#(not me wondering if i could blow the salt away)

[lorensonebraincell]

re-reading bc talking to you 🫵 about mafia!atz has made me all bothered and needing angry and possessive ateez grrrr

dewdrops at dawn

pairing: poly!ateez x fem!reader (ot8 x reader) [demon!au]

warnings: minors dni!! socially anxious reader, reader is implied to be neurodivergent but it’s never explicitly said, mentions of body insecurity, chubby reader, being followed, drunk assholes, cursing, demons, soulmates, reincarnation, blood, death, heavy suggestive content, mentions of angels being dicks (idk there’s a bit of angel slander but it’s just for plot purposes), a little gore, angst then lots of fluff, heavy sexual themes but no actual smut (again, minors please dni!!) (also, all suggestive content is 100% consensual, the reader just tries to evade their advances to continue their teasing), also the reader is mentioned to be some kind of atheist/not religious 

word count: 17.2k

a/n: nooo the boys’ demon forms are totally not based on the obey me characters at all, why would you even ask that /j lol welcome to another monster fic!! I’ve been writing this one in between like the moon and finally had the motivation to finish it! I hope y’all enjoy this one!! <3 

There’s an ache in your chest. 

It’s not stinging or painful, by any means - just an ache. The dull throb is usually easily ignored in most circumstances, with a shrug of the shoulders or a heavy breath. The pain is never enough to worry your already addled mind. It lingers constantly, not sated by any human means. 

You don’t know how to describe it to those who ask. The pain isn’t sharp, and it’s certainly not excruciating. It’s simply empty. That’s the only way you’ve learned to describe it. It’s a hole in your chest, aching to be filled - by what, you’re not quite sure. All you know is the ache feels null, like a void longing to be filled, or a chasm waiting to be crossed. There’s emptiness that cannot be filled no matter how hard you try. 

Some days are better than others. On these, you can manage your day quite splendidly; going about your daily tasks does not pose a challenge. Getting up in the morning was not as difficult of a challenge, nor was dragging yourself to university classes.

On other days, you can barely bring yourself to leave the bed. The emptiness drags a pit into your stomach and you can feel nothing but the ache that longs to be filled. You have yet to discover what you’re searching for, but you long for the day the empty pain is filled. 

Your friends, however, have an interesting way of comforting you. 

Keep reading

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! can i request sirius taking care of sick reader?? where he's really sweet like total fluff!!

have a good day/night!!

Hey gorgeous, thanks for requesting! Hope you have a good day/night as well <3

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 940 words

“Can I just say,” Sirius says, leaning against the bathroom wall, “that this is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a testament to your hotness that I’m still attracted to you right now.” 

You laugh, and it makes a bit of water come out of your nose, splattering into the sink. Though the bathroom mirror is fogged up from the hot shower you’ve just sat in, you have an idea of what you look like right now, and you’re inclined to agree that it’s a miracle anyone could find you attractive like this. 

You’re wearing the same bathrobe you’ve been in all day plus a fabric headband to keep your half-damp, frizzy hair away from your face as you bend over the sink, trying to flush out your sinuses with salt water. Your face is flushed and dry, your lips chapped, and your nose turned an agitated color from tissue overuse. 

“Are you sure?” you ask Sirius, taking another tissue from the nearly empty box. “You could leave me, I wouldn’t blame you.” 

You blow your nose. It makes a gratifying, horrendous sound, and Sirius’ mouth pinches. 

“Charming,” he mutters, but moves closer to you. “No, I’m afraid I’m in for the long haul, sweetness. After I catch whatever it is you have, no one will have me anyway.” 

“A cold,” you remind him, wincing as you wipe your raw nose. 

“Sure.” You don’t turn around, but you can practically feel the uplifted eyebrow directed at your back. “You done with this part for now?” 

You hum, letting Sirius take you back to bed with a hand curled in the fuzzy material of your robe. For someone who gripes about how sick he’s going to get so often, he sure hasn’t been holding back on the physical contact this past week. He pushes you down onto your bed, settling in beside you. 

“I know it’s good for your snot or whatever,” he says, low enough you think he might be talking to himself, “but I don’t like you sitting in that hot shower when you’ve still got a fever. I’m freaked you’re gonna pass out on the bathroom floor, and we both know my reaction time isn’t quick enough to keep you from cracking your head on the tile.” 

“I’m not gonna pass out,” you sigh, though you do let your eyes slip closed, succumbing to the exhaustion that seems to find you every time you stop moving since you’ve been sick. 

“Mm,” Sirius hums discontentedly. You hear him twisting the cap off of something, and when you open your eyes he’s reaching for your face. You stay perfectly still as he cups your cheek in one hand to steady himself, using the other to smear vaseline onto your chapped nose. 

You sniffle. “I could do this myself,” you say quietly. 

“Obviously,” Sirius murmurs, “but I haven’t been much help, so let me have something to feel like I’m contributing, okay? I promise I’ll ask you to do tons more when it’s my turn to lay around.” 

“You made me soup.” 

“That was a box mix, babe. When I’m sick, I’m going to want chicken noodle made from scratch.” 

You want to point out that chicken noodle soup isn’t all that difficult to make, but you stay quiet. 

You wonder if Sirius can feel your heartbeat with his pinkie tucked under your jaw like this, if you’re giving yourself away. It’s always nerve-wracking having someone this beautiful look at you, worse when you know you’re not exactly at your most winsome yourself. But Sirius’ touch is nothing short of adoring as he soothes the cold jelly onto the burning parts of your nose. He’s looking at you with a tenderness you wouldn’t have been able to picture when you first met him and yet suits him perfectly, gray eyes gone soft and quiet like the sky after a storm. 

They flicker up to you, catching something in your own expression. “What’s wrong?” 

What’s wrong is the unbelievable fondness of his thumb as it coasts down your cheek, the way he blows lightly on your freshly moisturized skin once he’s done with the vaseline, cooling it. The gesture is half teasing and half sincere, evidence of a thoughtfulness he doesn’t often show and almost never admits to. You think that if you were to tell James the other boy would probably bug your room with cameras to try and catch it on film. 

Sirius brushes a piece of hair behind his ear. “Does something else hurt, baby?” 

“My eyes,” you whisper, pressing your fingertips to the skin underneath your eyes to show him. You can actually feel your sinuses crackling when you apply pressure. “They sort of ache.” 

He makes a terribly lovely cooing sound, stroking your cheek and bending to press a kiss to your forehead. “Be right back,” he promises you. 

You close your eyes as he goes into the bathroom. There’s not much point in keeping them open when your boyfriend’s not here to admire. You hear cabinet doors opening, the faucet running, and then your mattress dips again. 

“Keep your eyes closed,” Sirius murmurs, settling a warm rag over your eyes. 

You sigh, the relief is so instant, and you hear him chuckle quietly. 

“God, I love you,” you say. 

“That feels rather conditional,” he replies. “Would you love anyone who warmed up rags for you and made soup out of a box?” 

“I think the real question is, could I love someone who I say ‘I love you’ to and they don’t say it back?” 

“Fickle.” Soft lips press to your cheek. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

[justwinginglife]

Lucky Shot

Guys, this fic came about totally by accident, but I had SO SO much fun writing it. Sorry, I know I'm supposed to be working on requests, but this just spontaneously popped into my head and when inspiration strikes, I gotta go with it. Also, for warnings, this has a mature scene but it's not explicit. Hope you all enjoy!

When a beach trip with Soshiro ended in the murder of a rubber duck, you knew there was more to him than meets the eye.

You’d been secretly dating him the last 7 months and during that time, he had begged you on multiple occasions to let him take you to the beach. He always claimed he just wanted to have a relaxing vacation with his favorite person in the whole world, but you knew he was just dying to know if you were a bikini kinda girl.

You resisted at first, finding entertainment in his eagerness. He was so desperate for you to go with him, you were sure if you asked, he would’ve gotten down on his hands and knees to convince you. But there were only so many times you could say no to the pleading in his eyes, only so many times you could resist the press of his hips against yours as he murmured his requests across the expanse of your neck. 

“Please, baby.” He’d gently brush your hair to the side, sucking at the tender skin, then kissing at the trail of bruises that bloomed in its wake. “Let’s go to the beach, love. Let me see you all gorgeous and sun-kissed. Let me lick the salt from your lips.”

And suddenly your resolve crumbled to pieces. 

You were a Captain, you were by no means weak. You were one of Death’s favorite tools, the reaper of beasts, the killer of kaiju. But around Soshiro? You were helpless, robbed of your strength by mere lips on skin. For Soshiro, you were a love-drunk fool, and when he whispered into your ear, “Didn’t you say you’d never had sex in the ocean before? Why don’t we cross it off the bucket list,” you suddenly forgot the reason you’d resisted for so long.

So you went to the beach with him. 

And when Soshiro discovered that you were in a fact a bikini kinda girl, he made sure you never forgot how it felt to have the whip of the ocean waves at your back as he fucked you against the current. When the sun dipped behind the clouds, you wondered if it was simply shying away from the carnality of it all. If anyone were to make the sun blush at their obscenities, it would be Soshiro, with his ravenous desires and his unabashed lust. The vulgar way in which he had so publicly claimed you was enough to convince you that any poor soul who had been on the beach must’ve vacated the premises for fear of being corrupted by the sight of his lecherous appetite. 

When his thirst was finally somewhat quenched, he proceeded to engage in a different kind of activity with you, one that was equally as strenuous, one that waged war on your unsuspecting body. He shot you with a water gun. 

Before you had time to be properly shocked at the sudden change in his demeanor, he shot you again, pelting the center of your forehead with a short burst of cold water. 

Your pride as a gun wielder was on the line and you ducked out of the way of his next shot, before collecting your gun from the sand and firing rounds at his crotch. He was lucky it was only water because you were a damn good shot.

The next thing you knew, the beach was a battlefield and he was the enemy. You ducked behind palm trees and dove across sand dunes, both of you trying to get the upper hand on the other, both of you launching vicious attacks. You’d always fought by his side; it was intriguing to now stand opposed to him. You knew his every move, but he also knew yours. When you’d reveal your position, stepping out to fire at his chest, he’d emerge from his hiding spot and land a blow to your shoulder at the same time. It was like he was your perfect shadow. 

Amidst the raging chaos, you thought to yourself that you never once imagined when you were both sworn into the Defense Force that all that training and all that combat experience would one day be used for something as stupid and as silly as a water gun war. But there you were, two highly esteemed, highly trained, highly ranked members of the JAKDF, dueling with water as your weapons. And you were both taking this so seriously that it was honestly laughable. 

And you did laugh. 

When he gave up on shooting you, tossing the toy to the side, and opting for tackling you into the water instead, you laughed so hard you thought you might swallow half the ocean in the process. Then the calm finally settled in and he just held you a moment, waves lapping at your bodies, as his warmth seeped into your skin. 

You broke the silence first, grinning widely as you teased him, “And here I thought you were bad with a gun.” 

He laughed. “I never said I was bad with one. I said my combat power was low. I never said I couldn’t shoot.”

“And I had to find this out by getting a burst of water to the eye?” 

A sly smile curved across his lips. “I never said I couldn’t aim.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s test out this aim of yours.”

So suddenly you found yourself with your feet planted in the sand, standing a couple feet away from him with a little rubber duck he’d bought from one of the beach stalls perched atop your head, daring him to fire, daring him to fail. 

“You get one shot. And if you miss, we’ll know I’m the better shot.” 

He smirked. “Oh, I won’t miss, love.”

He pulled the trigger and in an instant, the rubber duck was lying face down in the sand. 

You gasped with mock offense. “You just killed my present. You just committed ducky murder.” 

He chuckled. “I’m the one who bought it for you; I think I have the right to kill it.”

As you bent down to pick up the duck, a thought crossed your mind.

“Hey. Who else knows you can shoot?”

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Not many people. Why?”

You grinned devilishly. “I just discovered a new game I’d like to try.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, the local carnival opened up in town and half the Third Division had flooded the festival grounds, looking for a good time. 

Up until now, you and Soshiro had kept your relationship under wraps, even going so far as to bicker publicly so as to douse any sneaking suspicions of a possible budding romance. So when your favorite vendor opened up his shooting stall, the way he did every year, you knew that no one in the Third Division would suspect you of rigging the game. 

A crowd slowly gathered around the stall as you openly and loudly degraded Soshiro’s shooting skills, betting him that he couldn’t even hit one of the targets let alone all of them. When other officers caught wind of your challenge, they immediately started placing their bets.

“Have you ever even seen the Vice Captain shoot a gun?” Haruichi asked, turning to Nakanoshima as he pondered his choice. 

Her brows furrowed, “Maybe? I’m not sure. I can’t remember.”

He finally passed his money over to you, having decided to take your side. 

“Nah, the Vice Cap’n is good with a sword, he’s comfortable with a sword, I bet he wouldn’t even know how to hold a gun.” Iharu prattled loudly before handing his wad of bills to you. 

Then Reno chimed in sweetly, “Well Vice Captain Hoshina, I believe in you,” and he handed his money to Soshiro. 

“Thanks, Ichikawa. ‘Preciate that.”

“Sorry, Hoshina. Logically, it’s smarter to stand with the Captain.” Aoi apologized to him before presenting you with his money as well. 

Before you knew it, you’d accumulated a fat stack of cash, with most bets placed against Soshiro. Then it was go time. Everyone in the crowd held their breaths as they watched him get into position, hoisting his gun up to fire. 

You gave Soshiro a knowing look and he nodded.

Then he blew everyone’s fucking minds.

He hit every single target with precision and speed. Even the bonus target. 

When he collected his due payment from all the stunned officers, he simply shrugged and said, “Lucky shot, I guess.”

Then he picked out his prize from the booth owner, the icing on the cake for his spectacular debut, and snuck off to meet you in your agreed upon location. 

“Teddy bear, love? To make up for the murdered duck.” He handed you his prize.

You laughed as you took the stuffed animal from him. It was half your size. “What’d you do, pick the biggest one he had?”

He smirked. “Of course. Only the best for you, my dear.”

“You were amazing out there.” You kissed him deeply. 

He smiled against your lips. 

When you finally pulled away, he held up the thick wad of cash.  “What do you say I take you on the most lavish date you’ve ever been on?”

“I’d say that sounds like a dream.”

“Well then,” He held out his hand to you, “Let’s make some dreams come true.”

[lovelybluebirdie]

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to cook for you, but things don’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1,7k

A/N: I got the idea that Astarion naturally struggles with preparing food, so I had to write some fluff about it! Hope you enjoy :)

[ AO3 ]

Astarion stirred the pot in concentration, holding a wooden spoon in his hand and wondering what exactly he was doing here. 

This whole endeavour resulted from your constant need to be nice to him, he thought with a sigh – apparently it made him want to be nice as well. 

It started the other day when you mentioned how you would kill for a mushroom soup. At first he thought nothing of it, but for some reason the idea stuck to his head, so Astarion decided to roam the forest and gather some mushrooms. Unfortunately it turned out rather quickly that he lacked essential knowledge on the matter, so he had to consult Gale of all people. 

Putting his pride aside, he asked through gritted teeth which ones were edible and which to avoid, since he had no desire to poison you by accident. Due to Gale being Gale, the wizard not only lectured him on different kinds of fungi, he had also given a detailed instruction on the soup’s recipe.

Astarion chuckled at the absurdity of the scene. He had never thought that one day he'd voluntarily prepare food for another person – and yet he found himself bending over the hearth and mixing different ingredients, hoping for the best.

He even wore an apron borrowed from said wizard, therefore he was more than glad that his companions had left for a supply run, while you were waiting in your shared tent so he could attempt this little surprise in solitude.

Gale's voice echoed in his mind: Chop the mushrooms, add them to the broth, stir until thickened, season with salt and pepper and sprinkle a few herbs on top – that’s it! Absolutely foolproof, even for someone who prefers to appease their hunger solely with blood.

The mushrooms had been the easiest part. His dexterous fingers cut them into perfectly bite-sized pieces, but Astarion bloody forgot how long the meal should rest on the fire.

Suddenly a burning smell lingered in the air, and he sensed in horror that the soup was boiling over.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the pot with haste and put it away from the heat.

Well, he thought as he gazed at the bubbling mass, that probably meant it was done.

With utmost care not to spill more of his precious loot, he grabbed a ladle and filled a large portion for you. If he already took the effort for such a novelty, you should at least get your belly full.

Astarion slipped out of the apron and made his way back to you. He assumed you were already growing impatient, as this entire affair had consumed far more time than he had anticipated.

“Hello, darling,” he purred when entering your tent, skilfully balancing the bowl in his hand. 

“Finally! I thought you'd kept me waiting all night – wait, what's that?” You put the book you were reading aside and eyed the dish in his hands.

“I’m not quite sure myself, but according to Gale's recipe it should resemble a mushroom soup.”

Your eyes lit up. “Hold on – you prepared this for me? You know that’s my favourite, right?”

“I suppose I do.” Astarion offered you the soup with a coy smile. “Although you should remember that I’m not particularly versed in the culinary arts, so it might be best to treat this with caution.”

You took the bowl from his slender fingers. “Hah, let me be the judge of that! Besides, it was about damn time you returned the favour of feeding me for once, hm?”

“I couldn’t try it myself for obvious reasons, but I doubt that this could compete with your delicious blood,” Astarion replied jokingly and sat next to you, curiously watching as you sniffed the soup.

“Smells not bad…” you affirmed while blowing on the steaming broth resting on your spoon. “Now comes the delicate part – the taste test.”

The spoon disappeared in your mouth, and suddenly your face twisted into a grimace. You swallowed hard, a cough forcing its way through your pressed lips.

Astarion couldn’t help but snort over your clumsy attempt to keep the soup inside. “So – I sense I failed you miserably?”

“What? No – I mean, it’s not… terrible,” you stuttered. “It’s… Well – did you let it burn by chance?”

“Maybe.” He dragged out the syllables dramatically and shrugged. “Be honest, my dead heart surely can take it – shall we save this mess for Scratch and the owlbear?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed with widened eyes. “I’m not hesitant to share, but not something you specially made for me. Also, some things tend to get better once you get used to the flavour, you know.” 

Before Astarion could intervene, you put another spoon to your mouth and eagerly gulped it down, followed by a second and a third. 

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” you eventually muttered with full cheeks, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m afraid you’re a poor liar, my love.” Astarion gently grasped your wrist to prevent you from taking another mouthful. “So please let me stop you right there, before you seriously upset your gut. I’m sure we can get you something more nutritious for the evening.” Then he took the spoon from your hand and put the bowl aside.

“If you insist,” you said with fondness in your eyes while wiping soup from the corner of your mouth. “But honestly – thank you, Astarion. This was… unexpectedly sweet.”

Heat rose to his ears as he rested his hand on your stomach, starting to draw circles. “Well, let's just hope my failed culinary attempt won't kill you tonight.”

“I guess in that case Lae’zel would avenge me, so you’d better start preparing yourself.”

“Mh… You think she’d stake me?” Astarion questioned and continued to caress your belly.

“Who knows what her creativity will lead to in the end. Knowing Lae’zel, she’d probably come up with something worse,” you pondered while tapping your chin. “But I guess you wouldn't let your preferred blood supply die that easily after all, would you?”

“Oh, don't sell yourself so short,” Astarion countered in feigned bewilderment. “You know that you mean way more to me than that.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, you also keep me warm at night, sparing me the coin for a thicker blanket. You know how expensive those things can get.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his response. “And if you had to give a genuine answer this time?”

Astarion clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I thought my sentiments were rather obvious by now.”

“And yet I don't seem to tire of hearing your appreciation for me,” you teased.

“Getting greedy now, aren’t we? Fine, you're ... quite decent. Despite your constant need to do something heroic, of course.”

You poked his shoulder and turned away with an exaggerated pout.

Astarion chuckled, before he cleared his throat. “Alright – perhaps you’re more than that.” 

He drew you in his arms and breathed against your cheek. “One might also say you're the first person I truly came to care about. Deeply.”

Your lips brushed over his contours, searching for his own until you kissed him tenderly. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Astarion rested a peck on your forehead and embraced you closer, a pleasant flutter spreading in his chest. 

You were right, he thought as his lips curled into an affectionate smile – with you, everything seemed surprisingly easy these days.

*

The next morning Astarion woke to a rumbling. He opened his eyes and could only make out your silhouette as you hastily rushed outside, leaving the flap of your tent wide open.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in concern and immediately got up to follow you.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” you huffed under your breath.

Astarion knelt beside you in the grass and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I said… it’s alright…” You gagged between your words. “But perhaps the soup… Ugh–”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion said softly, when he noticed that you were still wearing his shirt from the other night. “And for the love of the gods – please be careful not to stain my clothes.”

“That's what you’re most concerned about right now?”

“No, of course not! But – That’s my favourite,” Astarion mumbled while he reached for your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“FANGS, what did you do to her?!” Karlach’s voice erupted like a thunderstorm from the other side of the camp as she spotted the two of you.

“Nothing – I only prepared some soup for her last night!”

“Shadowheart! Hurry up, we need you – Astarion poisoned our leader!” Karlach was already marching in the cleric's direction.

“What – no!” You both spoke almost simultaneously, causing you to laugh.

“I seem to have a sensible stomach,” you managed to add before retching again.

Astarion turned serious as he rested his hand on your back. “I'm terribly sorry, my love. That wasn’t meant to happen at all.”

You offered a weak smirk. “I know, and I appreciate the thought. Besides, that means your next dish can only improve.”

Astarion gazed at you in disbelief. “You’d consider letting me cook again after this entire debacle? Those mushrooms must have gone to your beautiful head.”

“Well, on second thought–” You couldn't finish your sentence as your stomach’s content finally emptied onto the grass.

Astarion felt a twist at his ribcage seeing you like this. “We’d better make sure I haven’t actually poisoned you, shall we? – SHADOWHEART! Get yourself over here – now!” 

“I'M ON MY WAY!” Shadowheart shouted from afar.

“I think the worst is already over–” you began to explain, when another voice cut you off.

“Tsk’va! What is going on?” Lae’zel poked her head from her tent, obviously annoyed by the sudden tumult.

“Please, don’t let her stake me,” Astarion whispered and continued to stroke your back.

“Be glad that I love you, otherwise I’d probably let her get away with it this time,” you replied mischievously.

Astarion’s chest filled with warmth as he grasped for your hand. “My sweet, I truly am.” Then he bowed his head to place a kiss on your hair. “And I love you too. So much in fact, that I might consider forgiving you for ruining my shirt.”

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

Astarion returned your grin before his expression turned soft. “But honestly, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

Next time he would surprise you with something less nauseating, he thought as his fingers entwined with yours – a safe choice like bringing another stray to your camp, or a nice perfume perhaps.

Masterlist

[louloulemons-posts]

I was wondering if you might write a story about reader having 3 cats and she is frustrated because no other boyfriend has gotten along with her cats until she started dating Eddie. Please! “Tea and Toast” is one of my favorites!

Little Voids

Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

Word Count : 0.9k

Warnings : not proofread, swearing, flirty eddie, kissing, just cute cat content, minor talk of mistreatment of cats, talks of witches.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Okay I’m going out now, you three be good okay?” You said, throwing your bag over your shoulder, giving each cat a fuss on the head. “Pepper, you’re in charge,” throwing a smile at the black cat, with slowly greying fur, you headed out.

You couldn’t help but grin when you saw a familiar face, Eddie was leaning against his van, wild curls blowing in the wind as always. “Hey you,” he said, matching your cheesy grin.

“Hey.” Letting your lips brush his in greeting, you felt his hands come to rest on your waist. “You look very cute today,” he complimented. Your face flushed at that, you and Eddie had been together for a few months now and you were still feeling those jitters.

“I got you something,” you said, pulling a small pouch out of your bag. “Oh yeah? What’s this?” Taking it in his hands, he pulled the tie, letting a ring fall out.

It was twisted silver around a deep blue stone, that appeared black when it wasn’t in the sun. “Oh baby, this is beautiful. You make this?” With a hum you nodded, pulling a chain over your head, you undid the clasp.

There lay Eddies skull ring, “Hey I was looking for that,” he laughed.

“Sorry, I didn’t know your size so,” your face was warm at the admission. “You’re so cute,” taking your face in his palms, he pulled you close.

Meeting your mouth with his own, you sighed into the kiss, pulling yourself closer, holding onto his t-shirt. “Keep kissing me like that, and we’re going to have to go up to your apartment,” Eddie mumbled against your lips.

“You could … if you want to.”

“Are you sure? You’ve kinda been weird about me ever coming up. You hiding a husband up there?” I laughed, shaking my head.

“You’re the only one I’m interested in Eds you know that.” He tried to hide his smile, but failed big time, unable to not share a toothy grin with you. “Then why haven’t you invited me up?”

Pushing away from him slightly, you slid the old and new ring onto his fingers. “Well we’d have company.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head to the side, “You’ve got a roommate?”

“Try three. Three incredibly cute, yet needy roommates.”

“So you’ve got a husband and kids?” he joked. “Try three kids, well they’re basically my kids.”

Eddies face scrunched in confusion. “I’ve got three cats, my little voids as I call them. Pepper, Salem and Binx.”

“You have cats?” You nodded, “And you never told me?!”

“Well I’ve had issues before when I’ve dated people. They didn’t like them, wanted me to get rid of them, so when I refused we’d just fizzle. Think you can tell a lot about people by the way they treat cats.”

“Babe! I love cats, oh my god we have to go be introduced.” Eddie grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards your apartment. “Eddie! We were meant to be going for lunch.”

“Forget lunch, this is so much more important.” Eddie bounced on his toes like a small child waiting for you to unlock the door. You were almost in shock at his excitement, most people weren’t fond of your cats.

But as you had learnt, Eddie Munson was not like most people.

Opening the door with a push, you were instantly met with the sweet sounds of chirping and meowing. “I know my loves, I’m back sooner than we thought.”

You heard the door close behind Eddie, who stood in awe, looking at the trio of cats. The three small creatures looked at him wide eyed. “Oh my god, they’re so cute.”

“Eddie this is Pepper, my oldest girl,” You stroked the salt and pepper cat, her big yellow eyes staring up at you.

“This is Salem,” the other female cat looked up at the mention of her name, big green eyes, a piece of her ear missing.

“And this is my boy, Binx. He’s the newest addition.” Binx was smaller in comparison, but still looked like his older sisters, only orange eyes and sharp features look much different.

“Oh they’re beautiful,” Eddie walked over quietly, holding his hand out so they could sniff. Binx walked over with ease, sniffing for a second then bumping his head into Eddies hand.

Pepper followed after, giving a soft purr when Eddie scratched behind her ears. Salem wasn’t too sure, the shyest of the trio, she sniffed Eddie then made her way to you.

“She not a fan of new people?”

“Not really, took her a while to get used to me. Found her about 3 years ago on Halloween, kids being real mean.

“It’s why I have three black cats, people think they’re witches cats. Don’t want the bad omen or whatever, but they’re just big fuzzballs.”

Salem jumped up onto your shoulder with ease, resting there. “Did you want to hang out here?” You asked Eddie, taking a seat next to him, on your second hand, emerald green couch.

“Would that be okay?”

“Course bubby. I’m glad you like them, I was real worried you’d do the same as others and tell me to get rid.”

“I’d never, they’re lovely.” He smiled as Binx climbed into his lap. “Baby Binx,” you spoke softly, “I was scared you wouldn’t wanna be with me, think I’m some cat obsessed witch.”

“You’re a very sexy witch.” Letting out a chuckle, I pushed a lock of Eddies hair behind his ear, “Thanks babe, you’re not too bad yourself.”

With a smile, his attention turned back to Pepper, who was meowing to get his attention. “God maybe it was a bad idea to introduce you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re gonna pay more attention to them than me!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N : I really hope you enjoyed! I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write, the writers block is real, I inspired this on my own cats lmao 🫶🏻

Please remember to adopt animals and love them always, they need us to keep them safe and sound 🤍

Thank you so much for reading!

[fandomfucker]

Hey can you please write a story for me about the reader wanting to please her self well Rhea was on the plane coming home from a show. But when Rhea comes home she finds you breaking one of the rules and intense to push you.

Bonus: could the reader give Rhea some Messy oral. 

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT!! (oral, bondage, handcuffs, usage of strap-on, dildo, slight praise and degradation)

Word Count: 2,427

Reader's POV

It had been a long day, with a lot of pent-up stress and frustration. Not to mention, I had been sexually frustrated for the whole two weeks my girlfriend has been away now.

Rhea had a rule though, I could touch myself, but under no circumstances was I allowed to fill myself with anything. That was for her and her only. As far as rules go it was a pretty mild one.

I generally didn't do much of anything without her anyway and she knew that so the rules were pretty lax, but tonight just seemed like it would be one of those nights.

Getting home from work, I immediately threw my shoes towards the closet, too tired to even bother throwing them inside. My purse was placed on the counter as I happily greeted the dogs.

Having made sure that the pups were happily fed I then walked towards the master bath, deciding that a nice hot bath would do wonders.

Smelling salts, bubbles, music, and candles set the mood for me as I settled in. Closing my eyes I hummed along to the lyrics of whatever Motionless in White song was quietly playing as I thought of my girlfriend.

She was supposed to be back earlier this afternoon but had gotten held up with some work thing and now wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow or possibly the day after and I was tired of waiting.

Sliding a hand up my stomach and over the mound of my breast I gently toyed with a nipple. My other hand roamed over my thigh, drawing circles on the inside with my thumb just like Rhea would normally do.

My core began to ache and I craved my toys, which were only second best but better than nothing.

Hastily climbing out of the tub and pulling the plug for the water to drain, I dried myself off (taking care to blow out the candles) before making my way to my and Rhea's shared bedroom.

I walked over to the giant dresser, squatting down to open up the bottom drawer filled with toys.

Eventually, I landed on 'fuck the rule' and picked out a medium-sized purple dildo. It wasn't my favorite, but it would have to do until Rhea came back with her strap-on and fingers.

Feeling a little bit adventurous now, I walked over to the big mirror hanging on the wall in front of the throne in our bedroom.

Getting down on my knees, I used the suction cup on the bottom of the dildo and stuck it to the mirror.

I began to gently stroke the purple dildo before taking it into my mouth, coating it in my own saliva. I pulled back, spitting on it before massaging the spit around its girth.

Reaching down between my legs, I traced the lips of my pussy before moving inwards and beginning to rub my clit.

I thought of Rhea and how she would look between my legs, watching me get wetter and wetter for her as I got off to her. How her lips would feel on the inside of my thigh, coating me in black lipstick after winning a match.

Beginning to feel my wetness drip down my leg I turned myself away from the mirror and backed up into it, looking back just long enough to direct the dildo's tip to my entrance. I rocked back on my knees and seated myself on it.

I had now officially broken Rhea's rule but it felt so good that I couldn't just stop now.

I fucked myself on the mirror as I switched between massaging my clit and my nipples. I was beginning to feel the familiar tightening in my gut. I was so close. I kept my eyes on the carpet below me as I began to pant slightly, a light sheen coating my skin.

Suddenly my head was jerked backward, towards the sky, by the roots of my hair. My eyes watered from the slight burning pain. But there, in all her glory, stood my pissed-off girlfriend.

Immediately I stopped in my tracks, my face dropped and lost all its color. I was so fucked, and not in a good way.

"H-hey, babe." I smiled nervously up at her. She wasn't supposed to be there for at least another few hours.

"What are you doing?" She asked me rhetorically, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"Nothing." I tried nonchalantly. Much to my dismay, as I said that a large droplet of my secretion slid down around the dildo, which was still fake balls deep inside of me, and hit the floor.

Unfortunately, because of just how smart I am having chosen a mirror, Rhea managed to get both a front and back row seat to just how wet I was.

Squatting down to be eye level with me, Rhea dropped the handful of hair she had fisted, now opting to grab my chin instead.

"I thought we'd talked about this." She chided disapprovingly.

I pretended to think about it for a second before innocently responding, "You know, we might've. Probably just slipped my mind."

Not liking this answer, she gripped my shoulders and pulled me away from the mirror, dislodging the dildo from my pussy where it had so graciously set up camp while I talked with Rhea.

I moaned as it slid out, slapping against the mirror wetly as it dripped with my lube. Missing its warmth I looked up at Rhea, pleading with my eyes.

"Nuh-uh." She tutted me. "You know the rules."

Sliding her hand up the back of my neck, she grabbed a fistful of hair at the roots and dragged me towards her, forcing me to stand up.

Now standing on my feet, my legs were shaking terribly. To the point where it was extremely noticeable and drew Rhea's attention.

Looking down at my trembling limbs, a small smirk grew on her face. She gently kicked one of my feet, telling me to spread my legs apart.

I did as she told me and spread my legs. I could feel my secretion, (only made worse by Rhea) as it slid between the folds of my pussy, dripping down onto the floor.

"You're such a slut. Now, is that for Mami? Or is it for that filthy cock?" Rhea growled at me, tugging my head back to look her in the eye.

I whimpered quietly in pain before answering her, "For you, Mami. Only and always you."

Rhea grinned at me and slid her hand from the roots of my hair to my neck, gripping it like a vice. Guiding me by my neck, she turned us around and walked me backward towards the bed.

The backs of my legs hit the bedframe, stopping me in my tracks as I slightly bent backward as Rhea kept coming closer.

Looking me up and down, Rhea reached her other hand up and placed it just below my belly button. Taking her time, she slid her hand further up my stomach, stopping just below my ribs before pushing me down to lay on my back on the bed.

She then tapped my knee, motioning that she wanted me further up on the bed. I followed suit, scooting up towards the top of the bed, and laying my head at the bottom of the pillows.

Rhea began to undress, never breaking her eye contact with me as she did so. She slipped off her shirt and shorts before dropping her panties, leaving her lacy black bra on.

Getting up onto the bed on her knees, she crawled forward so that she was above me. Her hands lay just above my shoulders holding her up as my hips lay between her knees.

"Since you're just so eager to please yourself, you're going to have to wait now. I'm going first." Rhea spoke lowly.

I nodded hungrily as I tried my best to maintain eye contact and keep my hands to myself.

The only thing I liked more than my own orgasms were hers, and I'd do anything to be the one giving them to her.

"Please Mami, let me pleasure you," I begged, just wanting to taste her.

Rhea ran her tongue along the edges of her teeth in thought before patting my cheek in approval.

Grabbing the pillow that was just above my head, she threw it to the floor so that there wouldn't be as many obstacles before crawling up the bed, her wet pussy now just inches from my face as she held herself above me.

"And what do you do if you need to breathe?" Rhea asked me, demanding that I answer before we keep going. She could be cruel sometimes but safety was important to her.

"Tap twice."

"Good girl," she purred, her knees sliding apart as she dropped down onto my face. My hands immediately came up to grip her tatted thighs, holding on like they were my lifeline as hers went into my hair.

I breathed in her scent as I immediately stuck my tongue out, lapping at her wetness. My nose rubbed up against her clit, causing her to moan and grip my hair harder, only encouraging me.

Wanting to please her, I stuck my tongue into her pussy and began thrusting in and out, faster and harder each time. My left hand gripped her thigh for leverage as I brought my right hand to her clit, switching between gentle and rough.

I was starting to run out of air but I'd rather die than be pulled away from her. Luckily, I could tell she was close and thrust my tongue even faster, adding in two fingers as my thumb continued to massage her clit.

Hitting her climax, Rhea exploded all over my face, her legs shaking and tightening around my head as I continued to gently lap at her, helping her ride it out.

She laid back on my stomach, her head on my thighs as I continued cleaning her up. She spread her legs further apart to give me some room to finally breathe as she caught her own breath.

I could both see and feel the strings of her cum as she was pulled away from my lips. Her having left my face a sticky mess of pleasure.

Deciding that she was clean enough, Rhea rolled off of me to sit on her knees next to my stomach.

A look of contemplation came over her face before she got up and walked over to the drawer of toys.

I lifted my head to see what she was grabbing but she was intentionally blocking my view to prevent me from doing just that.

I laid my head back down and waited for her to come back. And when she did, she held a pair of purple fuzzy handcuffs.

Smiling devilishly, she secured each of my hands into a cuff above my head before tying each of my feet to the end pillars of the bed frame using the rope that was permanently situated there.

As much as I was growing nervous as she continued tying me up, I grew excited too.

I was already so close to orgasming that just a single sensual touch from her would send me over at this point.

Hell, just having her come multiple times on or by me would make me come myself, no touches required.

Finally securing the ropes to where she wanted them, Rhea looked up at me, grinning as she saw the growing discomfort on my face.

"Use your words, Princess." She teased as she trailed the tips of her fingernails across the inside of my thigh, tracing circles as she went higher.

"Mami, please. Please, fuck me Mami." I pleaded hungrily.

I made grabby hands from where my wrists were cuffed above my head, motioning to her that I wanted her bra off.

She chuckled lowly before reaching back and unclasping it, sensually slipping it over her breasts and down her stomach before tossing it over her shoulder to the floor.

"Mami, you're teasing." I groaned in impatience and wiggled around for just the slightest bit of friction at this point.

She gripped my hip, hard, to stop me from moving, her other hand taking hold of my throat.

"No, I'm not." She stated gruffly as she harshly inserted her ring and middle finger into me with the hand that was previously holding my hip.

I gasped as her fingers entered me and immediately began pumping at a quickened pace.

Her fingers mercilessly pounded in and out of me, my gasping and whimpering only encouraging Rhea to add another finger, going even harder and faster.

She never failed to make me a writhing, moaning mess. And I was so close. "Mami, please. I'm almost there." I moaned, begging her.

Suddenly, Rhea fully stopped everything she was doing and pulled her fingers out of me. I whined at the loss of contact after being so fucking close to coming and looked at her in confusion and desperation.

"What? You didn't really think you'd get away that easy did you?" She questioned me. "Close your eyes."

Begrudgingly, I did as she said and closed my eyes. Not two minutes later I felt her hoist up my legs by the back of my thighs, along with her using her fingers to slightly stretch my opening again. 

My eyes flew open as I felt something much bigger than her fingers be inserted into me. I looked to where Rhea was and my mouth watered as I saw her kneeling in front of me, my legs propped around her hips, on the bed, wearing her strap-on. I threw my head back, closing my eyes in ecstasy as she tore into me, fucking me hard and fast with her strap. 

"Mami, I'm close," I whined. I always had to have her permission to come and I was ready and wanting.

Rhea smirked at me as she picked up the pace, bringing one of her hands up to massage my clit. "Go ahead, Sweetheart." With the added stimulation on my clit I came almost immediately after being given permission. My legs shook violently as Rhea slowed down a bit, helping me ride it out. I gasped for air as my orgasm ripped it out of my lungs.

She began to untie my legs before climbing on top of me to undo the handcuffs.

I stared up at her in awe as she did so, still trying to catch my breath.

She noticed my staring and got off me, opting to sit next to me instead. Brushing a piece of hair off my sticky forehead she leaned down, mere centimeters from my lips. "If you're going to pleasure yourself when I'm not home, at least next time facetime me. Yeah?"

I nodded my head at her, agreeing to anything and everything she could ever say, relishing in the sweet kiss she gave me in response. Maybe I should break the rules more often.

[o-sachi]

White Hair, White Sand - Drabble for WinBre Week!

ᯓ my dream when I grow up is to live in a house by the beach... with you ᯓ character; togame jo (wind breaker) ᯓ tags; aged up ('cuz GROWING OLD AND IN LOVE DOES THINGS TO ME), fluffy but a bit angsty, sfw, afab reader, no y/n

[🐟]: for day 3 - beach prompt! @windbreakerweek

Never in a million years would you have ever thought that your life would come to this—waking up everyday to the sound of the waves crashing softly against the shore and the scent of salt air permeating your nose.

When you were younger, you told him you'd follow him to the ends of the Earth. You didn't think that meant a idle coastal town in the tropics. Either way, it was a pleasant surprise.

What isn't a pleasant surprise was waking up without him by your side. Well, he must've gone out early to the shore—picking up seashells for you or tending to his prized boats.

You shuffle out of your small house, adjusting your eyes to the rays of the morning sun. Sure enough, he was already hard at work, pulling out his green boat from out the salty water.

He was still as strong as the day you met him—at least that's what you told him. Of course, age was catching up to the both of you. But that didn't mean you had to spoil the fun.

Upon seeing you, a smile appears on his face. Kame waves at you from afar. You remember he used to wear a trendy pair of orange glasses. However, now, he wears glasses by prescription. His vision wasn't as good as it used to be. But when it came to you, he'd spot you from a mile away.

You trudge your way over to him. It didn't matter if the hot sand scorched your feet—you had grown used to that as well.

"You're up early."

He casts his gaze over at the horizon, a sight he could never get tired of. "Eh... you know how it is when you get old. You start waking up earlier and earlier."

You giggle. "You could've woken me up. I would have kept you company."

"How could I? You looked so peaceful," he retorts. "Besides, if I did... I wouldn't have gotten you a surprise."

Before you could even ask, he already held out his hand. His hand that you had held more times than you could imagine. In his grasp was a beautiful white shell. Specks of sand were in its nooks and crannies, but it was of spectacular shape.

Kame liked going out to find you these shells. They're the type that when you hold it against your ear—the wind should blow and it'll make a nice calming sound.

Once he hands you a shell, he expects you to hold it against your ear and tell him what sound you just heard. Although... as time went on, the howling of wind barely made any sound with the shell. It wasn't because the quality of shells on your beach were deteriorating—it's just that your hearing wasn't as good as it used to be.

But you tell him white lies; you tell Kame how soothing and wonderful the sound that the shell makes.

There were times you'd reminisce about your youth together—how incredible it was. Then, you'd tear up at the thought. He would feel a pang of sadness too, but he keeps a strong front and offers his shoulder instead.

Thankfully, this morning wasn't one of those days. Oddly enough, you felt satisfied with your life. It was slow—mostly uneventful—but you spent those days with the person you loved the most. And you'll always be thankful for it, even as the years pass and as both of your hair start looking like the white sand that covered the vast expanse of the shore.

As you continued to hold the shell against your ear, he softly whispered, "I love you."

And you thank the heavens that at least your ears could still hear those words.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[kingkat12]

safe pt.2 (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: mild violence, foul language

summary: witches and upirs can't be together... right?

word count: 1,393 (part one: here!)

a/n: leave it up to me to be a sucker for angst... inspired by a request from @mentallyscreamingsincebirth which I haven't been able to get out of my head!!

As I finally got home, I slid down my door, slumping down on the ground with a sigh as I threw away my purse in the hallway. My head was pounding and my heart was beating so hard, I was afraid I'd get a heart attack sooner or later. This is not what I wanted. Not at all. I didn't want to distance myself from Roman, to never feel his lips against mine again, to watch him date some other girl in a few weeks just to have someone on his arm. The whole ordeal was making me sick.

I sniffled, getting up from the ground. I needed to pull myself together-- I was only doing what was best for us. For everyone. Olivia Godfrey knew that there was a witch in town, and it could definitely lead to no good. The conflict between our kinds had been going on for centuries, both sides having lost more than we could spare. It ran deep, and it was a wound in which I had practically thrown salt by showing up at her home. 

I couldn't believe that my biggest fear had come true-- my senses had been right all along. My boyfriend was a upir as well. 

It was in this moment that I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen. Fuck. Was this Olivia Godfrey coming to rip my head off and put it on a spike? I scoured my brain-- what could kill a upir? It was fire, wasn't it? I had read all about this over the weekend after the dinner at Roman's place, keeping myself prepared for anything. Alert, I conjured a flame, keeping it contained in my hands as I took wary steps further down my hallway. 

Making my way through the living-room, I wondered why I couldn't feel her presence. Because this was definitely her, right? My hands were shaking as my senses heightened, ready for battle. 

And just as I turned the corner, ready to face whomever it was in my kitchen, I didn't waste a single second; I cast out the fire, not bothering to see who it was before charring the counter, quickly catching onto the fact that the intruder had dodged my attack with unmatched speed. 

The anger in me rose-- I hated the chase. "Fight me, then! Whoever you are!" I grabbed a nearby pan, needing another weapon, not wanting to burn my whole house down. I took another lap around the house, checking every room, taking wary steps to not get myself killed. 

When I suddenly caught another glimpse of the inhumanly fast silhouette, the chase led me back to my living room. For some reason, the infiltrator stopped and I took the opportunity; I raised the pan, kicking off the ground, ready to cast another fire-spell as I finally struck the enemy dead-on. 

This was when I realized who it was.

Completely unfazed at the blow taken to the back of his head, Roman turned to me, looking beyond calm. Except for his eyes, of course-- his pupils were completely blown, the black almost covering the green in his eyes. "I knew you'd do that," he said, gaze hardening. "Since when was your first reaction to burn people to death?"

I couldn't breathe. I seriously couldn't breathe. My eyes widened beyond my control, taking a shaky step back as I let the pan fall to the floor. 

Reacting, Roman took a step forward; "We need to talk,"

"You-- You need to leave," I hated that I was scared of him now. Now that he figured out I was a witch, was he here to retaliate? 

His upir senses definitely told him that I was about to run, suddenly lunging forward to grab me, holding my hands clasped behind my back as he laid me down on the ground. 

"No, Roman!" I yelled, thrashing against his grip, my pulse going through the roof. I couldn't believe how strong he was and how little power I suddenly had against him. "Let me go, stop it!" I could burn him to pieces, of course, but this was Roman. I loved this man. I let out another cry, trying to fight him, but to no avail. 

Roman groaned, clearly fed up with me. He put a certain amount of weight on me, keeping me down. "Burn me, for all you want. I could rip your head off before you get the chance, anyway,"

My breath hitched as I felt a sob build in my throat. "You don't mean that, Roman, let me go!"

"I'm not here to fucking kill you, could you relax?" With a sigh, I finally felt his grip around me lessen, but only just a little. "Can we talk now?"

"No!" I cried, letting my body go limp against the cold floor. "You need to go! She can't smell me on you, Roman, please!--"

I felt Roman's grip tighten once more; this time, to make sure it hurt. "Listen to me," he said, agitated. "You think I can't protect myself against my own mother? You think I need a fucking protection spell? She's docile for now, like a goddamn lamb. Why do you think I even brought you home in the first place? I just wanted to show you that I take you seriously." He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear; "I told you, this is not how this is going to work. You don't get to push me away. Do you understand me?"

I shook my head, heavily in denial. 

"No?" Roman rolled his eyes, fed up. "Alright, let me go about it another way." He let go of my hands, rolling off of me. I immediately scrawled away from him on the floor, panting-- I didn't want to make another rash decision to run. I knew he could outrun me easily, and I knew my wrists were going to bruise anyways. 

Suddenly, Roman grabbed my chin with force, forcing me to look at him as he spoke through gritted teeth; "You don't need to protect me. And you don't get to decide that this is over on your own. Is that clear?"

This was not the Roman I knew. I had never known him to be so harsh, insistent-- I grabbed his arm, hoping to wry his grip off of me. I grew desperate, my eyes rounding out as they met his. "We can't be together--"

"Yes, we can," Roman's grip lessened, the green in his eyes returning as he turned sincere. "Fuck history, we can. I'm not letting this go just because you're scared. If you're scared, you need to tell me. You need to let me help you."

I felt myself tear up. "You know what I am," I breathed, my voice dying out at the end. "And I know what you are. I can't fall for you any more than I already have, Roman, you know that. Now that your mom knows there's a witch in town, she'll come for me, no matter how docile you think she is--"

"And what makes you think I'm going to let her do that?" Roman shot in, brows furrowing in concern. "You really think I'd just stand by and let it happen?"

"Roman, stop it..." My heart sunk. "Don't give me hope--"

"No, have hope," He finally let go of me. "I've got you. And you've got me. No matter the history between our kind, we're good together." Gently, Roman took my hands into his, sighing at the sight of the red traces around my wrist. "Don't push me away. I'm not a child." He brought my hands up to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "I want you safe as much as you want me safe. How can I protect you when you won't let me?"

I had been so swept up in protecting everyone else, I hadn't really thought about the fact that someone might want to protect me. I let out a shaky breath, somehow finding myself agreeing to this; "I just... didn't think you'd want to be with me if you knew who I was,"

Scoffing, Roman shot me a look; "Right back at 'ya,"

I sighed, his words mending my wounds. "Maybe... it doesn't matter what we are? Maybe it's a good thing?"

"You're right, it doesn't matter. I don't really care what we are either-- Or, well," He shrugged, a slight smile spreading across his lips. "I care that you're mine. That's all."

[lalunanymph]

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*' lowkey - mikage reo

syp. reo doesn't do lowkey. it's all or nothing for him... except when he decides he just can't wait to make you his forever

The lights are low and the TV hums in the background. 

Your boyfriend’s amethyst eyes never leave the screen, engrossed in a documentary you were dozing off to. 

“Tired?” His voice, a smooth baritone, nudges you awake much like his thumb running gentle circles on your hip bone. You’re dressed in his jersey and nothing else, limbs aching from the positions he took you in earlier tonight. 

“Hmm,” you trace your tired gaze around the halo of purple hair perfectly framing his handsome face. “M’hungry.”

Reo lowers down the volume, turning to face you with an amused smile. “Let me cook for you.” Before you can tell him it’s fine and you’d go to bed with an empty stomach, he stands, offering you his hand.

You pad into the kitchen, sitting on the wide island as he moves around the pristine space, pulling out vegetables, meats and noodles from the large, smart fridge he insisted on buying as your housewarming gift. Reo hums while he cooks, and you find yourself lost in the recollection of the very first date you both had where he confessed he once burned water.

“Remember when you told me you couldn’t cook before?” 

The fragrant smell of garlic and spices reaches your nose, your stomach rumbling in response. 

He chuckles. “Yeah. You looked at me like I was an idiot.” 

“Hmm... you still are one," you retort. As an afterthought, you mumble, "Sometimes.”

He turns and arches one graceful brow at you. “You do know I’m handling your food, right? Salt and sugar looks the same, so watch it.” 

You bite down on a smile, enjoying his annoyance. “And my mother said that if you wanted to get married to me, you need to at least know how a toaster works.”

Reo tosses the pre-made noodles into the sizzling with a snort. “I remember. She sat me down and showed me the buttons.”

"I'm forever grateful she taught you very valuable life skills.” 

You giggle, flinching back to avoid his swat. 

“So, am I in the clear to put the ring on it, or not?” It was his turn to tease. Your smile softens. 

“Maybe. We’ll see.” 

Reo stops stir frying the noodles, putting off the flame. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, your boyfriend was always equipped with a comeback to your endless banter, but his silence made you queasy. 

“Baby?”

“What if I do it now?” 

He’s staring at you with unabashed yearning, amethyst melting into crystalline pools. You feel your breath lodge somewhere under your heart. He pulls back his hair, lets it fall in his face, and rubs his bare neck. Your eyes flit briefly to his equally naked torso, wondering how someone could look this angelic even when they were making chow mein. 

You swallow the lump back down your throat. “L-like propose to me? Here? In this kitchen? That’s not like you.”

It’s true. Mikage Reo and excess go hand-in-hand. This is a man who once gifted you a thousand balloons on your thousand day anniversary, and asked you to be his during New Years Eve. Your engagement would easily outshine these events, if Reo wanted to make it happen. 

He blows out his cheeks, scrunching his nose. “Why? Can’t believe I’ll do it?” 

You shrug. “Not like I don’t want you to, but c’mon—I don’t think you’d be the type to be lowkey.” 

“But, do you like lowkey?” 

He twists his fingers, and you realise—oh. He’s nervous.

Your smile is purity and mischief in one twitch. “I like you, Reo. Lowkey, highkey, extra. As long as you’re there, I have everything I need.” 

His shoulders tense, and he looks away. You can’t read his mind, but if you could, you would hear nothing but the sweetest music humming just for you. The light you effortlessly spilled around his thoughts. The exploding happiness falling into place piece by piece as Mikage Reo put together the idea that he could never spend another useless second without making sure you were his forever. 

His knee hits the marble floor, and the square in his sweatpants pocket materialises in his palm. 

Your laughing expression melts into shock, and you stifle a gasp. “R-Reo…”

He pries open the velvet lid with shaky fingers, lower lip trembling. The dishes are cluttering the sink, the TV is still blaring on in the background and you barely have clothes on, but Reo doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because yes—there are no fireworks, no fancy desserts spelling out declarations of love or a beachside he could fully rent to make his wishes come true. But, you’re here. You’ve always been here for him. Throughout his soccer career, when he finally took over Mikage Corp, and amidst every corporate scandal and scare. You were his from the beginning as much as he was yours.

No other riches in this world mattered beyond your smaller hand in his, his ring shining from your left finger. 

You rub at your eyes, and slide to your feet, using the corner of the island to support yourself. 

“I d-don’t have a speech, but I love you. Always,” he murmurs, tender and sure. “Marry me, please? You’ll make me so happy if you say ‘yes’.” 

You can barely see the diamond ring through your tears, its shine overshadowed by his wide eyes filled with nothing but love. 

“Yes,” you whisper in a thick voice. “Yes, always. Always, Reo. I want to marry you.” 

His breath comes out in a shudder, and he almost drops the ring in excitement. The sparkling circle wraps around your finger gracefully, and his arms come next around your waist, bringing you to his chest.

For the first time in his life, he can’t find the right words to say. Someone told him that when you know it’s love, you would know. 

Reo had always assumed it was a bunch of crap, but when you sigh his name and kiss his neck, he can’t help but feel it in his bones.

Love. 

All of it. With no expectations or price tags. Drenched in the richest opulence coating his every exhale with the lightest ease.

Spelling out you, you, you. 

Just you, right here with him for the rest of his life, forever.

© all work belongs to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 47

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

You never really know what you would do in that situation until it becomes reality. In this case, that situation was one where an unknown assailant is giving quiet, controlled commands to follow. Every instinct in my body was to do exactly the opposite of what I was being told to do.

“Walk straight to the elevator. Take it down to the basement level. The door straight ahead is unlocked. Go through it. Walk straight through the salt caves and open the door at the far end. Enter the room. If you try to cause a disturbance or draw attention to yourself, someone you love will die.”

The feisty woman in me wanted to blow up his spot. I wanted to go screaming through the hallways banging on doors for help. I knew I should have. But what if that meant someone I loved would die? What if it wasn’t an idle threat? What if this person had the means to do just that? And which person was he speaking of?

“Pull your hood up.” His voice was all whispers. I couldn’t make out his identity. “Walk to the elevator. I’ll be just behind you.”

Fuck. Why was I about to obey?

So no one will die, I answered myself internally.

“Stay in front of me.” The man grabbed my cell phone and slung it into his pocket before ushering me toward the door. When the two of us emerged into the hallway, I took a deep breath. There was freedom here, yet I was imprisoned. The walk down the dimly lit corridor to the elevators felt like a death march. Maybe it would be.

I glanced to the right out the windows that gave a view of the empty slopes. Such a different point of view at this late hour.

“Is this part of the bachelorette party?” I asked, wondering if this was some elaborate scheme. Maybe Carol hired a male stripper or something to carry out some freaky, funny scenario. He did order me to the basement, after all. That’s where we had our pedicures, lounged around the salt caves and took a dip in the jacuzzi.

“No.” That was the only response.

When the elevators came into view I was hoping to see someone. Anyone. Someone I could flag down and somehow discreetly let them know I was in trouble. Or at least I thought I was in trouble.

My heart was pounding when the doors opened and no one else was inside. I closed my eyes and hesitated, only stepping onto the platform when the person shoved me forward. When I glanced over my shoulder, I could see a stark white mask covering his face and his hood was pulled up to cover his hair.

Regardless, he moved to get out of the way and motioned to the buttons. I pressed the glowing circle with the letter B in the center of it and down we went. Whatever was waiting for me there was unavoidable. I still held hope that a giant prank was in order. Maybe the whole family or the wedding party or both would be waiting down there.

Dr. Miller had gone somewhere for wedding shenanigans. But why would the person say that someone would die? And why would he take my phone? The hope I had grew bleaker with each passing thought, and with each passing floor. When a clunking sound finally indicated we had reached our destination, I swallowed hard.

My hands were shaking. My heart continued to thud. The doors flung open and the spa that I had leisurely visited for relaxation not all that long ago looked like a dungeon. It was dark and desolate. Even the smells that lingered in the air felt different; musty. All remnants of what this place had been during the day were tragically missing.

I took a deep breath and stepped out, trying to remember the exactly directions.

 “Where do I go?” I asked aloud.

Over my shoulder his arm extended and his index finger was a straight line. I walked forward, glancing in all directions.

“The spa is closed,” I said aloud. As afraid as I had been up to this point, an internal instinct for survival kicked in and I made an attempt to run back toward the elevator.

It caught him off guard. The man chased after me and I began peppering the word, “Fuck,” outloud as I began to push the little button with the arrow. 

The doors reopened and I bolted back into the elevator, only to be yanked back by my hair.

I screamed for the first time and then I was lifted from my feet, thrown over his shoulder as he carried me away. I watched as the elevator doors closed and got farther and farther away with each step he made into the blackness; the obscurity.

I kicked and screamed at first, trying to get away, but within just a second it got all the more real. With one swift movement he placed me down and there was an unmistakable feeling at the base of my throat. A thin, cold line pressed into my skin and it felt hard to breathe. A knife. The blade. All this person had to do was push and my life could be over. Right there.

“Okay,” I choked out, “Okay.” All hope for a bachelorette party was long gone. This was real. I was going to die in the spa of this place that had been a paradise no less than fifteen minutes earlier.

He walked me forward. The blade was still against my neck and we stepped in sync, like some kind of synchronized dance routine. I barely recognized the salt caves when they came into view. The lights were dimmer. The smell was musty. Each time I breathed in and out I worried the edge of the blade might penetrate my skin.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I could have gagged, but I managed not to. When I swallowed hard again it hurt. I knew asking him to loosen up his grasp would do no good. If anything, I thought it might prompt him to push harder against my throat.

The spongy ground beneath my feet somehow reminded me of quicksand. Metaphorically, that was the equivalent of this trek through the caves. I was getting deeper and deeper, and it became less likely that I would make it out again. There was no cavalry coming over the hill to save me or help out this situation. I knew I had to figure it out on my own.

We rounded a bend and the musty smell mixed with that of chlorine. It was a familiar smell. One that reminded me of the bottom lair of Dr. Miller’s house. A white sign with navy blue lettering and an arrow came into view beside a door I could barely make out. As we grew closer, I could see what the sign read.

POOL THIS WAY.

Pool. Swimming. What did this person have in mind? And how much did they know about me and my habits? Dr. Miller had taught me enough in our times together that I could make it short distances staying afloat; but what would happen if this guy flat out pushed me into the deep end of this swimming pool?

Death by drowning or death by stabbing. My options felt grim.

The chlorine smell was magnified when he reached around me and pulled the door open, still positioning himself at my rear. Outstretched before me was an oversized swimming pool, twice the size of Dr. Miller’s. The blue glow was the only lighting in the place.

A loud clank made me jump and I turned around to face the masked man behind me as he secured the door shut.

I put some distance between him and myself, though I stared right at him. In my mind I showed no fear, but I could feel my body trembling.

“What do you want?” I asked him. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” He spoke normally now, all traces of his raspy whispers were gone, and I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I knew that voice. He wasn’t a stranger. Not by a long shot.

“Is-is this a joke?” It had to be, right? It had to be. Though, at the same time I knew it couldn’t be. There was a long, drawn out pause. It was almost too dramatic. And then he removed the mask.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandojojo @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

[multifandom-art-stuff]

Comfort after a hunt

Dean Winchester x reader

Hurt/comfort

2260 words

—----------------------------

It was supposed to be a quick and easy hunt. Just one simple ghost to send to rest, supposedly a quick job to put that restless spirit to rest. You were supposed to just dig his bones out, salt and burn them. It was supposed to be even easier because the grave was marked, for once, so it was easy to find it. Yet, nothing in the supernatural world ever played out as expected. And that made your lives more difficult.

The ghost was not very fond of you trying to get rid of him and was doing everything in his power to disturb you. You were digging the grave with Sam and Dean stood guard with a shotgun loaded with rock salt. He was supposed to keep the ghost busy enough so that Sam and you could salt and burn the bones. As Sam and I focused on digging the grave, Dean kept watch with his shotgun, eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. The moon cast an eerie glow, and the wind carried a distant howl that heightened your tension.

Suddenly, a rustling in the nearby bushes grabbed Dean's attention. He turned, shotgun ready, expecting another supernatural threat. Perhaps the ghost had a friend or a ghost dog.. To your surprise, a curious raccoon emerged, its shiny eyes reflecting the moonlight. Dean couldn't help but crack a half-smile at the unexpected interruption.

"Seriously, little guy?" he muttered to the raccoon, momentarily forgetting the ghostly menace we were there to deal with. Mesmerized by the raccoon's antics, Dean's focus wavered just long enough for the ghost to seize the opportunity and launch its vengeful attack.

In a swift, forceful move, he yanked you from the grave, throwing you forcefully to the ground. His pale and bloodied face twisted into an evil grin as he traced a rusty knife across my skin. The pain heightened when he cut a long gash on my chest, and a deadly gleam in his eyes hinted at his readiness to deliver a final, devastating blow. In that terrifying moment you couldn't help but wonder if this was the end. Fear gripped you. The ghost’s harmful intention was easily noticable. Luckily that’s when Dean shot him with salt and Sam lit his bones on fire. 

The ghost burst into flames and vanished leaving you breathless on the cold ground. As the shock began to fade, the searing pain in your chest brought you back to the harsh reality of what had happened to you. You realized that you were bleeding. Sam and Dean rushed to you, worry etched on their faces as they saw that you were hurt. Dean kneeled to your side and tried his best at stopping the bleeding. After doing his best in the conditions that you were in he picked you up and carried you to the car. 

In the car, the throbbing pain in your chest was a constant reminder of the dangers of the job you had chosen. Dean's gaze, flickering between the road and you, betrayed a silent concern that touched your heart. As you arrived at the familiar cabin Dean carried you from the car to the bed, giving a glimpse to his caring and nurturing self through his rugged and macho exterior. You winced with pain when Dean set you down on the bed. Sam rushed to the medicine cabinet to get disinfectant and bandages. The boys cleaned all your cuts and bandaged them up. You winced as the rubbing alcohol touched your wounds as they cleaned them. Once they had finished cleaning and bandaging you up Sam went to put the stuff away.

“Do you want me to help you clean up?” Dean asked, his voice comforting presence after all that had happened that night. 

“I can manage just fine on my own”, you replied, attempting to maintain a facade of self-sufficiency that crumbled the moment you tried to sit up, gasping in pain.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that”, Dean chuckled, a mixture of exasperation and affection in his expression. "I'll go get the washcloth."

A moment later Dean returned with a damp washcloth and a bowl full of water. He helped you sit up and started washing the blood away with the washcloth. The intimate act of cleaning your wounds served as a powerful testament to the bond that you had. Showing that you were more than just co-workers.

“Thank you Dean”, you murmured, your gratitude extending beyond just the physical care to the emotional comfort he provided.

“No problem sweetheart”, he replied, the endearment carrying an unspoken reassurance that resonated with a warmth.

“I just didn’t want to be a nuisance”, you whispered, your insecurity laid bare in front of him. 

“Sweetheart, you could never be a nuisance. Not even if you tried”, Dean assured you as he finished cleaning the blood off of you. He gazed into your eyes and tried to get you to understand that he was telling the truth.

A timid smile played on your lips: ”You can’t be certain of that.”

“Yes, I can”, he insisted, as he delicately finished the task of cleaning away the blood. As he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the tenderness in his touch and the sincerity in his eyes bespoke a connection that transcended the immediate danger that loomed over us. 

“I’ll be right back. I’ll just put these away”, Dean said to you and kissed the top of your head.

He returned to your side with one of his hoodies and he helped it on you. A simple act that carried a weight of comfort and familiarity. You changed your jeans into shorts and you curled under the blanket. Dean changed into sweatpants and lied down next to you. He pulled you against his chest and you lied face to face under the blanket. 

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked.

“It hurts a bit, but I’ll live”, you answered. 

“Good, and we cleaned the cuts well so they shouldn’t get infected. Though I do wish I could take your pain away”, Dean whispered to you, pain in his voice.

“You can help me feel better by cuddling me”, you whispered. 

“That I can do”, Dean murmured and kissed your forehead. 

Cuddled under the blanket, Dean's presence offered comfort, not only physical but also comfort in knowing that someone had your back and would take care of you if you needed help. His humming of an old rock song became a lullaby that, despite the echoes of recent terror, lulled you into a sense of security. As you began to fall asleep, you couldn't help but utter words that held both a confession and a reassurance.

“I love you, Dean”, you mumbled and gave him a kiss.

After you had fallen asleep Dean stopped humming, his gaze lingering on your slumbering form. In the quiet of the room, he whispered words of vulnerability that echoed the unspoken fears of a hunter whose heart was set to insure the well-being of another.

“You know I couldn’t live if something happened to you, right. I could never forgive myself if I let you get hurt”, he confided, his words a whispered promise that hung in the air, transcending the perils of our shared existence.

—----------------------------

You awoke abruptly, gasping for breath, as if the air itself had turned to a suffocating weight. The remnants of a nightmare clung to you like a vice, and your chest tightened in a grip of irrational fear. The room felt like it was closing in, and the moonlight casting eerie shadows only added to the overwhelming sense of dread.

Dean stirred beside you, sensing the distress before you even had a chance to put it into words. "Hey, hey, what happened?" he asked, concern etched across his face as he reached out to touch my trembling shoulder.

In the nightmare, the ghost's malevolence had escalated beyond anything you'd ever encountered. It wasn't just a fleeting encounter: it was an unrelenting onslaught of terror. The ghost's chilling touch seemed to sear into your very soul, and the whispers of despair echoed in your ears, threatening to drown you in an abyss of hopelessness.

But now, in the waking world, the nightmare's grip refused to loosen. Panic surged through you, an irrational fear that clung relentlessly. Your breaths came in short, erratic bursts, and your hands trembled uncontrollably. 

Dean's voice, steady and grounding, cut through the chaos. "Look at me," he urged gently, guiding you to meet his concerned gaze. "You're safe. It was just a dream. You're here with me."

His words, a lifeline in the sea of panic, slowly anchored you to reality. Dean's strong, reassuring presence became your focal point as he guided you through the breathing excercises you had so often used, using his own inhales and exhales as an example. The rhythm began to steady, the tightness in your chest gradually releasing its grip.

Dean continued to speak in a low, soothing manner, creating a bridge between the nightmare and the safety of the present. His touch, firm yet gentle, grounded you in the reality of the shared space you occupied. Slowly, the panic subsided, replaced by a profound gratitude for the steadfast presence of the man who stood by you through the good and easy times but also through the more difficult times.

As the remnants of the nightmare faded, Dean's comforting embrace remained, a testament to the unwavering support that transcended the boundary between dreams and reality. His presence, solid and comforting, helped dispel the residual fear. As I nestled into the warmth of Dean's embrace, the echoes of the nightmare began to fade. In the quiet of the night, his whispered reassurances became a lullaby, gently guiding me back into the realm of peaceful slumber.

—----------------------------

The next morning, soft rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. You stirred from your sleep, the memory of the previous night's encounter with the vengeful ghost still lingering in your mind. Glancing to your side, you found Dean already awake, watching over you with a quiet concern that spoke volumes.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur.

The pain lingered, a persistent reminder of the ghost's malevolence, but the warmth of Dean's presence offered comfort. 

"Better, thanks to you," you replied, a genuine smile on your lips.

Dean leaned in, planting a tender kiss on my forehead: "Glad to hear that. You scared the hell out of Sam and I last night."

"I scared myself too," you admitted, the gravity of the danger sinking in.

As you attempted to sit up, Dean offered a supportive hand. The pain was a dull ache now, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. You exchanged a silent understanding, the unspoken acknowledgment of the risks inherent in your chosen path.

Sam knocked your door and peeked his head through: "Thought you might be hungry," he said with a warm smile, “ There is food ready in the kitchen.”

"Thanks, Sam," you said, realizing that these men really cared for you. 

As you shared a quiet breakfast, the camaraderie that bound you felt more strongly than ever. The events of the night before had heightened our awareness of the fragility of life, emphasizing the need to cherish even the small moments in life.

Dean's gaze never wavered from you, a protective instinct evident in his eyes. 

"We should take it easy today", he suggested, his concern extending beyond the immediate aftermath of the hunt.

Sam nodded in agreement: "Yeah, a day of rest won't hurt. We've earned it. How about a movie night today?"

“Yeah, that sounds good”, Dean and I agreed. 

The notion of a day free from the supernatural chaos that defined our lives sounded lovely. You spent the morning in shared silence, each lost in your own thoughts. Everyone figuring out what to do better next time so no-one would get hurt. The cabin became a safe heaven for a while, away from all evil in the world. You in it, with two of your favorite humans. 

Later, as the day went on, you found yourselves gathered outside the cabin. The air was crisp, the echoes of the previous night's terror replaced by the serene sounds of nature. Dean's arm found its way around your shoulders, a silent reassurance that you’ve faced the uncertainties of the future together.

"We've been through worse," Dean remarked, his tone a mix of reassurance and determination.

"And we'll get through whatever comes next," Sam added, a conviction in his voice that mirrored the resilience ingrained in all of you.

As the day unfolded, the cabin became a refuge—a place to heal, reflect, and fortify ourselves for the challenges that lay ahead. The bond you shared, forged because of all the supernatural battles, emerged stronger, a testament to the enduring strength of those who faced the darkness head-on.

And so, in the quietude of the morning and the serenity of the day, you found solace. In each other's company, you felt safe. Watching old comedies next to two of your favorite people, laughing until your stomachs hurt. You had decided to order pizza for dinner so there were pizza boxes thrown on the table in front of you. Sam’s head started to nod and he fell asleep. This was your safe haven, your way of recharging after a hunt.

You could get through anything that came across your path if you went through it together. 

[kkami-writes]

Black Blood  – Chapter One. cw. written in third person, other chapters will be second person unless otherwise specified wc. 1.1k (1,118)

October 31, 2020 “Honestly, I think this is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Hyunjin mumbles out, mostly to himself but his other members are quick to shush him and he goes back to curling himself into a ball. He wonders briefly why he was even here in the first place. 

Him, along with Jisung and Jeongin, were currently sitting in Felix’s room, surrounded by a shit ton of candles that added to the ambience but didn’t provide much light to the dark room. Hyunjin vaguely wondered where Felix had gotten his hands on this many candles, but it was the least of his worries. The two youngest were preoccupied with a ouija board that was laid on top of what he assumed was supposed to be a pentagram; their hands settled on the planchette, moving it across the board in nonsensical circles. 

It was, of course, Felix’s idea to try ‘communicating with the spirits’, seeing as it was halloween of all days and he had insisted that you were supposed to do stupid stuff like this on the spooky holiday. Everyone else had blatantly refused though, leaving just the four of them huddled on the floor. Jisung sat off to the side, a bit further than the others as he clutched a container of salt to his chest. 

‘For protection, duh,’ was his simple response when they had asked him what he brought the seasoning for. No more questions had been asked after that. 

Outside a storm raged on, rain beating loudly against the windows of the dorm, adding to the creepy atmosphere they had set for themselves. Lightning could be heard in the distance, rumbling softly. 

Hyunjin on the other hand, was just about done with his members' shenanigans. He was more than ready to call it a night and crawl into his nice warm bed that was practically calling his name. It was just about to strike midnight and nothing even remotely interesting had happened in the last ten minutes. How much longer were they gonna keep trying? 

Felix and Jeongin on the other hand were still visibly excited, the former starting to chant something in what Hyunjin supposed was to be latin, though being incredibly butchered by the deep voiced aussie. At this, he’s officially done. Hyunjin could only handle so much from them.

“You guys are crazy, I’m out,” He says with a sigh, moving to stand up and leave. 

It’s at this moment though that lightning strikes nearby, resulting in a loud echoing boom that feels like it shakes the entire dorm. All of them scream loudly, definitely waking up their neighbors (who have already filed plenty of noise complaints against the group). Jisung practically flings the salt out of his hands, effectively sprinkling it all over the carpet as he moves to cling onto Jeongin. 

The candles suddenly blow out and they’re screaming again - this time Felix launching himself into Hyunjin’s chest, the latter eagerly wrapping his arms around the lithe boy for any source of comfort. An almost eerie silence overtakes them as they sit in the darkness for a few minutes, no one daring to utter a single sound. 

“Can we be done now? I think my heart is about to give up,” It’s Jisung that breaks the silence, a slight whine to his voice as it cracks from the fear that’s stuck in his throat.

“Aw, don’t you wanna have some more fun?” A new voice pipes up, this one distinctly female and that was definitely not here before. The boys are screaming for a third time, all of them scrambling up in an attempt to get away from this intruder that sounded far too close to them. The disembodied voice laughs at their fright, the sound is light and sultry, almost borderline seductive. 

“Jeez you guys are loud. Calm down. Here, let me get the lights,” At this, all the candles flicker back to life, the boys watching with wide eyes. All four of them had ended up huddled together, pressed into the corner of the room and clinging to each other rather desperately. 

Hyunjin blinks in disbelief at the sight before him. In the middle of the room, laid on top of the makeshift pentagram and ouija board is a woman. The position she’s in is seductive, one leg fully extended and the other propped up at an angle with  a hand on her hip while the other holds her head up. Clad in black lingerie, there’s a corset wrapped around her waist that nicely accentuates her curves with a garter belt that holds up sheer thigh highs. To top everything off, her black stiletto shoes are definitely at least 3 or 4 inches and could probably kill a man. 

Hyunjin finds it rather hard to swallow down the lump in his now very dry throat. 

The thing that stands out the most are the bright red horns on top of her head, they’re slightly curved inwards and they match the eerie color of her eyes that are currently glowing and piercing through the four boys. To top everything off, she’s also got a tail, it’s pointed at the end and currently in the air, swirling around as if it was a snake hunting for its prey. 

Silence follows for a few minutes, none of the boys really know what to say, their minds coming up blank in the impossible situation before them. The girl is simply studying them closely, not bothering to move from her comfortable spot on the floor. They don’t get the chance to say anything before the door to Felix’s room is being slammed open, the other members piling in. 

“Hey, we heard you screaming? Is everything ok?” Chan asks the four boys in the corner, not even noticing the biggest problem in the middle of the room as he goes into leader mode. The other three have definitely noticed the new person in the room, who had definitely not been there before. 

“Hyung,” Minho’s nudging into Chan’s side, his eyes glued onto the half-naked girl whom his leader hasn’t even seen. 

“Oh my god what,” Chan starts as he turns towards Minho, whose gaze is somewhere else and he lets himself follow the other’s line of sight. He can’t see too well in the barely lit room so he quickly flips the light switch on.

He falters at the figure he can now clearly see, she’s still laid out on the floor, seemingly content just watching the events fold before her. But once she notices that Chan’s eyes have landed on her, she’s sending him a cheeky grin and a small wave - her sharp canines not going unnoticed by the eight. 

“Well hello there,”

[ladylooch]

hi babe!!! i was wondering if you could do a nico fic where reader has her period and is just not feeling good and he takes care of her and tons of fluff? 🥺💗 thank you i literally adore your writing!!!!

A/N: Thank you so much!! I’m glad you’re enjoying my content! Seriously, comments like this never get old and fill my lil cup right up! 💕 Sorry this is a little late. I was floating all over the place late last week hehe.

Word Count: 814

Warnings: Pretty fluffy, always a swearword or five from me, talks of periods, and pain. this is so sweet you might get a cavity. No I do not reimburse dental bills because of my writing 😉

You and Nico are out to brunch, enjoying a quiet, week day break in the middle of a bustling city. All around you, people rush to work, to-go coffee’s clutched tightly in their grips. But not you two. You and Nico casually lay back in your chairs, your foot in his lap across the table. His thumb strokes absentmindedly at your ankle as he reads the menu. 

“I think I’m going to get the eggs benedict.” He concludes, shoving it away.

“I’ve been dying for french toast all week.” He reaches for his menu again, sliding it back to read the description.

“Salted caramel too.” He nods in approval.

“Yeah, I want anything sweet.” You gesture to your cup of coffee which you dumped four sugars into. You know you’re PMSing hard and warned Nico about it on your walk here.

“Whatever you want, babe.” He murmurs, dipping his thumb deeper into your foot beneath your sock. You watch him from across the table, drinking in his dark stubble, plumped morning lips and melting chocolate eyes. He scans the street out the window behind you as you sigh when he hits just the right spot. “Hey now.” He warns. 

“It’s too late.” You tell him, placing your hand on the building of cramps in your lower abdomen. She’s here.

“Boo.” He frowns.

You blow out a heavy sigh, hoping that will help relieve some of the pressure. You order, then being chatting about the Devils’ upcoming road trip.

“Carolina, Nashville, Detroit, then home.” You nod, imagining the grind he is about to go through. He’ll leave tomorrow after practice. His nails scratch at his stubble as you adjust in your chair, removing your foot from him. You lean further over the table, trying to relieve the pain that is shooting through your uterus. 

“Ow.” You moan. A concerned crinkle forms between his eyebrows. 

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah. I just need some Advil.” You dig in your purse, frowning when you don’t see the travel pack that is usually there. “Shit.” You mumble, digging further, getting desperate to see the small, circular cylinder. “I guess I’ll have to wait until we get home.” You wince again, digging your hands deeper in to provide counter pressure to the cramping.

“No. There is a drug store like two blocks down. I’ll go get it.” He stands immediately, taking one last sip of his coffee.

“Nico, it’s fine.” You call to him. He ignores you, walking out of the restaurant without even looking back for further discussion.

Ten minutes later, he returns just when your food comes out.

“Thank you.” You say graciously to him, popping the two pills into your mouth and swallowing them.

“You know seeing you in pain wrecks me.” He shrugs, stuffing a bite of his breakfast between his lips. 

“Yeah, that’s why you’re my favorite.” His cheesy smile makes you chuckle.

The pain eventually begins to subsided, but you feel bloated and a bit queasy, so your French toast is relatively untouched by the time Nico finishes his meal. You put it in a box but know it’s kinda pointless- you’re not going to eat it. 

“Ugh.” You complain as you walk through the apartment door, putting your hands on your lower back where the muscles are tense. 

“Go lay on the floor.” He points to the living room. “I’ll work on that and we can watch a movie. Whatever you want.”

“Really? Even catch up on The Bachelor.” He closes his eyes in regret, but opens them and nods. You can’t even pretend. Your laughter bursts from your mouth as you reach for the remote. “I’m feeling nice today. How about Mighty Ducks?” You begin to pull up Disney+ then lay on your stomach, waiting for Nico and his healing hands.

Together, you are quiet as his fingers work into your sore flesh. Your head is propped on your crossed arms, eyes closed, listening to the movie rather than watching. Eventually, your eyes are shut because you’re falling asleep. Between Nico’s hands and the pain medicine, you’re feeling considerable better and just want to cuddle. 

“Baby, let’s go to bed.” He suggests before you can. He turns the TV off, then rolls you onto your back so he can help you up. He throws an arm around your shoulder, smooching your temple as you enter your room.

“Snuggle me so hard I can’t move.” You request as you both slide beneath your heavy, white comforter. 

“You got it.” He chuckles, wrapping his large hands around you, pulling you to him by your butt. You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. He squeezes you to him to the point you can only take in shallow breaths. 

“Yeah, just like this.” You confirm as your legs intertwine between his knees. His thigh secures you in place.

Sleep pulls you further from reality as Nico ghosts his lips over yours then works against each side of your chin. 

“Love you.” He whispers. 

Nico Hischier is just what the doctor ordered.

[markantonys]

today's gawynposting topic is: the "gawyn wants to be a hero" fandom narrative

i think it is complete nonsense to believe he still holds this attitude by the second half of the series, and i will fight brandon sanderson himself on it. we all know that sanderson's characterizations should be taken with a grain of salt at best, and at worst dismissed as inaccurate contradictions of jordan's characterizations, and he simply missed the mark on this aspect of gawyn's character. (in my opinion he struggled with the 3 trakand siblings even more than he did with mat, but that's another topic.) and unfortunately, recency bias makes this the general fandom memory of gawyn, even though it contradicts what we saw of him under jordan's pen.

gawyn's actual arc in this regard is more nuanced. to me, he reads as a representation of a young man who's been fed patriotic idealizations of war ever since he was a kid, and maybe at first he's eager to get a taste of real war, but when he actually does, he's given a brutal and immediate awakening as to the true horrors of war. it is nothing like it was told to him growing up, and he doesn't want anything to do with it anymore, but he's already signed up for it and so he has no choice but to keep going.

and that brutal awakening happens aallll the way back in book 4, the tower coup:

Most frightening to Min, with that blood-masked face and half-glazed eyes, with his body tensed almost to quivering and his hand upflung as if he had forgotten it, he never raised his voice or put any emotion into it. He only sounded tired, more tired than she had ever heard anyone sound in her life.

“If anything happens to them,” he said in that expressionless voice, “to Egwene or my sister, I will find you, wherever you hide, and I will make sure the same happens to you.” Abruptly he stalked a dozen paces away and stood with his arms folded, head down as if he could not bear to look at them any longer.

here min is doing what she does best - completely misinterpreting other people's behavior - but to the observant reader, it's obvious that gawyn hasn't turned into some violent, emotionless psychopath all of a sudden. instead, he's incredibly traumatized by what's happened today and has shut down as a coping mechanism. in fact, his behavior here is very very very similar to trauma behavior rand frequently demonstrates. a later line in this scene even describes gawyn as "brittle, ready to shatter at the wrong blow", aka the same analogy used for rand's whole "hardness vs. strength" arc.

as of today, book FOUR, gawyn no longer has any delusions about battle and heroism and glory. for further evidence, let's take a look at some of his reactions to dumai's wells, this time from his own point of view:

Young, as indeed all the Younglings were—many did not need to shave beyond every third day, and a few still only pretended even that—but Jisao wore the silver tower on his collar, marking him a veteran of the fighting when Siuan Sanche was deposed, and scars beneath his clothes from fighting since. He was one of those who could skip the razor most mornings; his dark eyes belonged to a man thirty years older, though. What did his own eyes look like, Gawyn wondered.

the younglings as a whole are meant to represent young men - boys, really - getting indoctrinated with patriotic ideals to make them eager to join up, and ultimately ending up dead or traumatized beyond repair because of it. these are teenage soldiers being manipulated and used by adults & institutions for their own ends, and yet fandom treats them like they're psychopathic monsters who love to murder their own mentors. jordan literally chose to name them the YOUNGLINGS, guys, like, i think he was trying to say something here.

Once he would have felt regret; he had grown up believing that if two men must fight, the duel should proceed honorably and cleanly. More than half a year of battles and skirmishes had taught him better. He put a foot on the Aiel man’s chest and wrenched his blade free. Ungallant, but fast, and in battle, slow was often dead.

Turning his bay with a sigh, he rode back down to see what the butcher’s bill had been this time. That had been his first real lesson as a soldier. You always had to pay the butcher. He had a feeling there would be bigger bills due soon. The world would forget Dumai’s Wells in what was coming.

in both of these passages, we see very clearly that gawyn has long since lost the idealization of war he grew up with. he is very aware of the true cost of war, and the prospect of future battles fills him with grim resignation rather than eagerness at more chances for Glory. he knows by the ACOS prologue that there is no glory to be found in war, only death. but he keeps on going because he feels trapped out of any other path, and because he feels a responsibility to the younglings and to the white tower.

and so sanderson's TOM passage where gawyn muses about how maybe the reason he hates rand so much is because rand gets to be a hero the way gawyn wants to be - total bullshit. as of the coup and certainly as of dumai's wells, gawyn has been thoroughly disabused of any heroic notions and has no interest at all in being a hero or gaining glory. if we think that incorrectly blaming him for morgase's death isn't a good enough reason for gawyn to hate rand for so long, then i can definitely buy that he hates him because in his mind rand is responsible for overturning the world in a way that caused gawyn all this trauma and loss of innocence and that broke his family apart, but i cannot buy that he's jealous of rand for getting to be the big hero despite being a lowly peasant.

that being said, in AMOL gawyn's characterization is more or less back on track, and his stated reason for going after demandred is because it needs to be done for the good of the last battle and he considers himself someone unimportant who can be risked for the task*. the idea that his motive is Wanting To Be A Hero is a fandom invention caused by that wonky OOC scene in TOM which apparently dictated gawyn's entire characterization forever despite 12 previous books of him not being like that.

*on this note, i came across one more line from his ACOS prologue that broke my heart: the inscription on his spyglass from morgase

“From Morgase, Queen of Andor, to her beloved son, Gawyn. May he be a living sword for his sister and Andor.”

a sword for others' use. that's how gawyn sees himself, because his own mother (along with gareth bryne and many others, i'm sure) taught him to see himself that way ever since he was a child. is it any wonder that gawyn is so self-sacrificial in the last battle without stopping to consider how his death might harm others? a sword is only worth anything if it's useful, and no one mourns it if it gets broken in battle.

of course he knows egwene will be hurt by his death because of the bond, but at the same time, he so deeply thinks of himself as disposable and as a sword meant to protect people who are more important than him that when he is put into a situation where he can sacrifice himself for a chance of saving someone more important (activating the rings which will kill him for a chance of helping egwene escape the sharans; going after demandred for a chance of taking out the person doing the most damage to the light's army without needing to risk more important people in the attempt), he's going to take it. he's a LOT like lan and rand in that way, convinced their duty is to die to protect others, but lan and rand got to unlearn that and live, and gawyn never did. and i am tired of people writing him off as a character meant to embody "cautionary tale of a mediocre white man arrogantly assuming he's more capable than he is" because that is so completely not what his character is actually about, and what his character IS actually about is really fucking sad!

[lirotation]

I Hail from Silverymoon: The First Kiss

Pov my little fanfic, Astarion X Amaara(my wizard Tav) Finally some fluff. All my frustration and dissatisfaction towards BG3 were alleviated by kissing him 10 times a day in game =)

_______________________

Astarion sat staring blankly at the book in his hands, thoughts far away. His mind kept circling back to that moment a couple of days ago when he had confessed his feelings to Amaara. It had taken all the courage he could muster, and the memory of her embrace afterward was etched into his heart.

However, since that night, she hadn't sought him out, and a sense of doubt had begun to gnaw at him. He couldn't help but wonder if he had misunderstood the gesture. Perhaps the hug was just a polite way of saying goodbye. The uncertainty ate at him, and he found himself yearning for her presence, for the warmth of her smile, and for the sound of her laughter.

Over the past few nights, he had watched as Amaara spent her evenings with Lae'zel, engrossed in reading a githyanki book. It frustrated him to no end; the book had already been translated, and Amaara could have easily read it herself. Good thing they finally finished it. He wasn’t sure how many more nights of that he could take.

This evening, as he lingered by the campfire, a scene unfolded that only deepened his ache of longing. Amaara stood preparing a piece of pork, her hands covered with salt and herbs. Next to her, Gale stirred a pot, scooping some soup to blow delicately before feeding Amaara a taste.

Her eyes lit up in delight, savoring the taste. Their laughter filled the air as they shared their enthusiasm for some seasoning they had found. Their easy camaraderie oozed a profound connection Astarion envied. He watched the intimate exchange like an outsider peering through a frosted window. So commonplace, yet beyond his grasp.

Astarion gazed down at the book clutched in his hands - a rare first edition novel he'd discovered in an abandoned house earlier that day. He had secretly tucked it away in his own pack.

He vividly remembered her eager reaction to the tome Gale had shared. He pictured her keen eyes lighting up, soft lips curving into an appreciative smile when he presented this book to her as a gift.

But on second thought, simply handing over the book was not enough. No, better to draw out her anticipation, sharing a chapter or two each night by the campfire's glow. Let the tale unfold slowly through his theatrical narration, giving him an excuse to linger by her side night after night.

The party was gathered around the campfire after dinner. Amaara sat slightly apart, nose buried in a heavy tome, oblivious to the friendly chatter around her.

Astarion sidled up beside her, peering over her shoulder. "My, that looks terribly dull. All those tiny cramped letters, and not a single illustration," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"It's a chronicle of arcane discoveries in Thay," Amaara explained enthusiastically. "This chapter describes the properties of residuum and its catalytic effects when combined with-"

Astarion held up a hand, chuckling. "Spare me the lecture, my dear. Must your nose be glued to these interminable pages every night?" he chided lightly. "Tonight, I wish to share something far more stimulating."

He held up the leatherbound book bearing ornate silver lettering.

"The first edition of 'The Ballad of Drizzt'!" Amaara's eyes lit up in delight as she traced the embossed title. "However did you get your hands on this rare treasure?"

"I happened upon it in the house we visited today.” He opened the book, turning to the first chapter. "Now this is true literature, with prose as sharp as any rapier," he declared. Clearing his throat, Astarion began reading aloud, his cultured voice expertly infusing the tale with drama and suspense.

Amaara found herself enraptured by his performance. The nuance Astarion brought to the dialogue and description had her hanging on every word.

When at last he closed the book, Amaara applauded enthusiastically.

"Now that was a masterful performance! You truly brought the story to life," she praised.

Astarion flashed a pleased grin at her reaction. "I'm delighted you enjoyed it, my dear. Aren’t these beautifully written stories more rewarding than those dry arcane pages? We can do this every night, bedtime stories."

Astarion's gaze traced along Amaara's features, noting the way her eyes lingered on his lips before lifting to meet his own. A lovely smile spread across her face, carrying a mixture of fondness and shy anticipation, "I would really like that." she said softly.

Amaara's smile, so familiar and bright, filled Astarion's heart with warmth and eased his uncertainty. How he had missed that smile! He couldn't help but be drawn to her soft lips, yearning to feel their warmth against his own.

he leaned in slowly, his intent clear—a kiss, a tender moment of connection. But as he moved closer, Amaara's eyes widened, and she leaned away, creating an abrupt gap between them that was filled only by awkward silence.

Astarion's surprise quickly gave way to hurt, and he couldn't hide the flicker of pain that crossed his features. He had misunderstood, and rejection stung deeply. But then, Amaara reached out, placing her hand gently on Astarion's.

"Forgive me," she began, her voice soft with empathy. "I believed that any act of intimacy might make you uncomfortable. Please, you don't have to do this for my sake."

Astarion's hurt subsided as he realized her intentions. He shook his head gently, his voice filled with sincerity, "I would never say no to a tender kiss from you."

Amaara's smile returned, her eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. "All right," she said, her own bashfulness shining through. "...May I?"

Astarion's heart filled with anticipation. "I would like nothing more," he replied with a soft, genuine smile.

So, she leaned in, closing the distance between them, and placed a gentle, soft kiss on his lips. It was a simple peck filled with warmth and affection, a sweet moment that spoke volumes about the feelings they shared.

A sudden bashfulness washed over Astarion as they pulled away, and if he could, he would have been blushing fiercely. He lowered his gaze for a moment, his words coming out in a soft, almost shy tone. "I really rather liked that, you know?" 

He slowly reached out to caress her cheek, "I think… that counts as our first real kiss…and It was perfect.” Like a whisper of spring after endless winter. He silently added.

Seeing Amaara's rosy blush as she nested against him, he felt his unbeating heart swell. No further words were needed in that tender moment.

[zombyjuice]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓 —- 🪷🪷 episode two. kie’s problem | next episode

"Well, here are the hors d'oeuvres. Oh shit. Lucy?"

His eyes widen, and time slows down just for a second; his pupils blow out, and something indescribable is written on his face, and then with a whoosh, everything speeds back up. "Go! Go! Run!" You shout, and his eyes linger on you as he backs away and starts to run. Her head slowly turns back to the giant of her brother in front of her, eyes blown and crazy beads of sweat on his and his minions foreheads. "Lucy, get out of the way." Rafe tried to ration, "No, I don't want to." "Lucy." Lucy's head nodded a no, and Kelcey shoved Topper out of the way. "C'mon, I don't have time for this shit. He shoved Lucy out of the way and started running, the rest following behind him. "Well shit."

The air was tense, and Lucy's stomach churned nervously, and she started running towards the security inside, shoving people out of the way. "Excuse me, sorry, excuse me." She slipped between people and finally found the security. "Hey! Inside! They're fighting!" The security instantly got up and jogged to the destination. “They went to the end of the hallway." Lucy huffs, hands on her knees, too nervous to see what could be happening, so she walks slowly down the hallway, voices becoming more audible.

"Tell Kie she looks good for a Pogue." A weird feeling fell onto her chest, and it tightened when she heard JJ trying to get at him. She could almost feel the anger radiating off of him from the other side of the door.

This was all so weird: the first day back, and she's getting JJ out of a fight, which isn't weird in particular; it's very JJ fashion. But it's everything else leading up to it. How defensive JJ got about Kiara. Last time she checked, they barely spoke, and she was the one who even got them to interact. And now she just hates you? The boys wanting to physically harm JJ, who's already beat up; she knows Kooks and Pogues just don’t mesh well, but it never got this physical.

"This isn't over!" "Hey, hey, it was really nice seein' you again, Jj!" You watched JJ get shoved out by security. "Hey! He's with me; let go. I'm a Cameron." The security huffed and stopped giving JJ a rather deadly look, gripping hard on his bicep, and shoved him into the wall, letting him fall. "Hurry and get out before they get you," and he swiftly walked away. "C'mon, Jayj." She grabbed at his arm, and JJ got up quickly, grabbing the same arm that grabbed at his arm, and Lucy's head snaps back, and two security are already after them. "Run, run."

"jj!" "woo hoo!" John B's eyebrows furrowed when he saw you, his head practically forming into a question mark, but a smile quickly appeared seeing JJS and her arms locked. "Captain!" his hand saluted. "Mission accomplished, sir." JJ said in a teasingly stern voice. Lucy giggles, and her eyes dart around, and seeing Pope, she quickly jogs up to him. "Hi, Mister Heyward, we need him, like now." "Juicy girl, what the hell? Oh, Pope, you better not''," I swear, boy. An apologetic "I'll fix this" face formed on the boy, and his fingers interlock with Lucy's, and they run towards JJ and John B, who are now running off too, and Kiara joins, JJ spinning her in a circle.

Lucy didn’t like that. But looking at him now, the smile on his face and the look in his eyes, she's seen that before, only with her.

JJ remembers the first time you guys ever interacted. He always saw you; he couldn't describe what your aura was, but it was something he adored. It was complicated and mysterious almost, even though your look was something bright, like fruits. but he’s never spoken to or about you, which is shocking; he had most kooks in his mouth.

He was wondering after a big fight with his dad, wandering off the cut and somehow finding himself near the kooks side of the beach. Even the beaches are prettier, the salt air was different, and even the sand beneath his feet he was dragging to the end of the sandy cliff, head down and hands coming up to the fabric on his body, taking his shirt off in one swift motion. He didn’t bother looking away from his feet until he saw another pair come up next to his.

pink Converse

He heard a slight sniffle, and he looked up to see a tan blonde girl; he knew your face, but not that look. Your face was painted with what could only be seen as deep sadness, your eyes brimming with tears, and a soft smile twitched on her pretty face.

jj felt it too, and the scenery was indescribable; it was silent, and the only thing that could be heard was the salty air swishing in the air and the waves crashing onto the land.

He watched the tears that fell down her face fall and the hand that quickly brushed her nose with her forearm, and her head almost darted into his direction, taking him off guard a little. Her eyes scanned his body, and usually chatty JJ was unusually quiet; he seemed almost insecure, vulnerable.

the waves getting louder and the wind getting heavier, and JJs lip quivered and his eyes watered; it made her heart churn, and her hand came up to cup his face, her thumb softly rubbing his bruised cheek.

“it’s okay.” There was something about Lucy; there was something peaceful about Lucy. He’s never met someone with such a calm yet bubbly soul, and being so up close, he felt everything good and bad radiate off of her, which is strange. Jj's not much of an empath. She goes to envelop him in a warm hug. It was secure and sweet, two things he’s never had.

JJ never felt like that, ever; he never felt loved by a touch or words more than he did that moment; it was so real. Jj knew he loved Lucy; he never felt so happy in a moment so full of pain. but he wanted nothing more than to sweep it under the rug, knowing how his best friend feels about her.

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