweep over your half-naked form will live in your memories eternally. He has the most expressive face.

“I…um…” It’s dawning on you that you are definitely about to have sex with Han Jisung. You have not prepared for this at all. “There’s…condoms in the bottom drawer.”

His eyes pull from your chest to your face before he leans down to kiss you softly. 

“Baby, are you shy now?”

“A little.”

He rolls off of you, grabbing a condom before slipping a finger under the waistband of your pants. “Can I take these off?”

“Yep, sure.”

He laughs again before lying down next to you, his hand resting on your stomach. “Why are you nervous?”

“Maybe because we’ve never done this before. I mean, us. Together.”

He nods solemnly. “But I like you, you know. I want you to feel good, so I think it’s gonna be okay. Hopefully more than okay.”

He likes you. 

You roll to your side to face him, mouth meeting his. You undo the button of his jeans, the zipper, hand wrapping around him. He curses. 

“Fuck, your hand feels so good.”

“Ji…it’s your dick. Any hand feels good.”

He makes a face at you before kissing you again. He works to shove off his jeans and boxers.

“Feels way better than my hand.”

You snort as you stroke him, carefully, listening to his breathing, his gasps. After a minute or two his hand encircles yours and he pulls you off.

“I’d like our first time to not have me embarrassing myself.”

You can’t help but look at him fondly as he pushes down your sweatpants, those big brown eyes of his fiery and dark. He cups you before raising one eyebrow.

“Was this just from sitting on my lap?”

“Your very existence is a turn-on.”

He laughs at your petulant tone before sliding one finger into you. You grip his wrist, eyes on his. He moves close, tongue finding yours as he matches the rhythm of his finger with his kissing. It feels good, even if it’s not getting you there. Kissing Jisung could last for days and you think you’d be this content. 

You jolt when his thumb presses on your clit and you feel his smirk against your mouth.

“Cocky bastard.”

“Sounds mean, but your breathy voice tells me I’m doing it right.” He adds another finger and you moan. “You close?”

You nod, which is insane because you’re not usually this primed. 

His fingers curl and his thumb presses just right and you break. He swallows your cries, kissing you as your body quivers with the aftershocks of a very good orgasm. When your heartbeat starts to slow down, he pulls his fingers out of you, drawing you close to kiss your cheek and forehead.

“Okay?”

You push him so he’s on his back, your meager strength enough because you’ve surprised him. You move to cradle his hips between your thighs before looking for the condom he’s dropped on the bed. You open it and roll it on him, seeing his eyes close the moment your hands are back on him. 

He lifts up, resting on his elbows when you position him. HIs fingers grip your hip so tight, you think there might be bruises tomorrow, but it feels good. 

As you sink down on him, he raises up more, almost sitting so he can kiss you, holding your face in his hand. 

“Okay?” he asks softly when you don’t move anymore.

“You feel really good,” you whisper against his lips. 

“Not to try and one-up you, but you feel amazing,” he says, making you smile even though all you want to do is have him move. “Can I?”

Your nod is enough for him and the rhythm for you both takes a few tries to get in sync, but his little laughs when it goes wrong are almost as good as when it finally goes right. He’s sweaty and flushed and panting and when his eyes open to see you, you’re overwhelmed. Because he likes you, he laughs with you, he paints your nails…lets you paint his. 

He likes you because you outdrank one of his friends. 

He comes first, a full-body shudder as he falls back onto the bed, you in his arms. You rest your head on his chest, hearing his heart. 

It’s quiet, even though the movie credits are rolling in the other room with some very poppy eighties one-hit wonder creating the soundtrack to this moment. 

You wonder if you should get off of him, let him clean up when his hand comes back to help you find your own end…again.

“Ji, you don’t have to–” He pushes just enough with his thumb that you squeak. His laugh is weary, but happy. He lifts his head to look at you.

“I don’t, but I want to.”

When Felix does come back, he says nothing about the fact that you are in a different set of pajamas, that Jisung’s t-shirt is backward, and that you are still painting his nails. 

He drops the bags on the coffee table and plops on the floor. 

“You didn’t do it on the couch at least, did you?”

--

(c) yoongihan 2023. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[livwritesstuff]

Steve is fighting a losing battle.

He’s fighting it regardless – there's something kind of courageous about that, he thinks.

Or maybe it’s just stupid.

Steve doesn’t care, he’s gonna fight it anyway.

The battle involves the stairs – the landing, to be specific, and the way it has become an unofficial final resting place for so much of his daughters' shit.

So much.

He loves his children. He loves them more than anything, actually.

Still, they drive him goddamn insane sometimes. They just – they’re teenagers, right? So they’re spending all their time holed up in their rooms which, fine, sure, whatever, that’s normal enough. But why, then, is their stuff all over Steve’s house?

Steve isn’t the kind of guy who needs the house spotless, or whatever, but he could do without it looking like a tornado-stricken Walmart.

Hair dryers and bottles of nail polish in the living room, Hazel’s makeup all over the kitchen counter, phone chargers and headphones all over the bathroom, and – Jesus Christ – the sweatshirts. Between his three daughters every single surface in his house has a discarded sweatshirt on it, and it’s not like he can do anything about it because he has no goddamn clue which ones belong to which kid and guessing wrong leads to World War-level fighting.

His solution: he’ll just leave all their stuff on the landing so as they head upstairs to barricade themselves in their rooms, they’ll see it and take it up with them.

The problem with his solution: the girls (who he loves so much) just step right over the mess and continue on their way.

“Why the hell am I stepping on fucking hairbrushes going down the stairs?” Eddie asks him one day.

“You wouldn’t be if your children would just bring their shit up to their rooms,” Steve replies drily.

Later, when the girls get home from school, Robbie passes through the kitchen where Steve and Eddie are sitting at the counter.

“Hello, my darling daughter,” Eddie says, “How was your day today?”

“Fine,” she replies, not taking her eyes off her phone as she heads for the stairs just like she always does.

“Robbie,” Steve says, “I left your books on the stairs. Please take them up with you.”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbles, but as she approaches the books it becomes evident that she would be doing no such thing.

“Robbie,” he calls, “Amelia Robin.”

The only response he gets is the sound of her bedroom door closing.

“I’m listing all this shit on eBay – swear to god,” he tells Eddie as he waves a hand loosely in Robbie’s direction in a can you believe this shit kind of gesture.

Eddie replies, “Maybe list her too while you’re at it.”

[solaireverie]

dr3 | deep blue but you painted me golden

part one — i polish up real nice

[ series masterlist ] part 2 | part 3 | part 4

pairings: daniel ricciardo x f!leclerc!rbr driver!reader, lestappen

summary: [ social media au ] y/n joins red bull and stirs shit up! ft. lestappen's oblivious flirting and danny's impeccable pr training

warnings: language

faceclaim: barbara palvin + random faceless checo pics

author’s note: i first came up with the last post of this series (stay tuned!) and it kind of snowballed into whatever this is 😂 i played fast and loose with the timeline. suspend your disbelief. anyways, enjoy!

Daniel Ricciardo Talks About Red Bull and What Comes Next — The Late Show with Stephen Colbert

liked by charles_leclerc, redbullracing, pierregasly and 459,157 others

yourusername looking forward to racing with an undying commitment to winning 👊 thank you so much @.redbullracing for the opportunity to join the fastest team in the paddock

view comments

charles_leclerc super fier de toi 💙 mais ferrari est toujours la meilleure [ super proud of you but ferrari is still the best ]

↪ yourusername si ça te chante 🙄 🥰 [ whatever floats your boat ]

user not the caption 😭😭

↪ user she definitely saw the interview 😭😭

↪ user christian did say that rbr thought it was "right" to bring daniel back to the team 👀 which team and in which capacity though... 🤔

↪ user praying y/n isn't the next victim of the red bull second seat curse 🔮🧘🙏🕯

user y/n didn't hesitate at ALL with the speed comment huh 💀

↪ user i mean she's not wrong, red bull are currently the fastest and if they keep their momentum they'll completely dominate this season

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, danielricciardo and 519,238 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yourusername

redbullracing Pre-Season Testing sees us go fastest as Max and Y/n record fantastic numbers 💪

user holy shit we all know that y/n is a rookie but can we just appreciate her pace during testing??? that's insane for anyone, let alone a driver who's still getting used to the car

↪ user i've been saying it for months y/n could 100% be the next big thing for f1

↪ user can't wait to watch an actual race 🤩

liked by yourusername

user hear me out, rbr 1-2 in bahrain 👀

↪ redbullracing what dreams are made of! 🙌

user y/n proving all the haters wrong we love to see it!

liked by yourusername

↪ user danny would still do better though 😤

↪ user well he's not the one in the cockpit so wouldn't it make more sense to just support y/n as well?

liked by redbullracing, charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 1,258,976 others

yourusername never in my wildest dreams did i think this day would come. getting my first podium in my first formula 1 race is absolutely insane to think about. i don't have words to describe the joy i feel.

thank you to @.redbullracing for giving me this chance, thank you to the fans for cheering me on, and most importantly, thank you to my family for supporting me in chasing my dreams ❤️

i promise i'll keep making you proud. p2, baby!

view comments

charles_leclerc that's my baby sister 😍

↪ yourusername we were born a year and a half apart.

↪ charles_leclerc yeah well max and i are only 16 days apart and he still calls me a baby

↪ yourusername i— you know what, you're hopeless 💀

liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly, arthur_leclerc

maxverstappen1 congratulations y/n 😁

liked by charles_leclerc

↪ yourusername thank you max!

danielricciardo 👏👏👏

liked by yourusername

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

masterlist

[naughtystiel]

It wasn’t raining.

For some reason whenever Dean thought of this day, he imagined the sky to be covered with heavy dark clouds. Clearly this wasn’t the case. Instead, everything seemed so lively. Spring brought chirping birds, vividly coloured flowers began to bloom and the sun shone brightly high in the sky. The few people gathered around wore light jackets so it really had to be a beautiful day. He wished he could feel the warmth on his skin too.

A priest stood on the opposite end of the deep hole and Dean grimaced. He had never been a religious man and he wasn’t going to listen to anything that was coming out of the priest’s mouth now either. Meandering between people, he walked further away. Yeah, Lord have mercy and rest in peace o’wayward son.

So, where did he go from here?

“Hello.” Somebody said next to him, but Dean didn’t even bother to look. They weren’t talking to him anyway. They couldn’t be. With arms loosely crossed over his chest, he looked skywards. It was a beautiful day.

“Dean?”

Dean looked to the side, an eyebrow raised. A man in his thirties observed him, hands tucked in his dress pants. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

The man nodded his chin towards the priest, “Heard him mention a Dean, so I’m guessing that must be you. Nice suit.” He smiled and Dean looked down at his outfit. Suits weren’t exactly his thing, but he didn’t really think to make a will and they shoved him in this. Did they even bury people in plaids? Probably.

“That would be me, indeed.” Dean tilted his head to the side and scanned the graveyard. Interesting. “Are you dead too? I guess you gotta be.”

The man hummed, “Mmm, you could say so.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Was that a yes or a no? “So, is it just you and me or is anybody else here with us?”

“Nah, they moved on.”

“And you?"

“In the process.”

“I see.”

They both stood in silence, watching the ceremony. A few roses got dropped into the hole. A nice gesture, but it was a waste of money. They could at least put it on top once the casket was actually covered with dirt.

Low rumble disrupted the quiet. “How are you feeling?”

Dean splayed his arms and shrugged. “I mean, I’m dead. I don’t really know.”

The man turned his head towards Dean. “Okay, lemme ask you this - what’s on your mind? Anything particular?”

Now that was a good question. Nothing. A lot. First thing that came to mind was that he wouldn’t be able to see that new Indiana Jones movie he was so looking forward to. But that was just stupid, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he be thinking of his regrets? Unfinished business? “I wish I could feel the sun on my cheeks.”

“Ah, that I can agree with. The sunset kind. Not too sharp, soft like a gentle veil that droops over your face.” The man gave him a small smile and Dean nodded.

“You see that tall guy there? The tallest of them all. My brother. Last time I saw him we argued.” Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I guess it kinda bothers me that this is how he’s gonna remember me now.”

“Probably not. Usually when a person dies you remember the good things. Unless of course the bad outweighed the good which I don’t think is the case here.” The man scuffed the tip of his polished shoe in the dirt. “Grieving is complicated, it messes with your head. I bet you heard about how it usually progresses but personally I think it’s more like jumping back and forth between the steps. It does pass though.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

The man shrugged, his dark lock tousled by gentle breeze. He kept his gaze down, chewing on his bottom lip. “Only stating the facts. Anything else bothering you?”

just a snippet of "the art of moving on" which i might work on more in the future. and if i do, it wont be very long but i think itd be worth exploring :)

[lovelytsunoda]

proud mary // han lue

summary: now living a quiet life with their daughter, han and y/n reflect on how they got there, and all the good moments that are still yet to come.

pairing: han lue x wife! reader

warnings: this is a big one so listen up: mentions of post pregnancy mental illness, mentions of pregnancy and starting a a family, weddings, ignoring tokyo drift canon because I fucking can, (actually I ignored a lot of canon) han is about to activate a shit ton of daddy issues

I left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day and I never lost one minute of sleeping, I was worrying 'bout the way the things might've been.

big wheel keeps on turning, proud mary keeps on burning. and we’re rolling, rolling, rolling down the river

2009, tokyo, japan.

the garage was dark, lit only by the moonlight and the small lamps atop the workstations. han lue had closed up hours ago, and everyone was gone save for him and his lover.

“han, what are you doing?” y/n laughed, sitting at a table scattered with nail polish bottles and a shellac brisa light. “it looks like a smudge.”

“it’s a drifting car!” han laughed, staring through the large magnifying glass that was allowing him to see the design he was attempting to paint on his lovers thumbnail. “see, there’s the spoiler and those are the headlights!”

friday night manicures had become somewhat of a tradition. y/n hated painting her nails with her non dominant hand, but she also didn’t speak enough japanese to venture out and get her nails professionally done. when she and han started dating, he offered to do it for her, easing the aggravation that sometimes came with doing mail designs yourself.

“well, now that you’ve pointed it out.” she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

they had been together coming up on two years. two long, wonderful years. she was a mechanic and he was drifter, it was almost meant to be. she stopped him from getting himself killed, and in return, he loved her unconditionally.

they were sympatico like that. she loved his sense of humour, his protectiveness. he loved her smarts and the excited way she talked, animatedly and with hand gestures.

“what do you say we get out of japan for a bit?”

han should have known this question was coming. y/n was a restless spirit, never meant to stay in one place for too long. in a way, han was as well. he could tell that his lover had been more restless than usual, either from missing home or needing a change of scenery.

“a friend of mine, his name is dominic torretto, he’s got this place down in the dominican republic.” han started slowly, unsure of how much he wanted to involved her in. y/n was his whole world, and what dom and mia would be running was far bigger than street racing in shibuya.“he called me the other day wondering if I would run a job with him. but it’s not entirely legal and I don’t blame you if you don’t want any part in it.”

“baby,” she frowned, placing her hand inside the blue light machine. “of course I’ll go with you. I never pass up a chance to go somewhere sunny, and you know that I’d go anywhere with you. what we’re running here with twinkie and sean isn’t exactly legal either, you know. I’m a big girl, seoul-oh. I can handle myself.”

“I know. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. you’re important to me, y/n.”

“I know.” she said softly, running her hand up his arm as she rested her head on his shoulder, gently kissing his neck. “so when does our flight leave?”

“whenever you want it to. I haven’t even bought the tickets yet. are you ready for an adventure?”

“fuck yeah.” y/n smiled, pressing her lips to his. “but you have to paint my other nails first.”

han laughed, the kind of laugh that would always set loose the butterflies in y/n’s chest, the kind that reminded her why she fell in love with him in the first place.

“I don’t think I have it in me to paint another drifting car.”

“then what are you going to paint on my thumbnail?” y/n laughed back, looking down at her nails and realizing that her lover had actually done a very good job painting a drifting car manicure.

“I don’t know,” han shrugged. he would deny it if asked, but he actually loved painting y/n’s nails. he thought it brought them closer together, built up intimacy in their relationship.

they were moments he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“I’ll just do like a checkered flag or something.”

“but you did that on my index finger!”

laughing, y/n turned her head to kiss him. “come on, you big dork. the sooner we get my nails done, she sooner I can model that new lingerie set I bought last weekend.”

“sold!” han laughed, knocking over bottles of gel polish as he searched for the bright pink he had used to paint the car on his girlfriends other hand. “drifting car? f1 car? whatever my gorgeous gorgeous girl wants.”

“I love you, han lue.”

“love you more, pretty girl.”

2010, monte carlo, monaco.

it was set up to be another sleepless night without her lover by her side, and y/n was having none of that as she wandered the deck of the comfortable yacht, looking around at the decorations that the crew had spent the day putting up.

she was just praying that it wasn’t going to rain.

nothing was about to spoil her big day.

she scurried below deck, past a half open door through which she could hear roman pearce’s guttural snores. fingers curled around the door knob, she tried not to make any noise as she eased the door open, slipping into the cabin.

“you couldn’t sleep either?” she laughed, looking at the king size bed where her fiancé lay, phone in his hands as he texted his mother, who the crew was picking up in the harbour in the morning before the ceremony began.

“got a lot on my mind.” han shrugged. “fucking tej won’t shut up about the reception and the playlist and I’ve told him a million times that it’s not going to be some crazy rave kinda thing.” the man sat up, gesturing for his soon-to-be wife to come closer. "it's doing my head in. seriously, he wants to do a club mix of 'i would do anything for love'."

y/n snorted. han thought she looked like an angel in the low cabin light, a halo glowing around her head and shining off her white silk pajamas, the ones with the tiny shorts and 'bride' embroidered on the butt. "how the fuck do you turn the best meat loaf song in existence into a club rave song?"

"the fuck if i know." han shook his head, hands sliding up her thighs as she came to stand in between his legs. "jagi, sarang-hae."

honey, i love you.

"mhm." she hummed, a smile on her lips as she leaned down to kiss him sweetly. "i love it when you speak korean. it's so fucking sexy."

the last year had been stressful. the dominican job had been way more complex than y/n had expected, and it took a while for han's old crew to warm up to her. it took a while, but eventually she managed to crack dom toretto, and two weeks later, han got down on one knee and asked y/n to marry him.

hence why they were on a yacht off the coast of monaco, the entire thing decked out in fairly lights and tulle.

"if you think tej is bad, you try getting in between letty and those large plastic ribbons on the back of the deck chairs." y/n laughed. "who knew letty ortiz was so serious about weddings?"

she was practically sitting on his lap now, head resting comfortably on his shoulder as the boat rocked back and forth.

han seoul-oh was her home. her safe harbour. she always felt safe in his arms, at his side, even when they were plunging into almost certain danger like they had in the dominican.

"i brought you something." y/n hummed, reaching into the pockets of her shorts and withdrawing the small cardboard packet.

"fake nails?"

"help me put them on? for old time's sake." she passed him the glittery white french tips, no doubt chosen to match her dress for the ceremony tomorrow.

"i can't wait to spend my life with you. and believe me, there will be plenty more manicure mondays."

2014, monterrey, california.

"daddy, where's mommy?"

"i don't think she's feeling well, poppy." han lue frowned, looking over at his daughter, who was perched in her little kiddie chair at the kitchen table. "i'm going to go check on her, okay? stay right here."

how do you explain depression to an infant? poppy jae-i han had been one of the best things to have ever happened to han seoul-oh. but in the almost twenty-four months since their bundle of joy had been born, something had felt off about his wife.

everyone hears about the mental health complications that can come with childbirth, but no mother ever thinks it would be her.

every husband fears it, too.

"y/n, jagi?" han tried to keep his voice level as he eased open the bedroom door. the couple had bought a ranch house in monterrey when they learned they were expecting. it was one of the few things they used their ill-gotten gains as a part of dom's crew for. "poppy's asking for you."

it broke his heart to see his wife like this, hair messed and greasy, red splotches under her eyes from where she had been crying.

"am i a bad mother, seoul-oh?" she asked, voice small. she seemed so tiny and fragile underneath the layers of blankets on the queen bed. "she always seems to cry when i'm around, but never with you. poppy loves you more than she loves me."

"what?" it was all han could do to stop himself from crying as he sat on the bed, gently running his fingers through y/n's hair. "sweetheart, what's brought this on? poppy loves you. you're her mom. she needs you."

"mia makes it look so easy." y/n sniffled, pulling herself up to a sitting position. she's lost weight. not a noticeable amount, or even an unhealthy one, but enough that her husband knows. there are many things that you can hide from the man you share your bed with, but han knows. he knows she's not doing well. "and i'm fucking shit at it, han."

"look at me, pretty girl." han encouraged, reaching for her hands. "you are such a good mother. i know you're struggling right now, and i know you're hurting but you need to know that poppy loves you so much. she was asking about you over breakfast, you know."

"i don't know who i am any more. i've lost my sense of self."

han frowned, brushing a few strands of greasy hair away from her forehead before leaning down and gently kissing her hairline.

"listen, i was talking to brian last night-"

"of course you were fucking talking to brian."

"-and he thinks you should talk to mia. they're passing through town today on their way back from dom and letty's, brian and i are going to take the kids out to the zoo or whatever, and you and mia should do something." he suggested, running his hand comfortingly up and down his lover's back. "go to the mall, get a coffee. i think she could really help you. she's been through this before."

y/n inhaled shakily, pulling away from han. "what if something happens to poppy and i'm not there?"

"y/n, everything is going to be okay. i promise. brian will be there, the kids will be in great hands. go do something with mia, darling. find yourself again, yeah?"

"okay." y/n nodded, still clutching his hand like it was her lifeline. "i can do that."

"mommy?" a small voice called. poppy had managed to get herself all the way from the kitchen to the master bedroom, where han had left the door ajar just in case poppy needed them. "are you okay?"

"oh, sweetheart, come here." y/n said, tears beginning to fall.

because how could she ever think that her little bundle of joy didn't love her as much as she did? poppy waddled over to the bed, and han hefted the toddler onto the mattress so that y/n could pull her close.

"you know that mummy loves you, right?"

"yes. i love you too, mommy."

"see." han smiled. "you're going to be okay. we're going to get through this."

2017, monterrey, california.

"i genuinely can't comprehend that roman pearce is getting married."

the family of three was walking down the nail care aisle at walmart, a welcome addition to their weekly shopping trip as y/n scanned the packages on the rack for a set of acrylic nails.

han laughed, one hand around his wife's waist and his chin on her shoulder as he leaned against the shopping cart. "it's not going to last. they may be getting married on saturday but i bet that by christmas roman is going to call and tell us she asked for a divorce."

"don't be so cynical." y/n laughed, kissing her husband softly before holding up a small white box. "do these go with my dress?"

"they'll go with anything, babe." han said, moving to whisper in her ear “they'd look even better wrapped around my c-"

"i want nails like mom's!" poppy han's shout cut him off, the little girl looking at the array of disney princess nails on the lower shelves.

laughing, han knelt down next his daughter, one hand on her shoulder. "which one do you want, princess? do you want frozen, tinker bell? mulan?"

"i want the ariel ones." poppy smiled, reaching for the pack of little mermaid nails. han helped her get them off the hook before lifting her up, carrying the six year old securely against his chest.

"seoul-oh, she's like six, you're spoiling her by carrying her all the time." y/n laughed, dropping both packs of nails in the cart.

"what, she's not heavy, sweetheart." han grins. "besides, i have to stay in shape somehow."

y/n rolls her eyes. "sweetie, it's bold of you to assume that you were ever in shape. but i loved you anyways, didn't i?"

back at home, they settled in the living room, near the large bay window. y/n watched contentedly from the kitchen as han sat at the coffee table across from poppy, delicately brushing nail glue across his daughter's tiny nails, dropping the glittery little mermaid nails on top.

it had taken a while to get to this peaceful, quiet part of their life, but y/n han was so glad that they had made it. that she had seoul-oh and that she had little poppy.

"be careful with your nails, they might come off. now, go get your homework done before we make the pizza, okay?"

poppy scurried off down the hall to her room, and y/n padded across the shag carpet, looping her arms around her husbands neck as she gave him a kiss.

"i'm so lucky, you know that. i'm happy and healthy again, and i have you and poppy. that's everything i could ever ask for." she said softly, resting her head against han's chest as the man tilted his head down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

of course they both missed the good old days. the days of adrenaline and adventure. but brian and mia had left, and then y/n and han, and soon after was letty and dom. they were moving on with their lives, a chapter of glitz and glamour coming to a close.

"i want another one."

y/n froze, pulling back from her husband. "what?"

"i want another baby. and i know what we went through last time, and i fully understand if you're not willing to take that chance again, but god, y/n, i want a big family with you." han explained, holding his wife's hands. "poppy is growing up. soon she's going to be too cool for dear old dad. and then there will be boys-"

"or she'll be like you," y/n cuts him off with a laugh. "in which case there will be lots and lots of girls."

"god help us all. my little girl is going to break a lot of hearts one day."

"and you want another one?"

"honestly? yeah, i do."

"then i guess we'd better start trying. multiplication isn't that hard, so poppy's gonna be looking for us within the next hour." y/n hummed, kissing her lover softly.

han smiled against her lips, hands slipping into her jeans pockets to cop a feel of his wife's ass. "i only need half that."

TAGS:

@libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @mignonricciardo @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @monzabee @scuderiamh @daydreamingleclerc @diorleclerc @oconso @cl16version

[junkdrawerfics]

Hi, first of all, I am obsessed with your Jasper fics they make me feel all warm and fuzzy.

If you are taking requests, can I please request Jasper gifting the reader an old heirloom from his human family? Thank you and have a nice day :)

Unexpected Gifts

Hi! Thank you for this really cute request! I hope I did it justice, I literally spent so many hours just staring at the screen, struggling with it. I don't know how I feel about it but I hope you guys enjoy it!

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Warnings: None, maybe like a tiny bit sad at parts?

Word Count: 1319

---

“I have somethin’ for you, darlin’.”

You glance up from your book to watch Jasper lean over to swipe a wooden box from the nightstand. He holds it tenderly, as if it might break, the box looking so small in his hands. The dark wood appears almost black against his pale skin, the dainty gold latch on the front matching his eyes.

“What is it?” You ask, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Jasper grins, your warmth spreading over him as you lean into his side, peering at the jewelry box with wide, owlish eyes. And they only go wider when he opens the box.

Inside, nestled in a bed of velvet, is a necklace. It’s a little, silver locket, the front engraved with a simple bouquet of flowers. It looks worn, but in a deeply loved kind of way, where the metal is polished from years and years of touch. The chain is dainty, glimmering when Jasper lifts it out of the box. You can’t help but hold your breath when he settles it in your palm.

“Jazz,” you whisper, running a finger gingerly over the faint grooves in the metal, “it’s beautiful.”

He tilts his chin in a silent request for you to turn around, “May I?”

You bite back a smile, shuffling excitedly to face the wall. He moves slowly, methodically fastening the locket around your neck, fingers tracing over your shoulder as he pulls your hair loose. His touch leaves behind a trail of goosebumps, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. Then he suddenly pulls you back into his chest, strong arms winding around your waist, and you feel his lips at the base of your neck.

“Jasper!” You squeak, stiffening, face flushing a million shades of red. 

The blond chuckles, the sound rich and deep. It vibrates through his whole body, making your heart leap into your throat as he leans further into you. Stupid, charming vampire. When did he get so cheeky?

“You’re getting too confident for your own good,” you grumble, looking down at the necklace to hide your flushed face, as if he can’t hear your heart racing.

“I know how you really feel, darlin’,” Jasper teases against your neck, lips still brushing your skin. It makes your knees go weak, a shaky hum rattling from your chest as you hold the locket tighter.

That’s when you feel a small engraving on the back. You flip it over gently, eyes tracing over the delicate, looping letters.

‘L.W.’

Initials? Not yours. Not Jasper’s. Your curiosity comes flooding back again. Jasper must feel the shift because he turns more serious, propping his chin on your shoulder to see what’s caught your eye. Before you can even ask the question, he answers it.

“Laura Whitlock.”

His voice is soft, barely a whisper. You glance at him, chest constricting at the new look in his eyes. His composure slips, a mixture of pain and grief swirling with deep affection shining through. They look distant, lost in old memories.

Gently, you lift a hand to his face, and Jasper shutters, eyelashes fluttering as he takes in a sharp breath. Those gold eyes lock on yours again, back in the present, back with you. Your concern washes over him like a summer shower, softening him.

“Don’t worry about me, sugar,” he hums, covering the hand on his cheek with his own. He turns his head, lips pressing to your palm with a smile.

But your frown doesn’t ease. Not with how his voice plays over and over in your mind. Laura Whitlock. You can guess who it is, and the thought makes your whole heart ache.

“It was your mom’s?”

Jasper nods, watching on expectantly. You bite your lip, vision suddenly going blurry as you look back down at the locket. His mother’s. His mother’s necklace. The weight of the realization settles on you like a blanket of snow.

“I don’t know if I can accept this, Jasper,” you breathe out shakily, reaching to take it off.

He doesn’t let you though. The vampire catches your hands, fingers gentle but firm around your wrists, trapping them to your chest. 

“It belongs to you now, darlin’.”

“But-”

“She would of wanted you to have it.”

A lump forms in your throat. 

You wish you could meet her. Tell her how wonderful her son is. How he is the gentlest, most considerate man you’ve ever met. How every breathing moment, you feel so choked with love for him, so overwhelmed with fondness you can never catch your breath. And everything he does just makes you want to know him more, until you know him better than yourself.

“Will you tell me about her?” You relent, keeping your eyes glued to your hands, wiggling your fingers until he interlaces them with his.

Jasper doesn’t hesitate to share this part of his past with you. His voice practically glows with affection as he recounts stories of his mother. Sweet ones, like when he was a child and she would take him to a field and read him stories until the sun set. Sad ones, like when they lost the family dog, and she held him the entire night. You can picture them all, a small Jasper with big, brown eyes, and an even bigger smile, right next to a young woman with sweeping gold curls, just like his, and a gentle face brimming with love.

“We weren’t the richest family, but she never made us feel that way. My father spent months savin’ up to buy this for her birthday.” He taps the locket softly, a low laugh passing his lips. “Nearly lost it the day of. He had us tear the house up lookin’ for it.”

“But you found it.”

“Yes we did,” Jasper assures with a nod, “She never took it off after that night.”

You can understand why. It must have meant so much to her. And to you. It’s more than a necklace. It’s a sign of trust. A sign of devotion. 

“I don’t think I will either,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze, “Somebody would have to kill me to get this necklace. Like, fully dead, never come back kind of kill.”

Jasper snorts, the sound somehow still refined coming from him. You both know it won’t happen, not if either of you had anything to say about it. This might as well be a ring, because in this moment, all you can think about is the rest of forever you get to spend with this man.

All of your nerves and doubts fizzle into the background as you lean into Jasper. You feel lighter, a smile perching on your lips when the blond leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“Thank you, Jasper,” you whisper, “Thank you for trusting me with this. I’ll do my best to earn it.”

“You already have,” he replies, and the seriousness in his voice makes your heart flutter all over again. “I trust you with my life, darlin’.“

Just as you do with him. But he knows that. He can feel it as you snuggle into him, eyes fluttering shut with a content hum. Jasper holds you a little closer, a little tighter, soaking in the warmth of all your emotions. You stay like that for hours, or at least what feels like hours, before you have to go home.

The moment you get there, you go to the mirror on your dresser and look at yourself. Well, yourself with the necklace. Tracing the chain tenderly, you can’t help but envision the picture you can put inside. You and Jasper, maybe on your wedding day, or the day you finally join them for eternity.

Either way, you’ll never take it off. Not when you can simply look down and be reminded of every single reason you love Jasper Whitlock. 

And of how much he loves you.

---

I have a lot more story ideas for 'X Jasper' fics, so keep an eye out! Thank you for reading, your comments and love really push me to keep writing.

Feel free to send in requests!

[vecnuthy]

Day 3 of @steddielovemonth: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special | wc: 722 | G | established relationship, language

"Who....decided...to put....ugh, to put the toilet....so close....TO THE TUB?!"

Steve followed the smell of vinegar and Dawn to the bathroom and looked down at Eddie's form hunched over the side of the tub, obviously was struggling as he tried his absolute best to stretch to the far corner of the tub, even going so far as to brace one gloved hand on the tub's side and throw out his right leg.

"God, this fucking sucks," he seethed to himself, practically punching the sponge into the corner with each strained lunge.

Steve leaned against the door and watched, taking in the view of his partner's butt in the air and the slew of creative curses his other end was rattling off. He bit back a grin, warmth spreading through his chest.

"What are you in here complaining about?" he finally asked between Eddie's grunts a jab that included something about a wart and a garden hoe.

Eddie huffed and straighted up, his hair pushed back by a gloved wrist, then he twisted around to where Steve stood in the door, showing off his very flushed, very annoyed, very cute face. "It's hard to reach that corner because of this thing," he said with a shove of his hands toward the toilet.

"Get up, I'll get it."

"I mean, I can get it," Eddie scoffed, but already pushing himself up. "It's just hard." He pulled the rubber gloves off and handed them to Steve with a small smile. "Knock yourself out, though."

Steve watched Eddie watching him as he slid the gloves on, gave a cheeky wink that made Eddie shake his head with a smile, then leaned over the side of the tub on his knees. From there, he saw that Eddie had cleaned the walls of the tub except in the far corner, and most of the floor still needed to be scrubbed. He got to work, kind of hating how tricky it really was to reach the corner, but he got it done. It might've given him a bruised sternum, but he got it done.

"You're so much better at that than I am," Eddie complemented as he wiped "his" toothpaste splatter from the mirror. Eddie had seen Steve do those, though.

Steve snorted, his voice a little muffled and strained as it echoed slightly in the cavernous tub when he said, "You're just glad that you're on mirror duty now." He moved on to the floor, scrubbing tight circles over the textured surface.

Eddie couldn't deny it because the mirror was obviously the better of the two, but he was distracted now. His polishing came to a slow halt as he watched Steve scrub away from behind. An overwhelming sense of fondness washed over him and he felt a blush creep up his face. He couldn't help the hooded gaze and grin he cast at his unsuspecting partner, because, yeah, Steve was being an absolute sweetheart and doing a great job of cleaning the tub, but he was also doing great job of cleaning the tub. Really putting his back into it. The tight circular scrubbing rotation of his arm made his whole torso carry the motion like a conduit straight to his plump rear that swayed rhythmically under Steve's loose, short gym shorts.

"I think your ass his hypnotizing me."

Steve stuttered his scrubbing and his body shook as he laughed. "You will do the dishes," he compelled with a low, dramatic voice after he collected himself.

"You dare use your power for evil!" Eddie gasped.

Steve threw a look over his shoulder that would have been a lot more scathing had he not been biting back a grin.

He used to hate doing chores. He still hated doing the dishes and pretty much hated cleaning the tub too, but those typically mundane tasks were so much better when the man he loves was in the throws of it with him. It may be crappy work, and the side of the tub may give them a pair of bruised sternums, but was rarely dull work. He even looked forward to it. Steve even embellished the scrubbing just for Eddie.

"I will do the dishes," Eddie droned behind him, jokingly caught in the hypnotic pull of Steve's swaying butt.

Steve's chuckle earned him a pop from Eddie's mirror rag.