#( heavenly stuff right there truly )

[soulprompts]

Hi!! I just stumbled across your blog looking for writing prompts and I love it sm! I just have two questions

Do you like being tagged in posts where writers use your prompts?

Do you have a master list post of all of the prompt sets you’ve created?

Thank you :D

hello my lovely friend! thank you so much for the kind words! i hope to keep making the prompts now that i've found my groove again!

in answer to your first question, i absolutely LOVE being tagged! i always read the work you guys create using the prompts, i love reading them and seeing such talented and excellent works of art being created! i can't like them because this is a sideblog, but please know that i adore all of them!

and in response to the second question, i don't currently have one (i'm something of a forgetful person, i need to find a solid week to sit down and make a post!) but when i do, i'll make sure to put a date on it so that you guys know if it needs to be updated. and of course you all know that you can hit me up and remind me to update it if it's been a while and my activity is on-going!

[paymechildsupport]

JJK men x ftm!reader // how they help with gender dysphoria

-!! CW: dysphoria (obviously) , depression , slight body worship, body horror

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

s. gojo

(the entire care package)

ᯓ★ really does not care about your body or whether or not it aligns with the traditional 'male' or 'female'

ᯓ★ as for dysphoria, he's pretty quick to pick up on a shift in your mood. gojo is far from stupid, and being around you so much has made it easy for him to recognize changes in behavior

ᯓ★ ESPECIALLY after geto, gojo absolutely despises watching you spiral. the way you avoid reflective surfaces, the way you seem to fold in on yourself, how you begin to become adamant about bathing, the way you continue to keep layering clothing, hoodie after hoodie, even in the summer heat.

ᯓ★ after geto, gojo is determined to never stand aside and witness the mental decay of someone he cares about. he can't do this again. maybe if he had been more insistent with geto he would have stayed, maybe if he was more insistent with your health things would be different

ᯓ★ and he was, -- he'd notice and immediately check in with you if he saw things going south. you will not be able to get this man off of you, he will be attached 24/7.

ᯓ★he would NOT let you neglect your physical health: he'd make sure you ate, that you were sleeping properly. if he'd notice you'd been in the bathroom for a while, or were stuck looking at your reflection, he'd check on you, hold you, snap you out of whatever mental spiral was occurring

ᯓ★ he'd be on top of binder breaks: gojo would make sure you give your ribs time to breathe. he hates watching you destroy yourself just to feel like you belong in your own body :(( he'd also be more than happy to give you some of his clothes, -- access to his whole wardrobe in fact. he looooves seeing you all cozy and swallowed up in his big baggy clothing and he's so freakishly large that all his clothing would instantly obscure your figure in the folds. the fact that its his clothing that brings you a sense of comfort makes him so unbelievably happy

ᯓ★ man's is rich rich, like pay rate through the roof. you'd have full access to any medical gender-affirming care and gojo would be more than happy to pay for it. he'd throw money at you anyway, he loves spending on you <3

ᯓ★ periods: he finally has an excuse to buy extra sweets. sugar makes everything better, right?? he'd go out and buy an unholy amount of candy and other sweet thing. chocolates, pastries, everything. they're all for you, and if you won't eat them then he certainly will

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

s. geto

(body worship)

𐙚˖° he'd deify you in his cult, his darling lover

𐙚˖° he loves you and nothing changes that, -- at least you're not a jujutsu-less monkey (right?)

𐙚˖° geto would eternalize you forever in his worshippers, you were their god, -- and a god transcended the planes of gender and sex. your body is his temple

𐙚˖° he'd make you, and everyone else, see the beauty of your body, -- regardless of how horrible your skin made you felt. there was beauty in this suffering. he'd commission paintings and statues and tapestries and a bunch of other stuff, all depicting you for what you truly were-- heavenly.

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

f. toji

(non-sexual showering)

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ toji loves to take showers with you.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he loves how physically intimate it is, how vulnerable both parties are

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ early in the morning before work, late at night when he comes back. especially after a particularily hard assignment, -- he'd trudge back home at the stroke of midnight, shivering, and coated in blood,-- a majority of it not his. he can't wait to just strip off those wet, tight clothes and hop into the nice warm shower. he loves the rhythmic fall of the water, how it feels hitting his back, flowing over his countless scars. loves the way you softly trace his muscles, drawing intricate shapes into his skin as you massage his scalp with shampoo.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ helps momentously if you struggle with personal hygiene. never once does he let you feel anything short of handsome :3

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he especially loves it when you let him scrub you with soap. he's so gentle, running his large, warm hands over every inch of your body, cooing how beautiful, -- how perfect you are:

"My beautiful baby"

"There's my boy, my gorgeous boy"

"Look at you, so handsome..."

"My babyboy..."

(+ there's a 90% chance he has bigger boobs than you--)

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

mahito

(he tried)

𝗓 𐰁˚𖦹 he'd meld your flesh into a nice big meatball and birth a curse -- don't gotta worry about dysphoria then :3

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

r. sukuna

(the surgeon)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'd re-arrange your guts <3 (literally)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ like he'll actually lay you on a table and just start tearing into your flesh, splash around in your blood and other bodily fluids, and give you a nice live bisection

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'll dig around in there for a while, maybe move some things around, just to mess with you, -- reversing your intestines, turning your living inside out, overall having the time of his life, -- like a lil' kid playing in the dirt and digging up rocks and worms. except, - the dirt is your flesh and the rocks are your organs

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ most importantly, he'd rip your uterus out (romantically)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ that's right, he'll eliminate the source of all your problems, no more period cramps for you! (because he's just a nice guy like that)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ then, after he digs it out from the layers of meat and skin, pulling it out and feeling it around in his hand, -- he'll eat it :3

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ nom nom

+ diy free bottom surgery

++ free top surgery if he uses cleave / dismantle

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

[futterurl]

mike x reader. ik that man whines and begs in bed 👀 i’ll let you take it from there

ohhh my god you already know that man is so submissive and breedable

WARNINGS: fem!reader, oral(f!receiving), p in v, sub!mike, riding

- - - - - - - - -

you and mike took things very slow when you first became an item

you would go on cute dates, spend time with abby, kiss him every now and then, all that stuff

you would watch abby whenever he had to take night shifts, which he was truly grateful for

he didn’t have the money, and he knew you wouldn’t accept it anyway. he was determined to make it up to you

you guys hadn’t done anything sexual yet in the relationship, not really getting to that point yet

once you came home one day after dropping abby off to school, that all changed.

he was in the kitchen, reading something, then his eyes turned to you, watching you fall onto the couch

he walked over and sat himself next to you, rubbing your cheek

you talked to him for awhile about how hard it was to stay up all night, and you had no idea how he did it at his job

he looked at you, serious face

“what’s wrong, mike?” you asked.

he got off the couch, knees on the ground, looking up to you.

“i need to make this up to you” he stated

you had no idea where this was going, but you didn’t want him to feel bad about his circumstances. you were doing this out of your love for him

“mike-”

“please let me go down on you”

what

you sat there, brain barely functioning at what he just said. had you heard him correctly?

“what…?” you started, to which he cut you off

“you always do so much for me, and i know we’re together and stuff, but it still isn’t right. i want to- no, i need to make this up to you. i want to make you feel good. please. let me make you feel so fucking good.”

your thighs clenched against each other. you were getting turned on by this, but you were still hesitant

“please, i want to do this. let me make you see fucking stars”

“okay, mike. o..only if you really want to.” you said, getting excited

he was so quick to take your sweats off, looking at your lace panties

“so beautiful, you always wear these? why didn’t i do this earlier?”

he slowly took them off, wasting no time before kissing your thighs all over

he got closer and closer to where you needed him most, his pace going agonizingly slow

“please, mike…” you pleaded

he obliged, kissing your clit

he started to practically make out with your sopping cunt. your legs wrapped around his shoulders as his tongue ran up and down your folds

he was getting sloppy with it, running his tongue vigorously on your clit

and this man

he was letting out fucking breathy whimpers while he was eating you out

it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen: he was whimpering and borderline moaning as he started to tongue fuck you

he made sure you had the best orgasm of your life. he really did make you see fucking stars

now fast forward a few weeks

you guys had gotten more comfortable with being intimate

one night you both decided to go all the way

he sat on the bed, you straddling his hips, clothes on the floor

“please, put it in, can’t take it anymore. need to feel your tight cunt.” he begged

and who were you to say no to your man

you took him inside you, sinking onto his length at an agonizing slow pace

he made sure you went slow

he didn’t want it to hurt for you; he knew he was pretty big

but fuck, he just wanted to pound into you

the moans started, him letting out heavenly noises as your hips met his

he held your hips, rubbing circles by your hip bones

he was trying to help you, but was really trying to refrain from busting in seconds

once you started moving it was game over

you had him wrapped around your finger

he wanted to stay in your pussy forever, your walls fit him like a glove

“please, more, please, fuck”

he moaned incoherent babbles every time your hips met his

his hips would occasionally thrust up, succumbing to the pleasure

“g-gonna cum soon, please let me cum. please.” he was begging at this point

you sped up your bouncing, trying to take him all the way with every single thrust

he was digging his nails into your hips

“cumming, cumming, FUCK”

he shouted your name as he released spurts of cum into your cunt, followed by so many ‘thank you’s’

you came soon after

he held you, both of you breathing heavy

all he would say was thank you

you ran your fingers through his hair. you couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend

[deniseseine]

Everywhere I go I keep her picture in my wallet

Part 1 of RoR men having a picture of your face inside their wallet!

Hades ⚰️

He was proud that he had your picture in his wallet, he showed it to all his brothers

His brothers ended up having a long 5 hours sitting on the chair while Hades tells stories about you and stuff!

He loves you so much he probably made a face like this (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤ while showing the pics to his brother's

When he told you about the picture you just patted him since you had a hangover from Aphrodite and Hera's sleepover which caused Hades to rant to Ying Zheng

"Does she not like the picture?! Does she not want me to put her picture inside my wallet?! Am I looking like an obsessed god?! Or worse! Does she want to divorce me?!" after longs hours of overthinking Ying Zheng just ended up replying "Hào!" to the god's rant

When you were sober you owed him a lot of kissies everywhere! ಠ⁠ ⁠೧⁠ ⁠ಠ

Poseidon 🌊

He was very quiet about it, he thinks it's foolish to brag about such a thing, he loves you yes but why would he shove your picture right into everyone's faces right?

That's simply absurd! He doesn't even want anyone to see the picture, not because he's ashamed but because he believed your beauty is only meant to be seen by him only

Although he won't lie, he does sometimes intend to open his wallet wide so anyone could see your picture

He even volunteered to pay the bill as he opened his wallet widely to reveal your picture

"Oh this?This is my beloved wife... Oh wait my bad, future wife for now"

He said that with a smug face as he smiled ever so slightly

Apollo ☀️

Everyone was a bit intrigued, they're not shocked he has a picture of you in his wallet, but they are just expecting the picture of himself since everyone knows he's a narc

Despite him being a narc he thinks you're pretty, gorgeous, beautiful, heavenly! And what does a being with such divine beauty deserve?

A man who has a divine beauty too of course! So in Apollo's perspective you are a match made in heaven!

He then talked about how your beauty and his reflect to one another

"See how I have such intricate and delicate face while my beloved has defined and also has a porcelain like face! We literally compliment each other you know!"

No one knew if he just wanted to bring up his beauty while bringing up yours, or he just wants to end up bringing his beauty to talk about himself, either way he loves you truly!

Thank you for reading (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[gabessquishytum]

Lord Time and Lady Night casually drop it over the dinner that Dream is getting married next weekend. The fiancé is alpha Roderick Burgess, and Dream is absolutely terrified. The old fucker has been trying to court him for a long time. Dream has flat-out rejected him, which, obviously, didn't help in the slightest: Duke Burgess is rich AF, has the title, and Dream's parents consider him a good match. Dream knows that there's no way for him to cancel the wedding - his parents would make him go down the altar even if it's the last thing he does in his life. But he can pull a runaway bride before it's too late! He understands that it's a matter of time till he's found; besides, omegas are not allowed to live on their own. There's only one solution - Dream needs not only to escape but to be mated. If he gets a mating bite, he'd be legally bound to another alpha, and neither his parents nor Burgess would have a say in his life. Easier to be said than done! No sane alpha would dare to mate Dream Endless, the son of Lord Time, no matter how beautiful he looks and how enticing he smells. Moreover, Dream doesn't want to escape one prison just to get into another one - he wants someone good and understanding. Things that Roderick is not. Anyway, the time is running out, and Dream runs away into the night. He rides as long as he can, but even his horse Jessamy, as awesome as she is, needs some rest. And food. And so does Dream, for he couldn't take any supplies from the manor to avoid suspicions. Reluctantly, Dream decides to spend the night in The White Horse Inn. It is far from the manor, and if his absence goes unnoticed until breakfast, he'll be able to rest and buy enough stuff to wait out a few days in the forest. Or, if he's lucky enough, to meet someone agreeable to mate him. Hob Gadling, the innkeeper, recognizes Dream from the start. But even if he didn't, Dream's attire and manners just scream he's nobility who has never been to such places. And he smells like an unmated omega who is prohibited to travel on his own... Still, Hob doesn't need a title to tell when an omega is distressed, and Dream is clearly in trouble. Hob welcomes him like a dear friend, serves him dinner, ensures the omega's horse is comfortable at the stable, and goes back to try to find out what's happened to his guest. Maybe he can help? He also tries very hard not to stare - the stories of Dream's heavenly beauty turned out to be true, and Hob's only an alpha... Dream realizes it's now or never. He must seduce Hob! Even if Hob refuses to bite him, perhaps Dream would be of no interest to Burgess if he's 'second-hand.' To secure a bite would be better, though. If only Dream knew how to lure this strong, kind, and caring alpha into bedding him...

I'm obsessed with this - the mere image of rich, sheltered and shy omega Dream desperately attempting to seduce Hob is absolutely charming. Dream knows plenty about drawing-room small talk, about the weather and one's health and the state of the roads... but he knows very little about passion. Or what an alpha might truly want. He's almost in tears with frustration as Hob kindly rebuffs his clumsy attempts to flirt. He's desperate and tired and kind of a little worked up because Hob is actually kind of sexy.......

Hob kind of wants to laugh, but he's not that mean. So he takes Dream through into his own private little sitting room and makes him explain the whole story from the beginning. He's not promising anything, but he will try to help if he can.

About an hour later he's between Dream’s legs, thinking that this isn't exactly the kind of "help" that he'd envisaged providing. But Dream is no longer just a desperate runaway. He's an omega growing into himself, becoming himself. He's got his hand fisted in Hob’s hair and he's demanding more. Hob obeys him without question. If the church was open at such a late hour he'd take Dream down there right now and marry him on the spot, both of them smelling like sex and cum and all.

And when Dream demands to be bitten in his haughty lordly voice, well. Hob IS only an alpha... what can he do but obey, and make sure that this beautiful, spirited omega remains free of Burgess? Hob intends to be Dream’s mate of course, but he also intends to set Dream properly free. Help him be the person he was always meant to be. He can't wait to see how it all turns out.

[berriblossom]

Imagine your neglectful husband, who often never comes home, always out and about. Never seems to want to satfiy those lustful urges you get every lonely and cold night in your shared bed. Whenever you want to entertain the thought, he always pushes it off or dismissed the idea to begin with.

Imagine the day your husband goes off on another business trip with his "work colleagues" but you know well hes going out of town to fuck another of one his coworkers or his work buddies wives. Leaving you all alone at home, doing nothing but the wish if someone tonplease and help you with your loneliness.

Imagine when the new neighbor comes to knock on your door, asking if you could help him with his new broken sink. He pleads with you, just help him out, it's the neighborly thing to do. So you walk over in your simple house dress and slippers to help him out. He tells you he moved here a few weeks ago, straight out of college looking for a nice job to settle into. You help him with the leaky sink despite the little spray you got from it, but hey, it's done.

The man tells you his name, Childe. He gives you a quick handshake as thanks and even offers to dry you off. The feeling of his hands moving rigorously on your body, his large, warm hands holding you as he does his best and apologizes for the mistake and for knocking on your door late at night. He truly does. He even offers to help you with any housework in return.

Swiftly after a few quick "goodbyes" and "thank you"s you finally leave. The goofy grin the ginger gave you was so sweet and cute. Almost nostalgic of a time you wished could come back.

Times after that, you and Childe meet again, at the grocery store where he offered to bring in your groceries to your car and even asked if youd get some coffee with him. The next was at the mall where he was shoping with his younger brother who was visiting fir a week to look for some supplies for a new home project. He asked if you had any ideas, but the burning look in his eyes when you cutely asked his younger brother first if he wanted to do any changes first for his big brothers house. The fire set into his eyes as you two walked around talking about paint and color themes even asking about getting a new TV.

It was so cute, really. The little run-ins, the quick "how are you?"s or "hows your brother?". And of course the "hows the husband?". At this point your husband was gone for a month. Longest record really, beats his 3 weeks and 2 days by a weekend. Not that you cared, you both kept the marriage for taxes and for the look. Which is why the fleeting looks of this young college grad were so risky but enjoyable and pleasurable.

Similar to how every now and then the feelting looks, little coffee "dates" would end with little walks back to his car, or the house calls of broken things and offering him dinner, lunch, even a quick nap in your bed. You didn't mind snd your husband surely didn't with the whore be was fucking.

You loved how Childes hands touched you snd pulled you against his chest, as his cock slowly pushes in and out of you while pressing you into the kitchen table. He had came over to see about your poor washing machine since you mentioned a "weird sound". After a few times of you bending down so right infront of his groin, even flashing your kace panty at him. How could he not resist.

Especially when you sound so heavenly with your moans, plea's and begs. How good it felt to have a man fuck you properly, to have a nice big cock stuff you full and use your lonely cunt. Those strong hands pulling your face look at your front window of the kitchen, his sultry and rough voice whispering dirty and knee-jerking orgasms from you.

"What you gonna do when your husband sees you being fucked like a good slut? Hmm? How noise your cunt is for my cock, how your drooling for me to fill you up? Such a greedy and selfish sout for my cock."

Whether the threat if seeing your husbands car lights shine through the front window turned you on more, your the pressure of Childe hastly rubbing your clit snd demanding your cum around his cock before you hear that door open. You felt absolutely bliss, your cunt squuezing around Childes cock and him pushing your harder againsg the kitchen table and releasing his warm cum into your womb, pushing his hand against your stomach so you can smtruly feel him fill you up.

All when the door opens to see your pissed and horrified husband. Seeing you fuck your nice, sweet, young neighbor.

"Welcome home honey."

My bad for disappearing, i had school and work Im so sorry everyone. Please take this as forgiveness. :)

[neverchecking]

Day 13: Olfactophilia- With Sage

Man it's crazy this this was always day 13 and i never changed it bc it was already written and someone (bailey) told me there were craving Sage. Nah, that's crazyyyy.

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Sage. (He has a thing with how you smell), thigh fucking bc MAN is that HNNNNG, also he bites.

This is Day thirteen of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 12 >>>Day 14

He knew he experienced the world…differently.

 Ever since his death however many odd years ago, he’s witnessed it first hand. His eyesight was sharper, catching the smallest movements as they brushed against blades of grass. Pinpointing the exact moment a club was swung in his direction, easily dodging past it for a counterblow. Catching the smallest reflection of light against ores that otherwise would’ve been lost in the depths. 

His hearing was exponential as well. He could hear the soft pads of paws behind him in an effort to sneak past him. Hear the delicate crushing of weeds as a cave dweller moves about. Catch the smallest rumbles of pebbles falling from a hill as a beast tries to sneak up behind him. 

His taste could pick out any spice used, he could feel the smallest changes in texture, but truly, his sense of smell had been his saving grace. When the wind shifted, he could smell different prey from miles away. When he really focused, he could smell which direction the nearest stable was, where the nearest monster camp was. 

He could smell you. 

You were his favorite smell, by far. Something tinged by the smell of skin and sweat, but nothing could hide your natural musk. Something laced with the natural undertone of the earth and whatever soap you had bought off a merchant that month. It was indescribably comforting. It grounded him because if there was something Ganon could never replicate, it was the way you smelt. His puppets could look just like whoever they wanted, they could feel as Hylian as they come, but they would never carry the smell of life. 

It’s why he took every chance given to him to stuff his nose into your heavenly hair or the junction of your neck and shoulder, just to smell you. 

It’s why his teeth stayed clamp right under your jaw as he dragged his cock between your thighs, feeling the muscles twitch as you clung to him, marking up his back in your own delicate handwriting. It was sensation overload, but something so deliciously overstimulating he couldn’t help but indulge. From his nerves shocking his entire system with each drag against your plush flesh, to the tantalizing taste of your sweat remaining tart on his tongue to the pure essence that clouded around him. It was smothering, choking him with a cloud of something that was utterly you he couldn’t help the urge to drown in it. 

Golden Goddess above and her three servants, he prayed this is the one thing in his life he’d never lose. He’d burn the world to keep you with him, ignoring the smell of ash that followed after him. 

[chuuyasheaven]

“A slumber party? Seriously?”

Summary: You and Chuuya were holding a slumber party, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: fem!Chuuya, fem!Reader, mostly fluff, slight lime, slight making out, mentions of hickeys, few petnames, friends to lovers, drunk!Chuuya is basically flirty!Chuuya, lesbians, everything is consented!, lazy & typos, etc.

Pairing(s): fem!Chuuya / fem!Reader (romantically)

Format: short fic

Notes: first lesbian fic i wrote, enjoy!

It was your idea.

You wanted to hold a slumber party with her!

“Seriously? A slumber party?”, she asked, you just replied with a smile on your face.

“Why not? It’s a reward for all these missions we got through this week! Come on!”, Chuuya looked at your eyes, filled with everything she loves..how could she decline?

With a defeated look at her face, she gave in. ...

“Fine, just this once..”

———

You guys were just casually talking about stuff, having a few laughs here and there.

But you couldn’t stop looking at her nightgown, but her lips looked so kissable too!

Not that she wasn’t having such feelings too.

Chuuya felt happy in your presence, your tank top fitted you perfectly, your lips looked really soft!

She was getting nervous. ...

Maybe some wine would help her relax..

“Hey, do you have any alcohol here?”, Chuuya asked out of no where, you stared at her for a few seconds and then answered.

“Well, i don’t really know, let me go check!”, you got up and left.

Atleast Chuuya got a few minutes to calm herself down, right?

And to think she’ll sleep in the same bed as you..or should she rather sleep on the couch tonight?

Well, she would rather wanna sleep in the same bed as you, to be closer to your warmth. Maybe cuddle with you too, just as friends of course, right?

This was too confusing, Chuuya should confess to you at this point!

“Surprisingly, i found a bottle of wine..!”, you nervously laughed, setting it down on the table, with a glass, of course.

“Thanks, [-], r-really appreciate it..”, thank god, she couldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of you!

———

Now she was drunk, maybe too drunk to function..

“Woah, Chuuya, you shouldn’t drink too much! It’s already getting late..”, you mentioned worried.

“C-come on..don’t be such a boomer!..”, Chuuya slurred drunk, you just sighed.

Suddenly, you felt the sofa shift slightly.

Was Chuuya coming, sorry, crawling towards your way?

She kept moving until you could feel her wine-like breath in your face.

“Uh, Chuuya..what are you doing?..”, you could feel your heart beat get faster each second.

“Nothing special, darling...have i ever told that your eyes are so damn pretty..?”, excuse me, did Chuuya just call you..darling?

Just as you wanted to say something, she kept on talking..

“Y’know, you’re so fucking pretty..I’ll stay up at night thinking about you..i just wanna kiss you..”, you were truly shook.

Was she serious?

Did she, Chuuya Nakahara, just say that she wants to kiss you?

“A-are you sure? I-i mean you’re drunk anyway-”, she was really sure, serious infact, or else-

..she wouldn’t have kissed you by now.

This felt surreal, like a dream..a dream too good to be true.

Her soft lips kissed yours so ever lovely, filled with love. Love, the love she had kept hidden from you for something which felt like an entirety.

You felt butterflies inside your stomach, you didn’t pull away, you just let her.

Your cheeks were getting hotter each second, Chuuya still didn’t part from this kiss, hell, this kiss was more addictive than wine.

Finally, after the air was running thin, you parted.

“...How did that feel, love?”, Chuuya asked with a small smirk on her face.

Still breathless, you just went back to her lips.

(i mean who wouldn’t)

Chuuya found her lips wandering to your neck after a little while, trying to cover it in hickeys.

You enjoyed it nonetheless, it was truly heavenly.

But soon you were desperate for her lips again.

Oh well, that might be a crazy sleepover..

———

As the sun hit your face, you got up to see Chuuya sleep next to you, in the same bed of you!

Does matter though? ...

No it didn’t, really, because you guys were girlfriends now. (Literally)

Still, you need to find a way to hide these hickeys though..

Came out longer than I intended to..

[wukong-s-only-wife5000]

Thank you for writing scenarios for Hero Is Back! There is not enough love for tall monkey dad. Could we see what he's like when he's scared for the reader? 🥺

HiB!Wukong: He's Scared For You.

Pair: Reborn Wukong x chubby!Reader.

Word Count: 1505.

Content/Trigger Warnings: insecurities are triggered. I'm not good with these minor warnings, but I guess implied needles and stuff (doctor checkup).

Authors Notes: Gladly. First part was hurtful for me because of the playlist that came on. Hope you enjoy!

No matter how much he’s tried to protect you, shelter you, stand by you… the events of that day haunt him far too much, and it’s never enough. If he doesn't have you in his arms or be touching you in some way, shape or form, his paranoia tells his brain that you’re in danger. He didn't know who hurt you during that Heavenly Fight that led to his imprisonment, but he did know that it had messed him up bad. He would never forget how he last saw you and how he spent centuries thinking of when or if he would ever see you again.

Ever since he found you, he hasn't left your side, let you near sharp things, or let anyone suspicious come more than ten feet near you. He was so fucking careful, too fucking careful, so how could this have happened?! Wukong paced up and down the doorway of the room you were in. 

He was so careful, he made sure that you were protected and out of harm’s way, but even with all of it, you were still struck with a poisoned arrow. What made it worse, you only got struck by that arrow while protecting him. Now, he was on who knows how long of a panic attack while he and the others waited for you to wake up. 

The doctors said they did all that they could, but that wasn't enough for Wukong. He wanted you to wake up and scold him about being so hard on the workers, or tell him how worried you were. He just wanted to see your eyes open, he wanted you to smile and tell him you were okay even though you might be in a lot of pain. 

“Great Sage…?” he didn't even hear Liuer or notice the boy beside him. He definitely didn't notice that tears were falling from his eyes.

He was so worried about you, he couldn't lose you, not you, not again, especially not permanently. Anyone, but his beloved (Y/n). He wouldn't be the strong Monkey King if it weren't for your love and support. If it weren't for you, he would have never known love and what it was like to be truly appreciated.

“Wukong,” now that he heard. It's surprising how his head didn't snap off with how fast he whipped around to look at you. The relief and joy on his face shocked you, especially with the tears that continuously fell down his face. “Oh, Wuk-” he cut you off as he appeared before you and embraced you tightly, but not too tight. 

“I was so scared that I-” he couldn't even finish the sentence as he buried his face into your neck and sobbed. He was so, so happy that you were okay. He immediately picked you up bridal style and started to walk back into the room you woke up in. 

“Wha-” 

“You shouldn't be on your feet right now,” he said as he laid you down on the bed. 

“Wukong,” you sighed softly in defeat, letting him tuck you in, kiss your head and nose, and crawl into bed with you.

“If you ever think about doing something like that again… don't,” he held you in his arms. Things were going too fast, and you were honestly still trying to process he had picked you up, and you were on a bed. 

“Wukong,” you said, finally getting his attention.

“What is it? Do you want me to get the doctor?”

“My Wukong,” you smiled and held his face. “I'm okay, really,” you tried to comfort and ease him, but it did nothing to ease his worry as he kept you in his arms. 

“You're never leaving my side again,” he nuzzled your cheek and jaw. 

“Yes, sir,” you snickered a bit, “can you stop? That tickles.”

“Too bad,” he smiled as he intertwined his fingers with your and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Shouldn't you get the doctor?”

“I sent Liuer to get him,” he brushed you off. It wasn't a full lie, he made a motion for the boy to get the doctor, but whether he understood the non-verbal message or not was to be determined.

Thankfully, he did. The check-up was spent with your Wukong sitting beside you, eyes narrowing and glaring at the doctor whenever he made you wince or flinch.

“Hey, be careful!” he would scold the doctor with a snarl. Of course, it would make the poor guy flinch as well every time, continuously apologizing to you despite your efforts to assure them both that you were okay. You placed your free hand on Wukong’s and caressed it with your thumb as you leaned into him a bit. 

“My love, let the man do his job,” you smiled and placed your head against his shoulder.

“He’s hurting you more,” he looked at you as the doctor finished and stepped away from you two… as far as he could for his own sake.

“Your vitals all seem to be stable. With enough rest, you will make a steady recovery.”

“Thank you,” you smiled and looked up at Wukong as the doctor left you to rest. Your Monkey King, whose worry lines could be written on, looked at you as if it were the first time he’d met a goddess of beauty. “See? I'm alright.” 

It wasn't your words that brought him a sense of peace, it was that smile. That same smile that made his day much much much brighter… the same one he thought he'd never see again.

“I am sorry,” he placed a kiss on your temple. 

“Don't be,” you smiled a bit more at him, pulling him down by his clothes to kiss his cheek.

“Let’s get some rest, okay?” he said softly as he pulled you to lay down beside him.

Your body hurt a lot, but not as much as it did when you woke up. Something you guessed had to do with what the doctor gave you before he had started the more detailed vital assessment. However, with Wukong’s arms holding you close to his warm body, you not only felt comfortable, you felt safe.

[potatoplace]

Omega Needs - Chapter 4

Feylin, eventual Feysand

chapter 3 chapter 5 series masterlist

Story Summary: Feyre presented as an omega after being changed into a high fae Under the Mountain. Her heats have been hellish, and Tamlin has neglected certain aspects of her presentation. After the disastrous wedding ceremony, how will Feyre’s omega handle being away from her Alpha?

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, talk of UTM stuff, that's all I think

Words: ~4.1k

Author's Note: well, it's not as far into the week as I wanted to get, but I'm happy with how this chapter turned out! Not proofreading, as usual lol. More to come in the next few days :) I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's read my story so far, it means so much to me to see every like and comment. Enjoy! Also I hope Rhys and Feyre aren't feeling too OOC, both of them are more influenced by their biological urges, the main change so far is in Feyre being more submissive, when she's normally such a firecracker. She'll still have her moments, no worries, just wanted to give a bit of an explanation.

18+ only pls

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Feyre’s bath was heavenly. The view was perfect, the temperature of the water was just right, and Nuala had brought in a tray holding a lovely teapot filled with a lovely jasmine tea, which she was tempted to ask for a container of to take home to Spring, as well as a few different kinds of cookies.

She stayed in the bath until the tea was gone and the sweets were eaten. Her skin was pruney, but she didn’t mind. She dried herself off and tied her hair up in a towel, walked over to the wardrobe and swung the doors open. The inside held an assortment of clothing, matching sets of tops and bottoms, all of which were cut in a comfortable but attractive looking fashion. There were also a few silk dresses, nightgowns, dressing gowns, thick leggings, and buttery soft looking knit sweaters. There were a few different pairs of satin slippers on the floor of the wardrobe, all varying in color that matched the sets of clothing. Feyre pulled out one of the nightgowns, a midnight blue with silver stars embroidered at the hems, and slipped it over her head, amazed at how well it fit her body.

Although, maybe she shouldn’t be seeing as Rhys had chosen clothing… well, scraps of cloth, for her before, and her body truly hadn’t changed much in the past year.

Shaking her head, she grabbed a matching, sheer dressing gown, then padded over to the bed and bent down slightly, touching the indigo comforter, and instantly sinking down onto the bed. The blanket was possibly one of the softest fabrics she had ever touched. Tossing the dressing gown on the end of the bed, she pulled back the covers and slipped underneath, deciding that she was worn out enough from the day events to take a nap before dinner.

The pillows were just the right marriage between firm and fluffy, Feyre couldn’t help but loose a sigh as she pulled the blanket up over her chin. The pillowcases were violet in color, and she wondered if Rhysand had a hand in decorating her room. With the shade of his eyes all over the room, she thought it was highly likely. If he did have a part in it, well, he did a good job. Especially with the bed, not forgetting the fabrics waiting to billow down and create a beautiful canopy.

After a few minutes of laying in a haven of comfort, Feyre slipped into a deep sleep as her body gave in to the emotional exhaustion from the day.

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It was a few hours later that she was awoken by a soft knock and the door swinging open, Cerridwen holding a tray with a few dishes stacked on top.

Feyre sat up in the bed, wiping the sleep out of her eyes when the smell hit her- something was absolutely mouthwatering, and her stomach rumbled. It was then that she realized she hadn’t eaten all day aside from the cookies earlier, having been too nervous to eat before the ceremony, and, well…

“That smells wonderful,” she remarked as Cerridwen crossed the room and placed the tray on the table. “What is it?”

“There’s a bowl of beef stew, a few slices of bread, and a slice of cake. Oh, and a couple of different drinks that I thought you might like.” Feyre grabbed the dressing gown and slipped it on, walking over to the table and smiled at the shadow wraith.

“Thank you for the food, Cerridwen.”

“It’s no problem, Feyre. Thank you for everything that you have done. It means a lot to all of us to be back home,” she said with gratitude in her eyes, and Feyre blushed lightly. “Especially… especially for the High Lord.” Cerridwen shook her head, clearing her thoughts, then made for the door. “Enjoy your dinner, Feyre.”

Feyre watched the door close, then turned back to the tray of food. The stew looked as delicious as it smelled, thick with chunks of beef, onion, carrots, potatoes, and two other root vegetables. Feyre was guessing they were native to the Night Court, as she’d never seen anything similar to them back in Spring. One of them was blue inside, with varying rings of varying color spreading outward and the skin removed; the other was a solid dark brown with a black skin.

She sat down and immediately picked up the spoon, taking a bite of the stew. Flavor exploded in her mouth as the spicy, earthy flavor overtook her tastebuds. Quickly, she spooned another bite into her mouth, and sighed after swallowing. It was absolute perfection, so rich and comforting.

Feyre picked up a slice of bread going to tear a piece off and butter it separately, as she had been drilled into doing over the past year back home. But…

Ianthe isn’t here right now.

No one is here to see her butter the whole slice of bread and dip it into the stew, taking the biggest bite that she possibly could.

No one is here to see that she finishes stew and bread within 15 minutes, an entirely unladylike act back home for the size of the bowl.

The cake was a nutty flavor- pistachio, if she was correct- with a vanilla buttercream, and absolutely delightful. Feyre was only able to finish half of the slice, her stomach feeling on the edge of bursting.

Stuffed as she was, she looked towards the three cups on the tray. One of them was water, which she took a small sip of. The next was a bubbly apple juice, light and sweet on her tongue, similar to the sparkling fairy wine they had at holidays. The last was a warm and creamy chocolate drink, staying warm in its enchanted mug, adding to the contentment building in her chest.

Even if the day had been bad, nowhere near the outcome she was hoping for, she had just eaten a delicious dinner with a gorgeous view.

She climbed back into her bed a few minutes later, watching the sun set over the mountains as she lay facing the open wall, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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A knock sounded on her door, waking Feyre from her peaceful slumber. “Darling, breakfast will be ready in a half an hour,” Rhysand drawled through the door before she heard his footsteps receding down the hall.

She sighed and threw the covers off of herself, stretching her body taut before getting up and heading over to the bathroom.

She slipped her nightgown off over her head, tossing it on the large counter on the far end of the bathroom, and her hair up in a bun with a tie she found in drawer in the counter, then sank into the warm water of the bathtub. She reveled in the beauty of the morning light shining on the land before her for a few minutes. She washed herself quickly, not wanting to linger too long and risk Rhysand or someone else possibly stumbling in on her in the bath to hurry her along to breakfast.

Feyre toweled her body off and went to the vanity, rummaging through the drawers until she found a brush and smoothed out her hair, wild from sleep. Then she moved over to the wardrobe and picked out a pair of black leggings, and a dark blue knit sweater so soft she wanted a blanket made out of it. She picked out a pair of black flats, slipping them on and walking to the door, steeling herself for whatever is to come during this meal.

She exited her room and headed down the hallway she believed to lead to the table she’d seen in the room they’d first arrived in yesterday.

Hopefully, today would be the same as yesterday, with Rhysand being a tolerable level of flirtatious and pushy. She wasn’t sure she would survive the week if he turned back into the major ass he had been Under the Mountain.

The smell of eggs, bacon and fruit grew as she drew closer, and then she was back in the grand hallway, staring at the gorgeous blonde woman in a sleek black dress seated next to Rhysand. They both turned to look at her, and the blonde squealed, got up, and ran over to Feyre. The moment her scent, citrus and cinnamon and entirely alpha, hit Feyre’s nose, anxiety began to build in her gut. The only other female alpha she knew was Ianthe, and she had nothing but veiled disdain for Feyre in the year that she’d known her.

She stopped right before her, and held out her hands. “It is so lovely to finally meet you, Feyre. My cousin has talked quite a lot about you in the past year, and I’m glad this day has finally come!” The woman grabbed Feyre’s hands, encompassing them with her own. “My name is Mor, I’ll be joining you for breakfast if you’re alright with that!”

Feyre’s first impression of Mor is that of sunshine in a bottle, always ready to be opened and spread joy on those around her, and the building dread within her dissipated. A nice female alpha. She looked a sigh of relief, and squeezed her hands lightly. “That sounds lovely, Mor. It’s nice to meet you too.” The blonde smiled widely at her, and dragged her over to the table where Rhysand was still seated, and a nice selection of food was waiting to be eaten.

“Good morning, Feyre,” he said with a smile, and Feyre almost sighed again. It seemed like today was going to be a nice day, if the attitude these two were giving off was genuine. Then his scent washed over her, the blissful combination of citrus and sea, so perfectly alpha.

It may be more trying than she thought, through no true fault of his own.

“Good morning, Rhysand,” she replied, the corners of her mouth tilted up. Feyre started dishing out food for herself starting with the eggs, and motioned to put some on Mor’s plate as well.

“Yes, please, Feyre,” she said, pushing her plate closer to the dish. Feyre scooped eggs onto her plate, then moved to Rhysand’s. “Thank you, Feyre.”

“I’ll dish my own up, darling, but thank you,” he said with a slight smirk, grabbing the spatula from her and putting eggs on his plate.

Feyre fought a frown, unsure why he wouldn’t let her serve him, but mentally shook it off. Probably something to do with being magically bound to a psychopath through a drink served to him, so none of Feyre’s business.

She grabbed a pair of tongs and grabbed a few slices of bacon for herself and Mor, then passing them off to Rhysand again. The same cycle continued for the large bowl of fruit that Feyre was most excited to have, made of chunks of apple, melon, and a few varieties of berries, some of which she hadn’t seen in Spring.

Mor busied herself with pouring glasses of water for the three of them, and once they had their food, the three of them tucked in.

After a couple of minutes, Mor broke the silence. “So, Feyre, what’s your favorite color?”

Feyre choked on her food slightly, not expecting the question at all and threw a questioning look at Mor.

“What?” Mor asked, laughing breezily. “If you’re to be here every month, I’d like to know some things about you! Sooo, your favorite color?” She repeated enthusiastically.

Feyre thought for a moment, not having ever truly thought of what her favorite might be. She had loved all colors equally her entire life. Well, up until a year ago that is. But after a second, thinking back on the painting on her drawer of the dresser… “Probably a dark, midnight blue. What about you?”

“Definitely red, it’s the color of love and passion, so I’ve always been drawn to it. And I happen to look amazing in it.”

Feyre was just happy she hadn’t worn any red today, not wanting to deal with the color any more than she had to. “Now that, I’m sure of, Mor. Though I’m sure you could pull off any color if you tried.” Feyre turned her head to Rhys, asking “Which is your favorite, Rhysand?"

He lifted a hand to his heart, a pained expression on his face. “Feyre, still calling me Rhysand? You know only my enemies call me that, darling. We may not be friends, but I wouldn’t consider us enemies at this point in time.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Fine, what’s your favorite color, Rhys?”

A smile spread across his face, and he answered “Midnight blue as well, funny coincidence darling.” He winked at her, then continued “The color of the night sky is something I’ll never stop loving. There’s just something so entrancing about it.”

It was Mor’s turn to roll her eyes, “Of course that’s your favorite, you’re the High Lord of the Night Court, cousin.”

“That may be, but the color is magnificent either way, Mor.”

Feyre couldn’t help but smile, watching the two interact as she took a few more bites of her food. It was nice to see Rhysand’s friendly side come out, playful but not flirtatious or masking danger.

“Feyre, do you have any hobbies?” Mor asked, drawing her back into the room.

“Oh, umm…” Feyre paused, unsure of how to answer. “I liked to paint, but I haven’t in a while. Recently I’ve taken to reading. Beyond that, I haven’t found much that interests me.”

Mor frowned for a moment, then slid a smile back on her face. “Well, we can change that if you’d like! If you need anything, you can ask either of us or the twins for it, and- oh, do you like shopping?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Feyre said “I don’t really know, I didn’t have the money to shop for anything nice before… as a human, and since then all of my things have been provided for me without me asking.”

“Well, then, if you’d like I could bring you some catalogs from my favorite stores! That way I’d have an excuse to go get something for myself when you wanted something,” Mor added with a wink.

“As though you need an excuse to go shopping Mor,” Rhysand said playfully.

“Oh, like you don’t enjoy shopping for home décor,” She countered in a teasing tone, and Rhys narrowed his eyes at her slightly. Mor wiped her mouth with a napkin, then stood up. “Well, it was wonderful to meet you Feyre. I have a meeting to run off to, but I hope I’ll see you again this week!”

“The same to you, Mor. And I’m sure that we’ll see each other again soon,” Feyre said, meaning her words. And with that, Mor walked off into the the hallway, leaving Feyre alone with Rhysand.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” She asked, and Rhysand quirked a brow at her, questioning. “Seeing as I know how to read, you can’t follow through with your plan to torture me with it.”

Rhysand loosed a sigh, his shoulders hunching slightly. “I do not intend to torture you during your time here, Feyre, physically or otherwise. In fact, if you’ll allow me to, I would like to apologize to you.”

Feyre frowned. “I suppose you can, it does not mean I will forgive you, however.”

“I am not looking for forgiveness, Feyre, I am simply hoping to apologize for my actions, now and whenever else you will allow me. What I did to you and how I acted Under the Mountain…” He paused, looking for the right words. “It was and is unforgivable, no matter the circumstances. I regretted my actions even as I was doing them, and now as well, having you here under the coercion of a bargain that I twisted your infected, broken arm to force you into making. Worst of all was the way I used you during the revels, no matter the reason why, I cannot ever undo the trauma and pain I inflicted upon you. Feyre, I am truly, deeply sorry for how I have hurt you. If you wish, I will release you from the bargain today and return you to Spring right now.”

Feyre’s eyes were wide by the time he had finished, the sincerity of his words shocking her. Most of all, she was shocked at his willingness to revoke the bargain.

“I…” She started, but could not find the words. The omega inside of her was begging her to forgive him, please the alpha in front of her, but the emotional part of her, the part that was damaged and forever changed? It could not simply forgive his actions.

“There is no need to answer me anytime soon, Feyre.”

“No, it’s not… I’m just surprised, is all. I… I will not forgive you now, but I can see that there is a difference in you from a year before now. As for the bargain…” Feyre paused, and Rhys waited, hardly breathing. “The bargain did save my life, no matter how you convinced me to take it, I would have died without it. As of right now, I am fine with continuing to honor it, as long as you offer me another bargain that you will break it if I ask you at any point in time.”

Rhys smiled at Feyre, a broad, toothy one that made him so handsome it nearly took Feyre’s breath away. “It’s a bargain, darling. And thank you.” Inside the unmarked space on her left wrist, a small ribbon of black tied in a bow appeared, a matching one on Rhysand.

“Would you…” Rhysand hesitated. “Would you be willing to try and be friends? At least, friendly during your time here?”

Feyre considered it for a moment. “As long as you do not make any more bullheaded comments about my alpha, then I suppose that would be doable,” She agreed.

Rhys chuckled and nodded his head. “I will do my very best to be polite about him, Feyre, I promise.” He stood up from the table and extended his arm closest to Feyre, and his scent washed over her again. “Now, would you be up for a tour? I would like for you to be able to do more than bathe and sleep, if you so choose.”

Feyre stood up as well, and grabbed his arm lightly, not entirely having planned to do that. She could, after all, walk on her own and follow him. “That sounds nice, I’d like to have more places to hide from you if you do end up being an ass.”

Rhys chuckled at that, and began leading her down the opposite hallway from where her room was.

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The tour took about an hour, granted a lot of that was Feyre exploring the library, a massive, gorgeous room that had a large mural covering the entire far wall.

Rhysand had explained that the mural told the story of the creation of the Night Court, up through the midway point of his father’s rule.

Feyre was entranced by it, similar to the mural back in the Spring library, so much so that Rhysand had to practically drag her away from it, back to the rest of the moonstone palace.

After that, she was most interested in the kitchen and large bathing pools, the latter of which she may have been tempted to use if she didn’t have such an amazing bath in her room already.

“This is our final stop,” Rhys said, swinging the door in front of them open to reveal a relatively bare room, only furnished with two wooden chairs with padding.

Feyre’s face contorted, her mind going to the worst, before Rhys caught sight of her expression and quickly said “It’s a small training room, suitable for beginners magic training, as well as mental shielding. I was hoping that you would be willing to train your magic, if you haven’t begun already in Spring.”

Feyre’s cheeks heated quickly, and she turned away from him and the doorway. “I don’t have any kind of magic,” she stated in a small voice.

“They may not have manifested yet for some reason, Feyre, but you were given a kernel of power from each High Lord.” He walked around her so she faced him, and he lifted her chin with two gentle fingers. “Not much is known about Made fae, but I would reckon that you will have a well of power to rival any one of us, just waiting to be coaxed to life.”

His gentle tone and scent was like a balm on the sting of embarrassment at having no magic to show for what she was gifted, and she nodded her head, his fingers dropping from her chin.

“Would you be willing to try? If you’re uncomfortable attempting to use your magic with me, we could at the very least go over magical theory and how to begin accessing it. Or even just the shielding,” he suggested.

Feyre nodded her head again. Both of those sounded like reasonable, kind enough options for him to offer. “That sounds fine, but… Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why offer to train me? Why offer to help me protect my mind from you?”

Rhysand sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I want you to be able to protect yourself Feyre, even if it is from me. I was not lying when I said I came to call in the bargain because I was worried for you,” he said sincerely.

“As long as you’re not an ass to me during the shielding, both will be fine. I would… I would like to know if I have any magic,” Feyre said hesitantly, a spark of hope igniting in her chest. Something that she hadn’t felt in quite a while, besides the hope for Tamlin’s mark, though that was hardly ignited anymore, especially with the disastrous ceremony now standing between them… Mother, they have so much to discuss when she gets home.

“Of course, Feyre, I’ll be as gentle as I can. As for the theory…” he trailed off, and had suddenly pulled a book from nowhere, and handed it to Feyre. “You can begin reading this today, and we can go over however much you’ve read tomorrow after breakfast.” Feyre turned the book over in her hands, admiring the leather cover that was stitched with silver thread. “It’s a book on the formation of magic as fae age, as well as the beginnings to understanding how to access the magic within you. Read as much or as little as you like."

“Thank you,” Feyre said, clutching the book to her chest.

“Or course, darling. Now, I’ll show you back to your room from here, but after that I’ll be in meetings until dinner this evening, so lunch is yours to take wherever you wish. Just call for Nuala or Cerridwen, or talk to me,” He tapped his temple, “And it will be set up for you. And of course, feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you���d like.”

They made their way back to her room, both of them stopping outside of the doorway.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she blurted out the question, “Did you help decorate my room?”

Color rose high in Rhysand’s cheeks, the first time that Feyre had ever seen him look bashful, and he coughed awkwardly. “As a matter of fact I did. Are you finding it to your liking? I was attempting to make it as open and inviting as possible.”

Feyre smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, it’s lovely. The view from this side is spectacular.”

Rhysand’s expression mirrored her own. “It certainly is. Have a good rest of your day, Feyre,” he said in parting, and began to walk away.

Feyre turned the doorknob and began to open her door, but before entering her room, turned back to his retreating form. “You too, Rhys. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Rhysand turned around, flashing that toothy smile again, and winked before winnowing away.

She shook her head and entered her room, settling down into her bed, the book Rhysand had given her clutched tightly in her hands. She ran her hands over the cover, the feeling of the stitching comforting against them.

Without waiting another moment, Feyre opened the cover and began reading the guide greedily, wanting what Rhysand had talked about, wanting to be able to defend herself and access the magic he believed her to have been blessed with.

She wanted to be strong again.

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Series taglist: @icey--stars

[hearted-anon]

Hi I know you’re busy with like a ton of other requests and stuff but if you get the time can you write a part two to the knight’s foolish play fic? I loved it so much and I would LOVE to see more of that kind of trope! maybe with lee! Han and Ler! Minho?

Love yaaa 🖤

A King's happy indulgence.

Words: 1837 Note: I'm sorry this took so long, not really in the best of places... T/w: Roughness, hint of romantic development, pinning (not bondage), tools Lee: Jisung Ler: Minho

Minho trekked the walls of the castle longingly, hand running across the velvet carpet that was more than happy to welcome him in. He didn’t want to be filming himself in stuffy costumes and harsh words that he was forced to spit out for so long, but it was what the entertainment needed. He was nothing but a knight to his fate despite his role, a blade pressed to his throat to keep his lips sealed about whatever happened behind the scenes. 

“You said you wanted to see me?” A voice called out from behind him, below him, below his status. Right- He was acting, none of his members were his friends anymore the moment they stepped into the world of fantasy. Snapping his head, he met the eyes of his most loyal knight, Han Jisung. Cold brown eyes pierced the younger, his hands struggling to maintain their hold on the silver sword that stabbed into the floor below.

“Of course, please allow me.” The older gave the bare crumbs of a smile towards the younger, which was gratefully treasured before scurrying towards his Majesty. With a huff he stood in front of Lee Know, pushing out his chest to seem more courageous than he was; a King couldn’t be protecting his servants after all. It earned a chuckle from the older, which allowed Jisung’s eyes to sparkle in admiration from the heavenly sound. 

A wooden door creaked open with a squeaky giggle, sucking out their breath from its view. Jisung’s throat went dry at how Minho looked under the glistening moonlight, tinted blue eyes reflected with each breath that sounded through him. His heart pounded out of his chest, gulping down whatever dignity he had to gawk at the unreal looks on his Majesty, truly deserving of his title in the blank eyes of Han.

“Are you alright? You’ve barely moved.” Minho snapped Han out of his own thoughts with a voice filled with worry, Jisung blinked in confusion to the glove hands that waved in front of him, having been completely enamoured by Lee Know just a few moments ago that flew by with a gentle breeze of the night. He nodded quickly with a gulp, hoping that his sinful and eyes of admiration wouldn’t be noticed, god forbid it happened. 

“Would you come here for a moment?” The younger was never quicker to dash over to the older’s side, almost making it to the bed in the blink of an eye. His mind was hazy, repeating the image of someone so majestic under the glorious moon light like a broken record, jealous of anyone that was able to lay their hands on him. However, his lack of awareness might’ve been the end of him, so much for chivalry…

In what felt like a flash bang, Jisung was pinned onto the soft bed, arms trapped under his Majesty’s thighs. He shrieked, feeling a sense of deja vu at his vulnerability. The fluffy fabric of baby blue sheets didn’t do anything to let him away from the muscular thighs of the older, struggling to even move his arms an inch; he was completely stuck. 

That was when it dawned on him why he remembered it so well.

“Remember our ‘banter’ last time? Well, as King, I order you to let me have my fair share.” Minho chuckled mischievously, wiggling his fingers above Jisung’s vulnerable waist to earn a loud shriek of surprise. He twisted, squirmed and thrashed all he could but knew damn well that he wasn’t going anywhere trapped under thighs that felt like chains.

“Wahahait! Plehehease please!” Jisung begged, anticipatory giggles already slipping out of him, what an embarrassment of a knight. His armour was melted away in a matter of seconds, left behind the flustered shell of someone that wasn’t the strongest of soldiers at all. All he earned was a disappointed tut, before his faux silver armour was unbuttoned, revealing a set of faint abs that the older resisted the temptation to gawk at. 

“Please what? Please start already? Of course!” Minho enthusiastically exclaimed, earning quite the loud protest of screams in return. He shook his head playfully with a cheshire grin, grabbing the same bottle of body oil from previously. Waving the bottle teasingly atop the squirming quokka, he poured some right into his navel on purpose, snickering when it elicited a shriek from the cold feeling. 

“Noho no no! Plehehease Minho!” Jisung babbled and pleaded, shivering when the oil was rubbed all over his slim waist. He stamped his feet onto the sheets, throwing his head back in anticipation as he stared at the older with the most pleading eyes he could muster. In all fairness, Lee Know was tempted well enough to give in to those puppy eyes, the moonlight encapsulating how his eyes twinkled in it must’ve done something to him, definitely. However, when a cat has caught their prey, they don’t let go. 

“Where were the honorifics? Bold aren’t we? Well me too.” Minho teased lowly, dreaded fingers descending onto his pale tummy, stroking up and down delicately with a hum. The younger let out a shriek, giggles bubbling up in his throat like an active volcano in an instant. He spun his head side to side, unable to take the fingers that danced over his oiled tummy as if an ice cube. 

“Plehehehase! I-I’m sohohohory! Hyung!” Jisung babbled, barely coherent through breathless giggles that might as well have been stealing his Majesty’s breath away too. It dripped like honey off his tongue, naturally coaxing in a wild Minho to his den; how unfortunate. The older craved more of those giggles, lost in a trance as his fingers didn’t stop their movements. He was brought back by a squeal when he went to Jisung’s pale ribs that stuck out from his vulnerable position, shaking his head.

“Well, you’re not sorry if you pulled that move previously…” Minho scoffed, an obvious denial to what he was truly feeling inside.In retaliation, both to his growing flush and poor Jisung, his once gentle fingers dug harshly into the younger’s ribs, nails that were blunt slipping through oil filled crevices to the fleshy skin below. Worth it, Han thought, but was cut off with his own scream when Minho found his ribs more interesting. He bursted into cackles, tugging at his arms trapped under muscular thighs desperately.

“AHAHAHA! PLEHEHEASE I REALLY AHAHAHAM!” His crinkled eyes tried their very best to open up to show his so-called remorse, but was more of a show of a moon cycle that was cut off way too quickly. His eyes squeezed back into crescents as fast as he opened them, oil dripping down his sides from all the thrashing. Now, Lee Know may have been a menace, may have the least amount of mercy out of everyone, and may do everything in his power to ensure no one left his grasp alive, but he was kind, letting up on his torso that buzzed with after tingles.

“Hm. Sorry? Then let me do this for…myself, not you, heheh.” Minho said rather thoughtfully, but behind those icy eyes held no meaning, blank as a canvas waiting to be painted with colour and life once more. Getting off Jisung, the younger rubbed at his wrists, though the feeling of having the older be so kind and caring made him melt. Hesitantly as if a stray cat, the ‘King’ rubbed at the ‘Knight’s’ wrists, ensuring he wasn’t badly hurt before tearing off the faux silver armour. It revealed tan thighs underneath with shorts, exposing his thighs for the world to see; well Minho was Jisung’s world, they just didn’t realise it.

“WAIT! Anywhere but thehehere! Plehehease please PLEASE-!” Although loud and whiny with his begs, there was no move to actually tap out or stop any of the cruel majesty’s action, earning a soft chuckle in return. That wasn’t fair, Han was sure with that chuckle he would be willing to let himself be tickle tortured for all he cared, it was too sweet not to crave more of. 

Well, if he didn’t rub oil over his thighs.

“And why not? Are you ticklish or something?” Minho inquired with a fake innocence and a cheshire grin once more, humming a tune under his breath as a squirmy quokka refused to give the answer he wanted; but maybe those cute and puffed up cheeks would be enough to satiate his craving? Unfortunately not. Grabbing a paint brush from his night stand, he swirled it into the younger’s inner thighs, right above his knee. His legs that once held the quokka’s arms down now spreaded his legs wide apart, wanting to paint his canvas nice and colourful with hysterics that bounced off the bedroom. 

“Y-You know I AHAHAM! NONONO! BRUSHES AHAHAHRE UNFAHAHAHIR! HYUHUHUHNG!” Pounding on the older’s back, tugging at his legs, squirming around, nothing worked to let the ruthless cat up on its prey, settling for his fate. The brushes that ran along his thighs paired with the oil were effective in driving him into crazed bouts of laughter, it felt like soft nails that worked up the squishy dough of his thighs.

“Unfair? Hm. I think this is unfair.” Lee Know grinned one last time before wrapping his nimble fingers around the slippery thighs, barely able to secure around it from its muscle and fat mass but it was doable. And then he squeezed, squished, scribbled everywhere on the undersides of them. Nothing prepared the older for the scream that was unleashed throughout the room, followed by laughter that might’ve been mistaken for a witch if they weren’t careful.

“NOHOHO! AHAHAHAH-!” Poor Han, he barely lasted a minute before drowning in silent laughter, his legs trembling in the air as the undersides were tormented without an end. The smooth oil allowed gliding of nails without a hitch, squishy enough to fit all five of his nails one each side. With a smirk the older let go, letting the quokka’s thighs slam into the bed softly with a thud.

He crawled close, cradling the younger in his arms as if nothing had happened. Panting with a red face, it seemed to glow brighter at the sudden close proximity of the two; he swore it wasn’t this hot in the room last time they played together. He melted when MInho ran a hand through his hair, cardling it with a smile that he swore flashed on and off as well, his heart choked in his throat at the soft sight.

“I order you to sleep.” Lee Know demanded softly, barely above a whisper as his nose dived for Han’s hair too, sniffing it with a contented sigh at the whiff of pine and mint. Only a tired nod was given back, both of their eyes lidding as they were lulled to sleep under the moonlight’s lullaby and the wind’s charm.

Maybe they both were oblivious, but when they awoke, it was no surprise of the stares they got by staff.

[the-widow-sisters]

No One's Favorite

Summary: An introspective look at Natasha's relationships with family over the years and that she is truly only one person's first priority.

Word Count: 2.6k+

A/N: Wowza, it's been so long since I've written widow sisters stuff 😂 Hopefully I haven't lost my touch 😅

It feels good to finally post this one. I've had this in the drafts for a while, but I just didn't fully finish writing it until today 💖 I got inspired to write by @chargedlion's fic that was posted today 😂

I hope y'all enjoyed! Positive comments mean the world to me! 💗💗💗

   Natasha Romanoff was no one’s first priority.

   She never was, and she never had been.

   At least not except for when she had been succeeding in the Red Room training. But even then, it had been a passing moment of sweet respite in a barren landscape characterized by bitter unappreciation and frigidity.

   However, all of that had abruptly changed when Yelena had come stumbling into her life on chubby baby legs, adorable curls bouncing behind her.

   Natasha had not wanted to love her from the start. She had wanted to remain cold. To remain every bit of the fledgling young widow that she was intended to be and that she had trained relentlessly to be almost since her birth.

   Eight-year-old Natasha had not been one for love. She had never known what love felt like. Love had not been something that was achievable because it had never been something she could see right before her.

   Victory had been attainable and concrete. It had been something she could see in the blood of other young girls. In the gnashing of their teeth and the bruises on their skin as they crawled away to lick their wounds.

   However, she had never felt very victorious in those moments despite the sensation’s very real tangibility in the faces of her opponents.

   With Yelena, she had to find a new way to live. A new way to function. She had to be softer and the very thought of it had terrified her.

   The only thing that had pushed her to be that softer person that so deeply and inherently defied all that she had been taught was the fact that she was Yelena’s favorite.

   For the first time in her entire eight years of young life, she had been wanted. Truly wanted. And she had been someone’s favorite on top of all of that. She had been valued and loved of all things, and that had been something that she was simultaneously horribly terrified of and desperately starving for all the same.

   They had ended up living three heavenly years together. Yelena had received an endlessly loyal protector, and in exchange, Natasha had received all the affection, love, and devotion that she had craved all of her young life.

   Yelena had truly been her baby sister as far as she was concerned. She would take no other answers. If someone loved her this much and saw her as this great of a person, this someone was undoubtedly nothing less than a sister and true family.

   But then the three years were up, and Natasha had been flung back into the harsh, cold reality of her life.

   She had been— once again— nobody’s first priority.

   At least… To no one except for Dreykov.

   But being this sort of first priority had not been the kind that Natasha wanted. It had been harsh and unforgiving in its own manner.

   Victory had been tangible, but she soon had found a new sensation that was just as easily seen in its concreteness— it was submission. This one had been too tangible.

   It had been seen in the visits to Dreykov’s office after she had been called upon. In the knotting of her stomach and in the sense of disgust and humiliation she had felt after the visits.

   She had been someone’s first priority again, but it had not been right. It had not been the type of first priority that left her chest warm and her heart full, and honestly, if it did not give her that sort of feeling, she did not want it.

   And then, her time of being the favorite had come to pay off in the ultimate ceremony. It had been made out to be a reward. The ability to become the perfect agent in every manner. The ability to perform every aspect of her duties without any consequences.

   She had been stripped of her free choice, and more than that, she had been stripped of the chance to perhaps one day bring another little one in the world of her own.

   Once it was done, she had reassured herself with empty platitudes that she would not have been a good mother anyway. The Red Room simply would have taken her child, perpetuating her potential daughter into the same system as she had been in or taking her potential son and throwing him to the wolf packs of politicians searching for fresh meat.

   She had known that her latter reason would have likely been true, but the first part had been something that she could not exactly help but question, knowing the argument was weak in itself.

   But several years passed, and Natasha had found her opportunity to escape the cycle of submission.

   She had met Clint Barton and while she had been no one’s first priority in that situation for that moment at least, she had appreciated it for once.

   She had realized that it was safer to not be a first priority.

   It meant that there were no groping hands. It meant that there were no funerals disguised as ceremonies. It meant that there was no heartbreak. No attachment. No hearts on the line. Nothing.

   But then she had joined SHIELD and she had found herself partnering with Barton.

   And then she had become a first priority again. At least in the field.

   But she could handle that. It had been like being assigned with other widows. It was not uncommon to be unified in terms of being a team and having each other’s backs. That is, if the other widow was of high value in Dreykov’s eyes. He sometimes sent younger, less experienced widows with Natasha on missions, and she was specifically assigned not to interfere if unfortunate events transpired.

   So she and Clint had become a team and he was a high value partner, so she did her best to keep him alive. She had his back and he had hers, and it was a strangely well-matched partnership despite the fact that she knew as well as him that she was the most skilled.

   However, when it turned into something pertaining to actual value in their lives outside of simply just the fighting portions of missions…

   It had scared her. She had been terrified at first that he would try something with her.

   After all, Natasha had well-learned the ways of men. They were kind and gentle and sweet and full of compliments until they wanted something. Then they took and took with all of the roughness of bear claws attacking and ripping at the skin while she was expected to simply submit. Or even encourage it despite the sickness in the pit of her stomach and the numbness of her mind.

   The first time he had placed his hand on her shoulder, congratulating her, she had instantly stiffened, terrified that it was going to lead to something far less innocent. He had been confused and he had looked at her with such a genuine horror when she had hinted at the idea that she was taken aback at his reaction.

   It was at that point that she felt that maybe not all men were horrid human beings. She eventually even grew to trust him in a way that transcended merely missions. They began to talk more frequently about things that were not just related to work.

   For the first time since Yelena, she felt that maybe she was becoming a first priority in a way that maybe was not altogether horrifying. Natasha grew to enjoy his teasing, his kind smiles, and his occasional touches to her shoulders or upper back. He was kind to her, and while she was not used to it, she grew to love it all the same.

   But then she found out he had a family, and something within her was a bit hurt at the knowledge, despite the fact that she had never wanted any sort of romantic relationship with him or anything of the sort. She had merely thought that it was only them and that they were the only important people in each other’s respective worlds.

   When he had invited her to come to his home, she had been hesitant, but she was quick to agree despite her reservations. She did not want him to forsake her because she would not do this for him. They had grown close, and Clint was one of the only people in her world outside of Nick Fury. But Fury and her had a strange relationship.

   The day finally arrived that she came to meet his lovely wife and amazing kids. Laura was very kind to her, but of course, Natasha would have expected nothing less. She was married to the only fully trustworthy man that Natasha had ever known, so she naturally must have been a wonderful, deserving woman.

   But where Natasha’s heart truly softened was with Young Cooper and little Lila.

   She had started off somewhat afraid of them. She had not been around children— or at least innocent children like these— since Yelena. However, her reservations had quickly melted away with the first time that Lila had crawled over to her, looked up at her in such a way that reminded her so closely of Yelena, and had grabbed her leg where she was sitting on the couch. She had picked her up, and when the baby touched her cheeks softly, all of her walls crashed to the ground.

   It was with them that she realized she was capable of true softness and at least some semblance of humanity. She let them do whatever they wanted with her, her heart almost instantly falling into their small hands. Lila would play with makeup and fix her face, and she would go rock and flower-collecting with Cooper. She never argued with them or protested against their many frivolous whims, and Clint actually even had to try to convince her to actually put her foot down when it was something that Natasha did not want to do.

   But she wanted to do everything with them.

   Natasha could easily see that she was not first priority with anyone there, but Clint did not make her feel any less important despite the fact that she knew her boundaries. Clint had allowed her this piece of his world, and she was honestly thankful to have any shred she could get. It was something that made her feel almost like she did when she had her first “family.”

   As time went on, the Avengers eventually assembled, and it was with them that she had a work family. It was not perfect, and it was truthfully oftentimes a disaster, but she still loved them. It was another piece that she was trying to rely on to put together the puzzle of her broken heart. Despite teasing them often, she loved the boys. She would help anywhere she could, and she was always around at the tower when she was not on missions for Fury. She did all that she could to keep them together and keep them happy.

   But Natasha was not a first priority. Oftentimes, she was not even a second one with the Avengers. So when she fought to keep them together, they fell apart anyway.

   That was one of the lowest moments in her life.

   She was alone and on the run. She was an enemy of the United States and isolated from all the people she cared about. She had nothing and no one except for professional contacts.

   But that was when she received her package, several photos being the clue to precisely who was contacting her. It was then that she ran into Yelena again for the first time since they were pulled apart as children so many years ago.

   When Natasha had first seen Yelena on the other end of her handgun, she had felt like her heart might stop. Even though the years had hardened her into a murderous, fully-grown lethal weapon, Yelena had still grown into a gorgeous young woman. In fact, one of Natasha’s first thoughts had been that Yelena had never quite managed to grow out of those chubby cheeks.

   However, after all of the pain and all of the long-suffering she had endured over the past several years, she was scared to allow herself attachment to Yelena. Yelena was crass yet honest, and it was clear that she was angry with Natasha. Yelena was also attached to her even still. The anger was only a further indicator of that attachment.

   But it was easier for Natasha to put that thought away into a far, dusty corner of her mind so that she did not have to put a great deal of consideration into it. Natasha was angry enough with herself as it was. She was angry that she had not been able to do anything and that she had somehow managed to allow the woman that was once her sister to keep being abused by the organization that Natasha thought she had destroyed.

   However, it was much easier to be irritable in general and with Yelena than it was to stop and consider Yelena’s attachment to her despite all of Natasha’s failings. Natasha stopped to sufficiently hate herself at night, trying with everything she had to avoid chaining herself to the bed as she silently cried over everything that had happened to her and how alone she felt.

   The worst part about the entire thing was that she wanted Yelena to love her. To keep that attachment. Despite the fact that Natasha hated herself and felt that Yelena should hate her as well, she was still so selfish that she could not push Yelena away to make her hate her.

   It was best for Yelena to hate her, after all.

   Natasha was beginning to come to the conclusion that she was not loveable. Everyone she had forsook her or never took her as a first priority. She was never going to have someone that saw her as their most important person.

   But it was when Yelena selflessly sacrificed herself to kill Dreykov that Natasha realized she could not do it. She did not have it in her to make Yelena hate her or to push her away any longer. Something in her broke as she leapt after Yelena, freefalling, with the only thought in her mind being that she had to save her baby sister. She could not let her die.

   After fighting Antonia, Natasha had been so scared when she saw Yelena lying on the ground, the parachute having brought her down safely but Yelena still somehow being unconscious.

   And when those beautiful honey-green eyes opened to meet her own light greens, she broke down and told her what she should have said as soon as she saw her. Natasha dropped her guard and gave into the hurt, the need, and the love in her heart as she confessed the truth and her broken apology.

   Yelena had looked at her with such astonishment, such raw honesty, such pain, and such adoration that Natasha did not even know how to respond. She just looked at her, and when Yelena brought her forehead to her own, clambering into her as she initiated the best hug of Natasha’s life, Natasha grabbed on tight with no desire to ever let go.

   Yelena had whispered a soft thank you in her ear, but Natasha knew that she should be the one thanking Yelena.

   She finally had her person in her arms. And Natasha Romanoff was Yelena Belova’s first priority.

   She always was and she always would be.

[tea-plantz]

hey there! could i request lumity x fem reader with something like general relationship headcannons or what its like to date luz and amity?

Hello!! Thank you very much for requesting! I’m honestly so obsessed with The Owl House right now, so in honor of the show’s finale, here’s the hcs! Enjoy!

She/her for all

!tw! Spoilers ⬇️

<3Lumity x fem!reader relationship headcannons<3

In the begging, everything was a little bit awkward. Sweet, but awkward. Of course, that is to be expected when someone first starts dating, and three people at that! But alas, you all worked through all of the nervousness and became even closer than before!

Sometimes, being in a relationship with three people can be a bit chaotic, but luckily, you’re all masters of talking things out. Trust is one of the most important things in a relationship you know!

Luz and Amity has sort of a “sun and moon” thing going on, with you being their eclipse to balance it all out. Perfect relationship in every way!

——————————————————————————

When it comes to comfort, these girls are the best! First of all, they are both such good listeners and they give the best advice when you need it. Although, sometimes people don’t really want advice or logic when their feeling blue, and in that case, you’re girlfriends are ready with as much cuddles and words of affirmation as you need! Supportive gfs <3

Speaking of cuddles, Luz and Amity both give such good hugs, their heavenly fr. Even though Amity can sometimes be a bit awkward about it (her body just goes stiff as a board), it’s always so wholesome and sweet. Usually, Luz is the big spoon with either you or Amity in the middle, or you guys are all just huddled up in one big messy pile. Eda and King always finds it so adorable whenever you guys fall asleep together on the couch, and you can trust that they take a bunch of pictures too.

Amity often gets really flustered around you and Luz, which usually results in a lot of teasing. Her tomato face can just be too cute sometimes, and trust me, you get to se it A LOT!

Luz however doesn’t get flustered as much as Amity, but it’s still easy to get a stunned expression and red tinted cheeks out of her. You just gotta know what to say.

You all literally scream relationship goals fr.

——————————————————————————

Now, when it comes to the rest of the gang, they all support you guys so much! They think it’s so cool that you guys have a relationship, and even though they tease you about it from time to time (especially Eda, while Hunter mostly gets annoyed from all your lovey dovey stuff), they truly think that what you guys have is the sweetest thing ever. Oh and Hooty is your biggest fangirl, I’m not even joking.

Luz and Amity can be protective AF! Don’t get me wrong, they don’t really go around and get jealous of everything and stuff, but if anyone, witch or human, says anything to upset their girl, they’re really gonna get it.

Kisses with these two are usually fast and sweet.

Luz normally just goes in for a quick peck before turning away with pink tinted cheeks and a small smile, acting like nothing happened.

Amity on the other hand looks at you a bit before slowly leaning in. Afterward, she quickly retrieves, face completely burning up and her eyes as wide as plates. (Sort of like when she kissed Luz’s cheek in that one episode)

These girls are absolute suckers for hugs n’ kisses, and especially when they’re from you~

You guys are the most dorky couple EVER! Your all so silly, it’s adorable honestly.

Luz definitely loves picking her two girls up. She might say she has weak nerd arms, but we’ve all seen that that’s not true. There has been moments when she just comes up behind you, and with a little “aaand scoop!” she simply swipes you off of the ground while giggling.

I feel like you all give off kinda like a summerly girl in red vibe.

You and your girlfriends DEFINITELY have sleepovers and Azura movie nights! (I also said this in my Amity fic, haha)

Praise is one of the main factors of your relationship. These girl got TRAUMA and since you probably also got some as well (taken in perspective that the whole cast of this show have and does go through a lot), praise and words of affirmation/encouragement is super important to them.

——————————————————————————

When you got sent to the human realm, it was a hard time for everyone, but with the love and support from each other, you all managed to make the best of it and have a wonderful time together.

Camilla absolutely loves you and Amity so much, she is such a sweetheart!!

After some quality time spent in the human realm, you and the others, along with Camilla, finally managed to return to the Boiling Isles. And as we all know, even more challenges were lying ahead.

When things seemed dark, you, Luz and Amity always stuck together, and supported each other the whole way, never ever letting you or each other feel like they were alone in this.

In the end, you all helped each other so much with developing as a person! With all of the love and encouragement, everything turned out just fine, and these girls couldn’t be happier! Ever since this whole crazy adventure started, you’ve all gotten so much closer together, and really formed a special bond. To be able to be in a relationship with you like this is the best things to have happened to either Luz or Amity, and they never want to let that go in the hopes to someday be able to put a ring on it.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading, and feel free to send in more toh requests<33

[theaveragepsychoticbitch]

HELL YES. Poseidon with a lover who has brown eyes --and he's absolutely crazy for her 🤭

Love brown eyes. I don't know how long I'll be able to make this, but being able to write again is nice♡

Highkey forgot my setup, but GN!Reader x Poseidon || SFW || Warnings for: Nothing. Just brown eye appreciation <3 [Under the cut for my own convenience lmaoo]

Yall I forgot to add tags I'm so😭

As soon as Poseidon awakes, he starts his morning routine.

First, he showers. He uses your good shampoo and conditioner, despite your demands for him to "get out of your stuff."

Doubling down, he uses your lotions and creams as well. He tells himself "it's because a true God bends to no one's will." That "as the god of gods, he can and shall use anything under his own palace's roof."

You sigh whenever he says these. You both know he simply enjoys smelling like you.

Next, he goes to breakfast. He eats his fill, refraining from killing any servants out of concern the screams will wake you.

Then supervises as your breakfast is cooked, picking out each ingredient himself, down to the eggs used in your omelet.

Here, his anticipation truly starts to build. An hour before sunrise, he starts to work. Settling in his office, he sets a timer and tries to spend at least half of the time actually working. Yet, as the minutes dwindle, and the sun's rays begin to peak over the horizon, the stoic Sea God's heart races in true.

This was it, this is what he's been waiting for.

He left the alarm ringing, racing shamelessly to your shared bedroom where the first ray of sunlight broke through the crack in the curtains, and his heart stutters in its beats as you slowly blink open your eyes.

Love. Love and adoration fills him as the sun brings your eyes to life, swirling browns flecked with heavenly gold. A rare shiver runs down his spine as you fix him in place with that gaze of yours, time itself coming to a stop as the world melts down to nothing but the deepest depths of your irises.

He sucks in a hard breath, having forgotten to breath. He rights himself, hoping his featureless mask maintained itself even as he approached the mortal who captured his heart.

He sits down, the edge of the bed dipping under his weight. He holds his hand out, the one he promised to always protect you with, and you lean into it. Batting your lashes lovingly, the shadows created darken the golden browns to a dark chocolate color, deep and mesmerizing.

Mesmerized... yes, that's what he was. Mesmerized by how gorgeous you are, and amazed by how a single set of eyes can enchant him in so many different ways. A moment's glance convinces him you stole his soul; and not so deep down, he thinks, 'I wouldn't mind if they stole it... long as it feels like this.'

In a snap, the sunlight is gone, and your eyes return to they're normal shade of brown. And even in this state, he finds them beautiful. Warm, like coming home; comforting, like an embrace.

You blink, slowly, staring at him with equal adoration. "Up early again I see?" His heart stutters in its beats, the "sleep", having yet to leave your voice, made it soft and quiet, and so, so beautiful.

He hums, guiding you from the bed with gentle hands. "Then you must be stacked work-wise... I'll help after I eat. You can go ahead and return-"

"No."

The two of you pause as you enter the bathroom, locking eyes once more. "...I'll stay here." With you.

The crash of a strong wave can be heard in the background, and slowly, you smile. Words leave your lips, drowned out by the sound of the ocean that suddenly came to life in the background.

But any being alive heard the king of the seas voice in the waves as he kissed his lover and whispered a gentle, "Love you too."

------

A/N: MY PHONES ON 7 PERCENT AHHHH

Yes I know I haven't written in like six years yes I know this isn't as quality as it could've been YES I KNOW I should actually write since this is literally a writing blog but I'm trying okay leave me alone😔

Anyways love yall, be nice and maybe you'll see another boobie post:D love yalllll

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Bite The Hand

Astarion x F! Dark Urge

18+ feelings developing, sad durge stuff, bondage, roughness, fingering (f!) oral (f!), p-in-v, slight ass play, blood drinking, two bloodthirsty idiots falling for eachother

-

"You're sure?"

Her eyes heavy, but trusting. "Yes, wrists bound."

He had been trying to get her to spend the night with him again, though he would never admit how eager he had been.

He had become quite infatuated with her. Them being, well, together. Whatever that means. Even talking her through her little murder attempt. His murder attempt. Gods would anything ever be simple.

When he would dance around the subject of spending time alone together again he would see her jaw clench just slightly. Maybe another night. She'd reassure.

He understood her hesitation, of course. Hells she had tried to kill him in his sleep not long ago. But despite himself, he wanted to be near her. To spend time with her, away from the others.

Though her base nature was sinister, she shined with goodness. Honestly, she could do with more mean, in his opinion. Though he had been coming to understand it was a concentrated effort for her.

Only in small moments she would allow herself to dip into her malicious nature and it drove him mad. And Gods, the way she kissed him... lips plush, heavenly. She was designed to ruin men like him. He was hopelessly enthralled.

So when she had finally relented and agreed to spend the night with him, his chest thrilled. With one catch.

"Darling, I hardly think that's necessary. You know I ask before I bite."

The corner of her mouth twitched in a smile. Eyes lightened slightly. He preened at making her brighten.

"I'm serious asshole," He breathed a laugh. "It would give me peace of mind, at least."

Her eyes softening again. "I do want to spend time with you, truly. I just dont trust myself right now." Tears threatening the corners.

"I would never forgive myself if I-"

"Oh, hush," He soothed, pulling her into him gently. "I'll do it, dont worry." He murmured into her hair. Tiger lily. Blood orange. Gods, even her scent was like a drug. He resisted burying his face in her.

With the nightly insect song outside his tent, he teased her. Revelled in her.

Sitting cross legged on the floor of his tent, her wrists being expertly bound by him. He hovered around her, making like it was a sensual thing they had agreed to. Making it a game. He purred sweet words in her ear, fingers working. Vexed her. Savoured in her blush.

"You're so full of it." She laughed, the tips of her ears deliciously flushed.

He pulled his hand to his chest, mock offended. "Darling, the only thing I am full of is your hot blood." He admonished. She snorted, her foot gently kicking his side.

He had kept focus on his technique but found it difficult. The sight of her long slender hands. Silk soft. Patterns of vitiligo, light and dark. Claws long and sharp. Delicate but deadly, being bound by him.

"You seem... distracted." She smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye.

He shot her a look, only making her smile wider. Rearranged to be sitting on her knees, back arched just slightly. Oh he loved when she got like this.

"What makes you say that, my sweet?" He intoned, caging her thighs between his, rope twisting and pulling.

"You know," She leaned forward, lips delicately tickling his neck. Her heat permeating him. "You're not as slick as you think you are."

He held back a shiver as she ghosted her lips against his skin, trailing up to his ear. Her sweet voice a deadly tonic.

"You have tells, frywm wlas." He squeezed her thighs between his at the pet name.

She had teased previously that he was so pale that he was fresh snow, repeated it back to him in infernal. That she loved to see him drenched in blood in the same way. Hells below, that had fed his nighttime fantasies for weeks.

Hundreds of years of seduction had made him a master, but her... she was something else.

"These really should be behind my back you know." She mused, testing the strength of his work as he finished. Hands resting in her lap. Seemed impressed by the intricate ties.

"While I dont doubt that you can do untold damage with all of your limbs tied, I think this should be sufficient." He absentmindedly pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

She looked up at him, her eyes soft. Seemed about to say something then bit it back.

"Please, indulge me." He murmured, a delicate prodding. Hand trailing to cup her cheek.

She sighed into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. "Its just, you're so gentle. I've been... well, I dont know if I've ever been touched this way."

His dead heart ached. Struck again by how similar they were.

"Is it okay? The touching, I mean." He whispered.

Her eyes seemed to swim in thought. "I think so. It feels good."

She relaxed, eyes closing again. "I dont feel sick when you touch me. It's a nice break."

His eyebrows threaded together in confusion. Sick?

Another spear through him. "Caron," He tested, "How do you usually feel?"

Her eyes opened in a flash, realizing that she had divulged something that she hadn't meant to. Lips forming a thin line.

Her eyes tried to escape his but he wouldn't let her slip away. "Caron?"

"It hurts, all the time. The nausea is worse." She shook her head gently. "I'm more used to it now, can push it to the back of my mind easier."

He wanted to say something comforting, something profound. But no words would be enough.

"It only stops when I kill. When there's violence." She smiled sadly. "Luckily there's been a lot of that lately. Imagine if we lived in a little house in Lower City... the carnage."

Her effort to lighten the mood struck him a third time. Was... he in her dreaming of the future? Felt a swell in his chest.

"Astarion?" She questioned softly. He realized he hadn't said anything. Leaving her in silence.

"I should go, this was a bad idea." She flustered quietly, started to stand.

He grabbed her hands. "Please," Eyes boring into hers. "Please dont go."

Her eyes went wide, seeing something in his expression, in the strain in his words.

"You dont have to be alone." He pulled her back.

"I dont have to be alone." Shakily, more to himself. The truth.

"And isnt it terrifying?" She smiled knowingly, tears in the corners of her eyes. Sinking back down to him.

His eyes flashed to hers. "Yes."

Pulled her strong into a kiss.

She moaned into his mouth, the softest cry. Turning her head to slot perfectly into him.

His hands in her hair, gripping her waist, her hips. He finally had something, someone. Drinking her in, gorging himself on her soft body.

Needing more, his hands met the front of her tunic, fingers flashing the buttons open.

Trailed his mouth to her neck, the space under her ear, the space where her jaw began.

Her little gaspy breaths permeated his mind. The haze of lust blinding.

"Well I'd like to help, but.." She breathed, could hear the smile in her voice. Tied hands mock straining.

"If you touched me right now I'd go mad." He warned, voice low.

Heard her breath catch. Her pupils widening to saucers.

He pulled her tunic off, now only draped helplessly around her arms. The sight of her soft flesh, ridged spikes leading him down. Her full breasts, the soft curve of her belly, the dip of her waist.

He groaned, low in his throat.

Hungry mouth encasing her hard peak, fingers pinching and rolling the other.

She arched hard into him, the skin of her sternum caressing his clavicle. Shocked again by how soft she was. Lamb's ear.

He laved his tongue up and down her nipple, panting. Already engorged by his devotion.

She writhed beneath him, pushing her chest up into his mouth. Little pleading moans. Legs wrapping around his hips.

Feeling the muscles encasing his hips he moaned. Her legs were deadly strong, he knew. Had watched her kick down a double door with ease to get in a burning building. It would take very little effort for her to gain the upper hand.

But she didn't, just clung to him like a buoy in a storm. If his touch was a relief, he'd give her as much as he could.

His fingers trailed down her front, finding her leggings offering resistance.

"Gods, why aren't you naked already?" He groaned in frustration, yanking the damned things off her plush hips.

"And whose fault is that?" She gasped between his harsh pulls.

"You're right." Leaning forward to purr in her ear. "In the future I'd prefer you come to my tent in just my camp shirt."

"Deal." She licked and bit at his ear, now within her reach.

He shuddered, much to her delight. A little triumphant moan directly in his ear.

His limbs on fire he flipped her onto her belly, her tied hands above her head. Pulled her hips up hard. Seeing the wetness already flowing out of her in rivulets.

"I warned you." He groaned low to her gasp.

"Oh no, whatever shall I do..." She teased, waving her ass back and forth at him.

He growled deep in his chest, diving on her. His mouth seeking and ravenous on her cunt.

She swore in infernal, hips quaking. Her tied hands pounding down against the ground. She pushed into him harder, hips greedy.

He was gone against her, tongue lapping and hot. A frenzy. Hooking his arm around her as her hips threatened to give out. Suckling down around her hard clit, nibbling. Smiling into her as he heard more vulgar language.

Finally coming up for air he teased his two fingers inside her, other hand gently circling her tight asshole. Reveling in the little gasp that left her.

"It seems like you want more, my hellion."

Her tail lashed around him in frustration, only deepening his smile.

"You're the devil, you know that right?" She groaned into her arm as his fingers curled into her.

He laughed at the irony. On his knees he trailed a hand down her spine, fingers picking up pace. She was so warm, a furnace against his body.

"Astarion," She groaned, hips driving into his hand. Oh he would never tire of the way she said his name.

"Yes?" He purred.

"If you dont fuck me right now I'm going to kill you."

Knew she meant it as a joke. Probably. The danger thrilled hot in his pelvis. Painfully aroused, he finally freed himself.

Lining himself up to her, gripping her hip. Heard her groan in pleasure at his rough hold.

Slowly he sank into her, hips already threatening to slam down. Gods she was perfect. The pressure unbelievable, the muscles of her gripping him already.

Fully buried, his eyes fluttered shut. Not even started and he was already in ecstasy.

"You're so beautiful." She breathed. Opening his eyes he saw that she had twisted to look at him. Her eyes glowing a haunting green in the dim light. He could always find them in the dark.

Fondness for her spilling in his chest he leaned forward, catching her around her neck. Pulling her up to him in a deep kiss.

Hips slowly starting to roll into her, he kiss her, savoring.

Her mewls into his mouth a sirens call, back arching against him. His hand still on her throat, applying gentle pressure. Other reaching down to swirl circles on her clit.

Could feel her body shaking, her clenches around him getting stronger. Still he kept a languid pace, hand on her neck arching up, pulling her throat free for him. But he didnt bite down. Not yet.

"I want you to bite me when I come." Her voice, dark. His hips stuttered, concentration briefly broken.

"Yes," Was the only response he could muster. His voice a groan.

Her gasps getting closer and closer, a birds eye view of her chest heaving. Hands straining against his bonds. Head thrown back against him, breathing in her scent fully. Hitting the back of his throat, making him salivate.

Hand a blur against her clit he couldn't take it anymore, needed to taste her, needed her to come all over him.

She tried to lurch forward as it hit her but he wouldn't let her escape. Hand still steady on her shrieking throat he bit down hard. Pulling her molten blood into his throat.

The supernova of pleasure in it hitting the back of his skull like a hammer. Eyes rolled so far back he thought he might go blind he released. Her vice grip around him wrenching him for all he was worth. A loud whimpering cry wet against her throat. Hand pulling her further back into him. Couldn't get enough, not ever.

Her tied hands swung back and hooked behind his head, holding him there as she writhed and begged. His hips still pushing into her. "The blood, the blood," She moaned, her voice a tempest as she clamped down around him in her final throes.

Sitting back on his haunches he let her fall into him. Her gasps against his chest.

She let her full weight against him, head lolling into the curve of his neck.

He hushed and cooed into her, one hand pulling the hair from her face, other freeing her from her restraint.

Her hands falling free she cupped the back of his head, holding him so sweetly.

"Can we lay down?" She asked, voice still little more than a breath.

"Of course." He crooned, pulling her down onto his bedroll. Laying on his side next to her.

"Oh come on," She groaned in frustration. Pulling him into her, their limbs tangling.

He blinked, about to pull away but her hand gently scratching his scalp melted him. His head coming to rest on her chest. The drum of her heartbeat a song. So so warm.

They lay like that a while, a tranquil silence. Intertwined bodies finding eachother.

"Thank you." She whispered, could hear her heart picking up speed. "For trusting me."

He huffed against her. "I could say the same. You're not uniquely troubled, you martyr." Her laugh shaking his head.

"But you're welcome. It's easy with you."

~

Part 3

[chronically-ghosted]

Second Base.

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 3712

summary: you try out second base; hand stuff only, but it changes things between you two, as much as you don't want it to.

warnings/tags: cute little outfits designed to drive max nuts, hand jobs (m and f receiving), more blood, fangs, one emotionally unavailable vampire

a/n: this contains one of my favorite lines i've ever written!

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Second base.

Because you aren’t actual sadists or masochists, after the first bite, your sex life with Max went back to normal. Well, as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night ever was in the first place. Okay – as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night who is Max Phillips ever was in the first place. Which is to say, often, hard, and loud. It had been weeks since you’d seen that worried look of consternation, that sweet vulnerability he expressed, as if feeding on you might be the thing that kills you and not being railed against your couch for the better part of an entire day. Sometimes you wished he had much respect for your ability to walk upright as he did your jugular vein. 

On some level, you were aware that his recent overexuberance was in part due to that vulnerability. As if you might lift the curtain and find that the man behind it all might leave you wanting. Truly a frat boy at heart, Max struggled to express anything that couldn’t be summed up with the three “ings” – licking, sucking, and fucking, obviously – but now, he had been exposed as someone capable of those deeper feelings, as if he had been the one to split open a vein for you. And despite the heavenly glow you indulged in after the first bite, you really weren’t quite sure how you felt about it all. You hadn’t started dating Max with any illusions about who exactly he is. In fact, you might have started fucking him in the first place because it seemed wildly out of character that he or you would get attached at all – to anyone or anything. The dating thing just sort of happened, when you both came to the same conclusion at roughly the same time: no one else was really doing it for you, so why not? So what if you only directly referred to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend in the privacy of your own apartment, or his? So what if half of the office was entirely clueless about your relationship and the other half was actively placing “secret” bets about how long you two had been fucking? Annoyingly, Tim had been the one to be almost right: “six months ago, I’m telling you, man. That’s when he stopped eating secretaries and she got so much nicer.”

Technically, he stopped eating secretaries about a month into your relationship, and what Tim accidentally overheard was not him “eating” a “secretary”, but you weren’t about to correct him. But Max found it all hilarious: “he’s right, you’re so much nicer when that pussy has been taken care of. But I like it when you’re mean.” 

You actively choose not to think about what he meant by a “deep emotional connection” last time.

Fine, Phillips, I’ll show you how mean I can be.

“Nope, no, uh uh.” 

You put your hand just over the frilly blue lace on your hip. “I’m sorry, I don’t see the problem.” 

It had been about a month since first base and while Max had gotten notably more relaxed around you seeing him eat – he now occasionally walked around your apartment with his food in an opaque smoothie tumbler with a straw – he was still very strict about moving onto second base. 

Which, if left up to him, meant you’d be wearing a straight jacket and thick flannel pajamas. 

“Max, if we’re ever going to do this thing for real, you’re going to have to get used to seeing me naked. I’m not letting you fuck me and bite me while I’m in riot gear.”

“Okay, but, baby,” he whines and he can’t help himself from rubbing the satin bow above your crotch between his fingers. “You look like a birthday cake.” 

Is the baby blue lingerie with a strapless bra that catches around your biceps with white lace a bit overboard? Yes. But last time was ridiculous.

Max frowns, his visible pout morphing into something subtly dangerous as he realizes he can unpeel your bra with a string in the back. “Can’t I just fuck you normally in this and then we’ll try again later?”

You swat his hand away as it sneaks across your ribs. 

“No.” 

“You know, if I wasn’t already dead, I’d think you’re trying to kill me.” Smirking, he drops his hands down to your waist and, not so subtly, curves them around the mold of your ass. Distractedly, he slips one finger under the seam of your panties. You press your hands against his chest and blink up at him coyly. 

“Whatever gave you that impression.” 

He shakes his head, squeezing your ass once. “And I’m supposed to be the soulless demon with a heart of darkness.” 

“So you’ll do this?” 

With a sigh and his eyebrow jumping, he nods. “Yeah. Fine. Go get on the bed.”

Trying desperately not to squeal, you tear away from his arms and all but run and leap on top of the white towel. Max slips out of his shoes, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You bite your lip, nerves humming in anticipation, as you sit up on your knees to watch him. To your enormous dismay, no matter how hard you worked, no matter how much spit or cum you used, you could not make him purr again. You’d had wet dreams on the idea alone of putting your head against his chest as he vibrated but he swore it was involuntary. “And,” he added as a way to soothe your ego, “I’m pretty sure it can only happen when I’m feeding.”

“Does it happen every time? Like with blood bags or back when you hunted people?”

“No,” was all he said about that.

Max slips his shirt off over his shoulders and goes to work unbuttoning his pants. When they slide off his hips, you frown. 

“The boxers with the hole in the waist? Ooh, baby, I’m so turned on when you make such an effort.” 

He rolls his eyes as he climbs in next to you. “Look, I didn’t think you’d be seeing my underwear and I need to do laundry.”

“You didn’t think I’d see your underwear in a situation where we’re going to specifically jerk each other off?”

Attempting some version of contrite, Max’s gaze falls from your face to your throat, to your clavicle, to your tits, pillowed up for him beneath the blue lace. He leans in as if pulled by magnets. 

“I’m sorry if I thought we’d both be a little more preoccupied.” 

His broad palm smooths across your thigh, around your hips, to just above your tailbone, his nose drawing indistinct lines from your shoulder to your ear. You sort of hate how quickly he can make you not irritated with him. You shift to take him into the cradle of your thighs, when he winds your panties up in his fingers and tugs. The gossamer material tightens just over the seam of your pussy, teasing your clit, you choke. That heated, teasing Max Phillips smirk spreads like hot butter across his lips. 

“What are the rules again?”

“Max,” you whine as you drag your nails over his chest and up his shoulders. But he hesitates, his hand knotting your underwear in his fist. One move and it’ll rub against you again.

“I’ll stop,” he murmurs in a half-sing-song voice. You huff.

“Silver. Bad touch, on your skin. Lightheaded or dizzy, I use the safeword. And,” you sigh. He’s so painfully handsome sometimes it hurts. He’d set out candles again, as if he needed any help in his seduction of you and he just sort of glows. You don’t know if it’s your anticipation or some vampire illusion, but every line on him is blurred. Soft, as if he doesn’t have your pleasure literally in his hands. There it comes again, that small bit of light in his eyes, the emergence of the early morning sun over the horizon. The way he looks at you makes your chest heavy. “And . . . only hand stuff,” you grumble. 

He chuckles, pouting at you in faux-sympathy as he reaches out, other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. “Only hand stuff, she’s so sad about it,” he whimpers into your cheek with a high, mocking voice. 

Your fingers dig into the skin on his chest, daring to hold him away as he goes for your mouth. “I swear to god, Max –,”

In one single fluid motion, he pushes on your tailbone, and swings your hips forward as he tackles your mouth with his own, effectively yanking you under him. You huff in surprise, before pulling away to find menace and glee in his eyes. Grins again as he nips with flat teeth on the curve of your neck. 

He plants wet, hot kisses across your chest, heat blooms against your ribs and tunnels down between your legs, as he tongues the softer places along the hollow of your throat, then up the other side of your throat, teasing your earlobe. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “that was mean. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

Pressing your chest up against his, knowing he can feel the squish of your tits, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. His hard cock rubs up against your seam and he lets loose with a muffled groan into your mouth. You roll your hips once with him between you and he turns his head to your jaw, as you both pant at the sensation. 

“You know exactly what I want.” 

His teeth graze you gently. This is an exercise in restraint for you as much as it is him. Given any other night, you’d have his pants off by now, on his back, or behind you, but you refrain. You can’t squeeze him like you want to and that only frustrates you more, makes you heated and ruffled, makes you want more of his skin on you, around you, as if he could smother you. You want to merge your bodies. Your knees dig into his ribs.

He whispers something, too low and fast for you to catch it, but it ends broken and uneasy as if you’re touching something delicate within him. Bending back with one hand, Max reaches between your legs and cups you, one finger barely pressing the wet material back inside you. 

“Was this waiting for me under all those layers?” You nod as he pushes deeper, your mouth dropping open. He kisses your chin, before tucking his head under your jaw again. “No wonder you were burning up.” 

He inhales as if his face was pressed right up against your cunt, two fingers rubbing up and down over that sodden material. It scraps against your clit and it burns. “I could eat you. Just like this.”

“Max, c’mon–,”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

Smearing that pink little bow with the smell of you, he dips his hand under the line of your underwear, past your damp curls, and soothes your overheated sex by filling it with two thick fingers. You arch, brow furrowing, mouth open, fingers clamping down around his shoulders, arousal crawling up your spine, higher and higher the deeper he goes. Max likes the build up, the tease, it’s why his thumb only hovers above your clit, the heat doing half the work for him, as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the wet squelching almost embarrassing. Behind his hand, his hips swing in time. He groans, deep, into your ear, breathless. 

“Could come like this, baby, could come right like this.” 

The bend of his cock bumps the back of his hand as he thrusts against nothing. You hitch your pelvis up, opening wider, pussy easier within reach, and you forgo any teasing for him, hand sliding right past his boxers, molding your grip around him. He’s hot and leaking all over your fingers. 

“‘Ngh . . . shit, baby.” The arm holding him up shakes. You want to lick the salty precum but there has to be a rule about that, right? If you aren’t so desperate for that final fuck, you would have been a bit more careless. His fingers inside you press up into the places only he knows can send you into oblivion, as if grateful for tearing him apart. His wrist flicks quicker, faster into you, fingers plunging deeper, up to the knuckles, bouncing you as if you were on his cock. You match his speed with your own hand and Max hums, a dark sound verging on distressed. 

You bite your bottom lip, eyes drooping, the rocking motion scraping against your pleasure again and again, like a match scratching against the box one stroke at a time. “Maaax –,” He adds a third finger and you keen, high-pitched and desperate, the width stretching you out for a cock he won’t let you have. You grind against his fingers, the bounce knocking loose every sane thought in your head. 

Opening your eyes, you realize he’s been staring at your tits this whole time. His chest warm and glowing with sweat, his eyes track every bounce and jiggle, the cups of your bra putting them more on display than if you held them up yourself. 

“Where do you want it, darling?” His voice is strained, softer than it should be with your cunt sucking up his fingers. 

Max Phillips doesn’t do cutesy nicknames. Not during sex, not ever. Your his slut. His monsterfucker. Not – 

Your already unspooling mind struggles to grasp at darling before it slips away. 

His cock is throbbing against the palm of your hand. If you could see it, it would be flushed red, the vein at the base protruding. You pump him faster and his hips stutter. He’s so close and so are you. 

But he’s not talking about that. 

“On my tit, Max. Bite me on my tit.” 

With a groan that is all growl, all tension and feral hunger, his arm collapses and he sinks his weight against you. He manages to get his hand out, but yours is still trapped there, pinned between your tender cunt and his painfully hard cock. You writhe. “Max–,” 

His kiss against your lips is a starving sort of one, one that steals the breath from your lungs, wiping any lingering ache temporarily from your body. He licks the inside of your mouth, swallowing the moan that races from your throat into his. It’s all need, desire, a blistering familiarity that you didn’t realize existed between you two. He’s trying to say something with this kiss. 

He doesn’t give you long to read into it, as he pulls back, sinking more into his knees as he mouths the skin under your neck, above your clavicle bone, and in between the valley of your tits. His weight shifts off you, enough to pull your hand out. You arch, pushing your chest deeper into his mouth, using the back of his neck to pull you higher, he groans and licks, and you yank the tie of your bra behind your back. 

“Max, you can –,”

His hand claws at your cups, mouth consuming yours again, the ropes almost stinging your back as they are ripped so fast across your heated skin. Before you lie flat, his hand cups under you, fingers pressing into where the threads burned and forcing you to maintain that bend in your spine. 

The moment is coming. You can feel it. It’s different from a rising orgasm, or the first time he ever sucked your nipple into his mouth. Your lizard brain is sending off warning flares, but you ignore it once again. Those flares arc and bend, your arousal now fire hot. 

His tongue pressed flat, Max draws a long stripe of spit from under your breast, over the weight of it, and up your nipple, where he swirls it between his teeth. Whether Max Phillips was an ass or tits man depended on the day of the week, or whatever was blowing in the air, but he laved attention onto yours like they were the first pair he’d ever seen in his life. The skin on your other breast shines from where his fingers mold around it, smearing your wet juices all over your pebbled skin. He switches over and laps up that smell off you. 

He’s wavering, caught between drawing it out and doing it so instantaneously he might black out and miss the whole thing. Your heart racing, skin almost too sensitive, you feel like you might shudder apart.

“Max, please –,”

He chooses the second approach. 

Without warning, his fangs spring out and he latches onto the skin near the valley of your chest on your right breast. 

You yelp in surprise, pain and pleasure zigzagging like rough scissors from his bite out through the rest of your body.

Okay, that hurts. 

You gasp, bucking, yanking on his hair. “Baby, baby, gentler, be gentle–,”

He swallows and the ache lessens. Hot blood pools out of the spot where his fangs punctured you. It runs warm then cold, teasing like a feather, as it rolls down your stomach. It’s not a lot, but it's more than last time. It stains his chest too.

Slowly, that same sort of miraculous fog sinks down into your bones. The grip on his hair eases, softens, and soon you are petting him against you.

You swear you feel his fangs scrape your heart. 

“That’s good, Max, that’s so good.” Your eyes roll lazily in your head and you nuzzle his hair. “God, how does this feel so good?” 

As though determined to remind you he is more than just fangs, his hand pulls away from the mattress and slides back between your legs. You feel only one finger brush against your folds through your underwear – you’re almost disappointed, go back to using three, Max –

His finger plunges deep, deep inside of you, and you gasp, feet scrambling against the towel, as a swell of pleasure almost smothers you in an overwhelming wave. You nearly choke from the force of it. You were so overly sensitive but the gooey haze didn’t let you realize it until it was too late. You come hard, harder than you thought possible, seeing eons of galaxies and stars behind your eyes, with just one of his fingers inside you and his thumb distractedly circling your clit. 

He feels you gush around his hand, wetting his wrist, and with a moan you can feel in your ribs, he spills in his boxers, the spend running down his thigh and smearing on yours. 

Your entire body goes slack, as if someone had made all your bones disappear. His hips jerk slightly as if his orgasm is still trying to wring him dry before he stills and plucks his head from your chest, unplugging his fangs from the holes he made.

Blood immediately bubbles up from the wound and without his fangs there, it spills freely and violently over your tits, your ribs. The whiplash between your orgasmic high and a full-body weakness sends hot nausea swooping into your stomach and the room spins.

“M-m-ax,” you murmur, barely opening your mouth, your voice weak and thick as if stuffed with cotton balls. 

“Fuck, sorry –,” you can’t quite see him clearly as he moves and suddenly there’s a warmth over your chest, comforting and heavy. The blood trickles to a stop and you breathe deeply. The darkness of the room stabilizes as you fully open your eyes. The room spins but this time pleasantly. 

“Hmm, whoo, wow, ah, okay . . .”

You don’t realize he’s gotten off the bed until the mattress sags again and he’s cleaning you up with cold cotton balls. 

“So, I’m going to take that mindless babbling as a good thing.” He smiles gently, but he’s holding something back. He keeps his head low like he doesn’t want you to see his face.  

You wiggle your shoulders, as he delicately wipes you down. “What, you don’t wanna clean me up with your tongue? And why do you even use disinfectant – there’s no open wound.” You poke him in the shoulder with your toe. “And you didn’t even purr that time! I demand a refund!”

“Next time, okay?” 

You frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just let me–,” 

You sit up, the dried blood pinching your skin, and he pulls away. “Max, what is it?” 

He pulls away so much, he’s on his feet by the dresser before you can touch him, the back of his arm tearing at his mouth to wipe it clean. Max is a lot of things but cold when you need aftercare is not one of them. 

“It’s nothing.” The line of his shoulders is taught, tense. But he cracks his neck and takes the Gatorade from the dresser. He finally sits back down on the bed in front of you, offering the bottle to you. You take it, unease mounting, your fingers brush his, but this time he doesn’t retreat. Instead, gently, his fingertips ghost over your wrist, down the fine hairs on your arm, drop from your elbow and settle delicately on the blue material covering the crease of your hip. Where your blood had pooled, wet, and stained the blue to a deep magenta. 

“I ruined your pretty underwear,” he says softly, forlorn. 

You move closer to him, your knee touching his hip, but you refrain from seeking out the warmth of his hands. 

“Max, I can get new ones, I don’t care about that. Please, talk to me. Did I do something wrong? Did I push you too far?”

His fingers flex around the towel, now also appropriately ruined. He shakes his head, more firmly this time. He snags his shirt off the floor, over his head, then moves towards the bedroom door.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m sticky. I’m gonna take a shower. You wanna come?”

The invitation, it’s something, an encouragement you genuinely feared he might not give. Maybe it’s not you he wants to part from. 

You didn’t enter into this for the emotional connection and neither did he. You have to remember that.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

He invited you. He still wants you around. 

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