#I have been waiting patiently for a prompt that would allow me to draw this guy I have 2 drawings in my backlog left unfinished because of-

[skrunklyprisonprincess]

Jefftember art day 25! 'Heart'

I could have done art of any character with an s/o like Mordrid, Bill knight, Chaz, Kevin etc... nope :) Drawing this sassy bitch today, missed my chance earlier to draw him for the purple prompt and that needed to be fixed

[itadores]

love and like (it’s not the same)

note: i do hope u like this :( missing my baby (kento) a lot

pairing: nanami kento x gn!reader

word count: 1.2k

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship (married), nanami calls reader dear & darling, emotional hurt/comfort, reader is feeling insecure

“Do you like me?”

From where he's seated on the couch, Kento glances at you, his reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. You're leaning against the doorway to the living room, arms loosely folded across your chest. You’re dressed in your usual loungewear, which consists of a pair of comfortable cloth shorts and an old shirt of Kento’s that you claimed as your own long ago. It brings a small smile to Kento’s face before he remembers that he has yet to respond. He raises a brow as your question fully sinks in.

“We’re married, dear,” Kento answers, eyes drifting back to the pages of his book - one that he's been meaning to finish for the longest time. He’s made it about half way through and hopes that he can make some more progress before retiring for bed later this evening. "I love you."

"I know. I love you too, but—” you pause. “But do you like me?" Your voice cracks, and silence rings throughout the room.

Kento lowers his book into his lap, the paragraph he was in the midst of long forgotten. Your voice sounds small and unsure and so unlike your usual self, drawing Kento's immediate concern. He looks at you once more, studying you more closely this time. Your body has folded into itself. Your shoulders are hunched and tensed as if you’re physically bracing yourself to take on the weight of Kento’s response. Your fingers are woven tightly into fists around the material of your shirt as your gaze remains far from Kento’s direction.

Kento marks his place in his book and sets it aside on the end table near the couch along with his reading glasses. His book can wait until later. There's something much more important that needs Kento's attention.

"Come here, darling,” he says, voice soft.

You move like a wounded animal as you slowly shuffle across the room, the mismatched socks on your feet muffling the sound of your steps. Gingerly, you take a seat on the couch beside Kento, settling your weight on the very edge of the cushion as if you're ready to dart at any given moment. Your body is wound tight with tension, the hard lines of your shoulder heavy. Your hands lay in your lap, fingers fidgeting with each other to relieve your anxious energy.

Kento covers your hands with one of his own and squeezes.

"What prompted this?" he gently asks.

You stop playing with your fingers, loosening your tightly interlocked hands and allowing Kento to slide his hand into yours. He rubs circles with his thumb against the back of your hand, trying to loosen the rigidity running through your body. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. His thumb traces a path for itself into your skin. Kento is patient as he waits for you to gather your thoughts, aware of how difficult it can be for you to voice your vulnerabilities.

"I don't know," you quietly say, a tinge of frustration in your tone. Your shoulders are tight against your ears before you drop them, sagging. Your body wilts. "Just got too in my head, I guess. Started thinking about my relationships with people and whether they actually like me or just feel obligated to be around me. It's stupid I know but once I started thinking, I couldn't stop."

"Nothing that concerns you could ever be stupid, dear," Kento says, soft yet firm. "Thank you for coming to me with your worries. I know it must not have been easy for you to do so." He squeezes your hand before removing it from your lap and bringing it closer to him. He places your joined hands in his lap.

"I did not marry you out of any sort of obligation. I married you because I love and care for you."

Kento raises your hand to his face and brushes his lips against your knuckles in a gentle kiss.

"Of course, I like you. I would be a fool not to."

You suck in a quiet breath, and the spool of tension within you completely unravels.

The couch dips with your abrupt movements, and Kento grunts when you suddenly shift the majority of your weight onto him. Your arms wind tightly around his torso as you bury your face into his chest. Although unexpected, Kento is quick to adapt and adjusts his position to better accommodate you. He leans further back into the corner of the couch, providing you with more room to be comfortable. He lays his arms across the expanse of your upper back, folding his hands together, and rests his cheek against the top of your head. You breathe Kento in and exhale, melting into his touch and sinking into his embrace.

"Thank you, Kento," you murmur. He feels your words more than he hears it with your face properly buried into the material of his sweater.

He presses a comforting kiss to your hairline. "Of course, darling. I'm glad I could at least be of some assistance."

He feels you huff against his chest. A good sign. Kento's remaining concern unlodges itself from his throat.

This is not the first time you've expressed having these thoughts, and Kento is not so naive to think that this will be the last time that your traitorous brain will lead you astray. Kento only hopes that he can guide you back onto the right path with the little comfort he can offer you. If only you could see yourself from Kento's perspective, you would never doubt yourself again.

You stay as you are for a while, with you fully enveloped in Kento's embrace and your head resting on his chest, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeats. He has no doubt that you must be emotionally exhausted by this point, believing that you may have fallen asleep with how quiet you've gotten. Kento mentally resolves himself to a night of numb limbs and a morning of a stiff neck and joints.

"Kento?"

Kento hums, mildly surprised that you had not fallen asleep.

"Yes, darling?"

You rub the loose material of his sweater gathered at his sides between your fingers, fiddling with the fabric. You peel your cheek off of Kento's chest, moving to rest your chin in the same spot as you look up at Kento through your lashes.

"I like you a lot. I hope you know," you softly say.

A soft smile paints itself across Kento's face. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before nuzzling his nose against yours.

"Thank you for the reminder," he breathes out, honest and sincere. "I like you too," he tells you once more before slotting his lips with yours. He hopes the kiss conveys all that he is unable to put into words. All of the love and care he holds in his heart for you. Kento draws back when he’s sure that your lungs must be reaching its limit without air, much to your displeasure. Kento lightly chuckles when he sees your expression, leaning in to kiss the pout off your lips. He lingers close, your exhales mingling in the space between you.

If Kento has to remind you of his devotion to you every day for the rest of your lives, he will gladly do so.

[daydream-cement]

Birthday Wish (NSFW)

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

When a birthday wish goes awry, you are given love by a infamous being.

This fic has two purposes! A BIG BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR @alexusonfire AS IT WAS HER BIRTHDAY ON THURSDAY! I LOVE YOU SM BAE AND I HOPE YOU LOVE IT SOOO MUCH!!! And this is the last week of Smutember with @alexusonfire! The prompt for this week was birthday sex, but I think I may have missed the mark a little bit. I was just having fun when I wrote it.

You hadn't been dreading your birthday, but you weren't entirely excited for it either. Of course it had to land on a weeknight so the celebration with loved ones was short and sweet, allowing you to get back home before 10pm. 

When you arrived home, you deposited the few gifts from loved ones on the kitchen counter and popped open the container containing a wonderfully decorated cupcake with a little birthday candle sticking up out of its center. A sweet gift bestowed upon you by a friend. 

Opening a drawer to your left, you pulled out a matchbook. Plucking a match from the comb, you firmly strike the match against the striker and watch it rapidly set aflame. You lower the flame to the candle and wait patiently for the fire to take. You hum the happy birthday tune to yourself, content in celebrating the final hours of your birthday with yourself. 

As you wave out the flame at the tip of the match, you consider what your birthday wish would be. Perhaps a promotion? A pet? A new love? You smirk at the final thought, a faint ache appearing in your chest when you dreamed of a new love affair. You genderated an image in your brain of who that love might be.

Attractive... Confident... Powerful... Your thoughts then spiraled as you considered your sexual relationship. Alluring... Sensual... Gentle...

You thought about strong hands, a sweet smile, kind eyes... long legs... 

You closed your eyes, wistfully dreaming of the individual you would come to love. Through your lashes, you leaned down, holding your breath momentarily before blowing out the candle - sealing your wish through the extinguishing of the flame. 

A warm puff of air came at the back of your neck causing the hairs to rise on your body. It felt as if someone were breathing down on you. You quickly spin around, scanning the kitchen for who or what the sensation came from. 

Emptiness. 

You were alone. No one was there. You must have been imagining things. 

You enjoyed your cupcake and readied yourself for bed. When you reclined back on the mattress, there was an instant feeling of comfort and relaxation. You were ready for sleep. 

As you drifted off, you pictured the person from your wish. Tall and blonde. A divine presence that you can't remove your eyes from. You approached them slowly, mesmerized with eyes and big as saucers. 

They cooed to you in the most eloquent tone. It made you shiver. 

"Come to me, my love..."

----

When you awoke, you were incredibly disoriented. Your body ached. The atmosphere felt strange, the smells were different, and the texture of the sheets felt askew. When your lids parted, you were quickly made aware that you were no longer in your home. The room was dimly lit and the walls lacked your posters and art. The atmosphere was cold and impersonal - it scared you.

You shot up in bed, drawing the sheets to your chest as you glanced around with a furrowed brow. The room was lit by flame and it almost felt as if you had traveled back in time. 

It was all a dream. It had to be a dream.

"Hello, lamb. How did you sleep?" A familiar voice called. It was slightly feminine with a low register. It was hypnotic and soothing. 

You turned your gaze towards the voice, eyes clearly filled with fear. A being was looming over the left side of the bed. It was your love that you had dreamt of. 

Short curls fell around their face and they were clothed in a crimson robe. They leaned over the edge of the bed, robe parting enough for you to see a hint of cleavage before you averted your eyes. With your gaze shooting downwards, you saw their hands. Beautiful long fingers that would fit so wonderfully in your-

"Darling? Are you feeling okay?" Your eyes followed their fingers as they lifted to your face, stroking your cheek up to your forehead. Your cheeks were burning red from the filthy thoughts - never had you had such explicit thoughts of someone before. 

"Where- Where am I?" You stammered, eyes now studying their face. With how gorgeous you found them to be, you weren't necessarily upset with having to be there with them, but it was still jarring to be in this haunting environment.

"Welcome to Hell, child. I'm pleased to meet you..." The blonde cooed, their fingers shifting into your hair to pull you towards them. Their lips pressed softly against yours, but in your shock and confusion your mouth went slack, leading to some awkwardness in the kiss. They hadn't seemed bothered as they pulled away, their facial expressions remaining constant as they smiled down at you. "I have gone by many names, but you may call me Lucifer."

Your heart stilled in your chest. You were terrified. At least, the name alone instilled you with great fear. Their presence however was nonthreatening, making you even more nervous when considering their unspoken intentions. 

They seemed amused at your shocked expression and slack jaw, "Aren't you cute? I've decided to grant you your wish..."

"W-what wish?"

"Love. I am going to give you love."

----

Lucifer had given you a week to decide if you wanted to stay with them. At first you were adamant in your desire to return home, the strange creatures of the underworld being far too terrifying to even consider staying. But there was something about the way that the Morningstar would be so quietly doting as they attended to your every need and want that made you remain in the underworld.

You remained a bit of a recluse in the underworld, staying in your chambers and only exiting when you were called upon by Lucifer. 

Tonight was different in that Lucifer didn’t call for you, rather they came knocking at your door. You opened the heavy door with some effort, smiling weakly up at the being, “Good evening, my lord.”

“Please, lamb… Lucifer is just fine.” They rose a hand to your cheek, drawing you in for a chaste peck at the corner of your lips. 

Once again they left you scrambling for what to say or do in order to impress them. “Would you like to come in…? We could spend time… together…”

“I would appreciate that very much.” 

They strode into the room, their beautiful expansive wings following in tow. They drew your eyes in every time you were near Lucifer. How you wished to reach out and touch them… To make yourself acquainted with every peak and valley…

Lucifer had their back turned to you, their eyes observing how you had made yourself at home with the help of Mazikeen. This was a perfect opportunity to study their beautiful wings, and perhaps even touch them if you were brave enough. 

You took a step forward, examining their texture and the occasional scar. Lucifer’s wings were far from perfect, but regardless you were enamored. Mesmerized, you reach out a hand, stroking a few fingers up the ridge of their wing where it connected with their back, murmuring, “They are beautiful.”

Lucifer tensed and shivered in response. Their back straightened and you retracted your hand, fearful of what they may do or say. You wait a moment and they don’t move. You are holding your breath to the point where it makes you feel dizzy. 

When they don’t react, you reach out and touch them once more. You reach a spot that makes their wings flex open, and they let out a soft and quiet moan, which brings a smile to your face. 

“Those are not toys, my love.” 

My love. That’s what they had been calling you on occasion as they attempted to drive home the point that you both were meant to be in love.

“Hmm?” You are feeling mischievous. You shift your hand so your palm and fingers are shifting across their wing, your other hand reaching out to caress the other wing.

“C-caref-ful…” Lucifer groaned. Their groan was so guttural and desperate it created an ache in your core. It spurred your hand movements on further. Your hands shifted back to the center of their back, applying a bit pressure to where they attached near Lucifer’s spine. You grinned wide as their back arched and they reached out to grasp the post of the bedframe nearby for support. 

Their moans were so beautiful and intense. You needed more.

“Ahh… Please… My love… I-” Lucifer was losing all control, succumbing to the pleasure that was your hands massaging and rubbing at their powerful wings. You take a step closer, needing to continue to push the boundaries even further. 

You release a breath across their wings, causing goosebumps to raise on their arms - a sensation they hadn’t known they were capable of. Then you pressed a featherlight kiss to their wing… then another… and then another. 

Their breathing was growing ragged and you needed more. You needed to give more. Their moans were addictive. Their body was addictive. Lucifer was addictive. 

Kiss after kiss you roam their wingspan, their moans filling the void of your room. Your hands came to settle on their waist as your mouth explored the black expanse of their wings.

Their hands were on top of yours in an instant, clutching your hands and dragging them to the tie of their robe. They were desperate for more. They knew what they needed to make this experience as pleasurable as possible. Their hands guided yours in every action they wanted you to take and you were enthusiastic in all that they silently tasked you with. 

First the robe came undone. 

Then they invited you to toy with their breasts and pinch their nipples. 

Then your hands were guided to their heat where you teased by squeezing roughly at their thighs to earn a delectable moan.

“More, my love. More.”

You obliged, your fingers dipping into their wetness and probing for their clit. When you found it, you applied some pressure, drawing out a long helpless moan as you had also drug your teeth across the ridge of their wing. 

Their heat was drenched. The sticky wetness coated your fingers and caused heat to pool between your own legs. How could one being be so divine?

Shifting your hand slightly, you plunged two fingers inside of Lucifer and felt their knees buckle. Their spare hand shot out and supported their weight fully against the bed, their head thrown back in utter awe of the pleasure you were giving. 

Their red robe was slipping off their shoulders, revealing a milky white expanse of skin that rendered you speechless. 

“More. I can’t- It’s so-” They sounded so desperate for you. 

You smirk to yourself and begin pumping your fingers in and out as your spare hand begins rubbing circles against Lucifer’s clit. Once you fell into a rhythm, you redirected your attention to nuzzling and kissing their wings. You were aching to make them feel good… aching to make them cum.

“You are my beautiful, wonderful love. I adore you, my darling. P-please, ah, yes… Right there…” They groan and writhe, hips bucking against your hand in a desperate attempt to help themselves along. Lucifer felt so pent up - they needed to cum.

You slowed the movements of your hands, drawing out these long lazy strokes that drove Lucifer wild, Their head quickly was thrown back and you felt wetness gush around your fingers as their cunt clenched at your digits. They began to thrash and their back arched, wings stretching wider than you ever thought physically possible. 

Their body gracefully collapsed against the bed and they took a few moments to recuperate before turning over and gazing up at you. “I chose well. You are perfect, my love.”

You blush profusely, turning your eyes down to the floor in sheer embarrassment.

“Come. Let me hold you…” Lucifer cooed, arms stretched out, inviting you to lay against their chest. 

While you tried to ignore it, the sight of their exposed breasts prevented you from looking elsewhere. As if you were hypnotized, you crawled into bed, immediately placing your lips on their breasts to press soft, adoring kisses.

Their arms wound around you tight, their touch soft as they stroked your hair and smiled down fondly at the human they chose to love. “My lovely darling… You make me so happy… I know you are settling in still, but I hope you can learn to call this place home…”

“Perhaps you could show me around tomorrow… Like a tour… You could show me your favorite places…?”

Only if you could have seen the way your question caused their face to light up. Their lips turned upwards into a gentle smile and their eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. They were enamored by you constantly.

“I would love that, lamb.” They cooed, arms enrapturing you in a tight yet comfortable hug. Their wings curled around your bodies, fashioning a cocoon to block out the world. If this is what loving Lucifer meant, you were excited for what else was in store.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @opheliauniverse, @enchantressb, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @scream-queenlover, @shyladyfan, @rubberduckiesbathing, @peanutbutterprincess, @larissaoftarthweems, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @dumbasslesbi, @oculusalien, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @h-doodles, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic    

[oddree13]

To Find a Kiss of Yours

[Read on AO3]

Steve remembers his first Valentine's Day. He was in first grade and spent the day prior decorating a shoebox to act as a makeshift mailbox. The next day the class had a party where all the cards were passed out, but throughout the gathering, girls came up to give him extra candy. One girl even kissed him on the cheek and ran off. 

Steve felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time that day and decided Valentine’s wasn’t all that bad. 

As the years went on, Steve looked forward to the holiday for reasons beyond extra candy. February 14 was used to fill the void of affection his parents were slowly taking from him.

And once Steve started middle school, and class-wide valentines were no longer mandatory, he realized the holiday was different for him than other boys. He’d get more cards and candy than some of his friends, and in seventh grade, a girl pulled Steve aside to let him know how much she liked him. Steve only knew the girl because they shared a couple of classes, but figured he should be polite and ask her out. After all, that is what all the boys around him would do. 

Years later Robin would unpack just how wrong this was to do. 

In short, Steve always looked forward to Valentine's Day and even kept a box under his bed where he kept his favorites - the standouts among the mass-printed, store-bought postcards that were delivered to Steve with a personal touch.

When he started Hawkins High a part of him was nervous that one of his steady sources of affection would dry up, but Steve found the exact opposite. The school encouraged the holiday by allowing students to send each other candy-grams and flowers throughout the day. Even among the students, there was a buzz. In the days leading up to V-day, photocopied maps of lockers would be passed around where people could write their friend’s name on it, in the hopes that it would encourage more personal gifts and confessions. 

In his four years at Hawkins High Steve’s name always made it on the map before he could write it. 

During his freshman year, Steve gets more than a few candy-grams in homeroom, prompting Tommy and Carol to tease him as they steal his candy. 

In between classes, he takes more trips than usual to his locker to collect the cards and notes left for him. Some are signed, some are just a phone number with a name and a lipstick print. Steve can’t help but get high off the constant reminders of want as the day goes on.

Needing to kill time before the bus towards Loch Nora arrives, Steve heads to his locker after basketball practice. Sure it could have waited until morning, but Steve’s never been a patient man. 

Inside his locker are a few more notes, but among the pink and pastels that have filled his vision all day, the crimson card stands out. He opens the front flap to find the card is actually an origami note, and not wanting to rip it, carefully unfolds the missive. 

His eyes are immediately pulled to the drawing at the bottom: a half-sun and half-moon face on a backdrop of stars. His eyes then wander up to the note to find not a letter, but a short poem - 

Some people say my love cannot be true Please believe me, my love, and I'll show you I will give you those things you thought unreal The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal

It takes Steve a few times to read it to get the gist of the meaning, and he can’t help but blush. Either the writer is talented or she copied someone. Either way, Steve knows this is making it into his special box. Before folding it back Steve’s eyes searched the page for a name or phone number, only to find a small “E” at the corner of the note. 

Steve spends the rest of the week wracking his brain for all the girls in his class and even the year above whose name starts with an E, even going so far as to approach a few of them. 

When he gets no answer other than a few dates he puts it out of his mind. 

*

Sophomore year is almost an identical repeat of the year before. Candygrams were delivered and stolen by Tommy and Carol. Notes stuffed in his locker, getting more lascivious as the day goes on. It seems his reputation preceded him, and there are more than a few propositions in letter form.

And just like the year before there is a crimson note waiting for him after practice. Steve wasn’t even anticipating the note, figuring it was a one-off from the year prior. But seeing it sitting on top of his books, Steve can’t help but ignore all the other letters and notes in favor of opening another message from E.

Like last time there’s a drawing, this time of a detailed headstone citing a kiss as the cause of death, the skull atop bearing a lip print. And just like the year before is a poem - 

To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love

Steve restarts his attempts to find E, only this time he goes for a more subtle approach, flirting with instead of confronting any girl whose name starts with the offending letter. 

It doesn’t end with Steve solving the mystery but does end with Steve going on dates with Elizabeth, Evelyn, Emily, and Erin. 

*

The Valentines of his junior year is an interesting one. Sure he’s been dating Nancy for almost three months now, but that doesn’t stop some very ambitious girls from sending candy and cards his way. He details each gift to Nancy as the day goes on because that's what a good boyfriend would do, right? And sure, he wishes Nancy would look more perturbed, but all he gets is small kisses on his cheek with her saying they can use the candy as dessert when she makes him dinner this weekend. 

The only thing Steve keeps to himself though is his hope for a third crimson note.

Sure Steve hasn’t gotten any luck with finding out who the sender is. And even if he did find out this year he couldn’t act on it. But there's something about the effort that Steve craves. That someone cares enough about Steve to write, draw, and fold the letter each year. 

And just like the years prior the note is there, drawing and all.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.   How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.   Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.   Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

Not only is this year's poem longer, but the drawing also intrigues Steve. The picture is of a winged man, gazing up at the words written above him with an almost longing expression, while flames dance at his feet. Steve can’t help but examine the detail that went into the drawing, and even blushes at how handsome he is. 

So the next day when Nancy drags him to the library to study, he sneaks away to ask the librarian if she recognizes the poem (without showing her the note). She walks him over to the poetry section and hands him a collection of British poetry, turning to the section on W.H. Auden. 

Steve reads a brief description of the poem, about the unrequited love between the poet and the stars. He bitterly thinks that this love might not be unrequited if he could figure out who his secret admirer was. 

Years later Steve would realize two things - Indiana public school books didn't care to mention that W.H. Auden was gay and that he really should have looked at the checkout card inside the book cover.

* 

Steve contemplates staying home for the last Valentine's Day of his high school career. He's certain he won't get any grams now that he’s fallen from grace and taken no steps to climb back up. 

But despite how obnoxious sharing court with Hargrove is, basketball practice is the only thing keeping him sane as he counts down the days till graduation. 

Steve didn't even mean to go back to his locker that day not wanting to be disappointed by the lack of a crimson note. But he needs his notes to study for chemistry, and as he pulls out the binder the crimson letter falls to the floor. 

Steve can't help the way his heart clenches at the sight. How such a simple thing can remind him why he loves his holiday so much? 

He then figures that the sender. Must be someone in his grade if they've kept these notes coming all four years. 

Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me , I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Steve sinks onto the floor as he reads the poem over and over again. He can't help but smirk at how the bits about girls are stricken through, but also that it's a farewell of sorts. It leaves Steve with a bittersweet feeling to know he'll never find out the sender's identity. 

* 

Over piles of discount candy in 1986, Steve shares with Robin the details of the crimson notes tucked under his bed. Robin can't help but laugh as she looks through them pointing out to Steve how fucking homo erotic all the poems are. 

After a bit of denial, Steve finally admits that Robin may be right and kicks himself for only searching for girls back when he was in high school. Realizing he didn't bother to get a copy of the yearbook he asks Robin if he can come one day to search the pages at her house for clues. But a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

Part of Steve wishes he actually bothered to get a copy of the yearbook so he could search the pages, but a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

*

It's February 1987 and Steve is wondering how he's spending Valentine's Day Eve cleaning up his kitchen after the party wraps their D&D session for the night. 

Eddie is helping him tidy as he recounts how on the ride over to Steve's, Dustin was explaining how nervous he was about his radio date with Suzie the next day wanting to do something special but not cheesy. 

“I told him he should recite some poetry and he told me that's lame,” Eddie says in a way that expresses their mutual frustration with Henderson. 

“It's not lame. If it's done right,” Steve agrees. 

“The little shit then told me that metal lyrics don't count as poetry and I told him that I know more than just metal lyrics.” 

Steve can't help but look amused and gestures for Eddie to regale him with a poem. 

Eddie clears his throat and begins, “To find a kiss of yours what I would give…”

“A kiss that strayed from your lips...dead to love,” Steve finishes unthinking. After all, he read those words hundreds of times. 

That's when it clicks for Steve. The E written in the corner of all those notes stood for Eddie. 

Eddie's eyes catch Steve's and he visibly swallows. His complexion pails and he looks like he's about to run for it, but Steve sputters out his confession. 

“I kept them all.” 

Eddie's eyes widened even further at that as if he couldn't believe what Steve was saying.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Want to see them? They're in my room.”

“That's quite a line, Harrington”

“Well not all of us can be poets.”

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Can I please request 🤹📖🩹❤️

Please Stay a While Longer (Please Stay Forever) - Abner Krill/Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, doctor!reader, gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, S.T.A.R. Labs era!Abner, training injuries, brief implications of parental abuse/neglect.

Wordcount: 1600

Summary: He was in your office again today, and you really wished you'd never have to see him sitting there ever again.

Notes: If you wanna join me in the Misery Parade, listen to this song as you read ;w; this ended up being a LOT more angsty than I expected when I saw the prompts, but man sometimes things just write themselves and you gotta go with the flow, y'know? I'll do something more comfort than hurt the next time I get that prompt, I promise!

The sight before you was a familiar one, you’d seen it almost every day since you’d started working there a year and a half ago. You were in your office when they’d arrived, almost as if on cue, the clock reading just after 4PM; training had started an hour ago, 3PM sharp as usual, he’d lasted longer this time, but still, he was there all the same, outfit torn and body sporting new burns.

You’d commended him at first at the growing knowledge of his strength, impressed with his ability to hold it in as salve was pressed to circular marks, angry and blistered but never drawing blood, so unlike the people he’d gone up against. Now you just felt sad, knowing that it wasn’t strength, it was resolve, acceptance, something forced upon him so they could drag him out again the next day to do it all over again.

He was used to it, numb to it, that’s all it truly was.

His jumpsuit was undone and bunched around his hips as you examined him, his eyes anywhere but on you and himself as he occasionally let out the odd hiss or whimper when your medical tools poked and prodded a little too hard, a whisper of apology falling from your lips each time. You didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was, you’d learned during your short time here that that was always a possibility for him and his siblings, but he’d gotten banged up pretty hard during the training session today and it needed to be taken care of before She let it get worse.

And She would, if you didn’t do anything about it now, he was only allowed to visit your little office because it was close to Her personal corner of the building and he complained too much otherwise, after all.

‘This will only hurt a little,’ you promised him, seeing the way he braced himself as his hand clenched over his thigh when you raised the antiseptic-coated cotton swab to his side where one of his older wounds had been reopened. The coldness of it made him flinch for just a second as you offered another apology, but he didn’t accept it, something like that was nothing compared to what he was there for. Thankfully, his powers would do most of the work, the colourful dots inside of him mercifully offering him the ability to heal faster along with the curse to destroy in an instant, but you still wanted to do this much for him before it faded away to yet another scar.

He was covered in them by now, the dots never breaking the skin unlike his targets but still leaving behind reminders that he hadn’t been careful enough, he’d been too distracted or tired or, worst of all, stopped caring enough to want to defend himself anymore, and you once again found yourself wanting to offer him more than just a fresh bandage and a silent wish (plea) that you wouldn’t have to see him again the next day. But it was an impossible dream, more impossible than the virus that showed itself under his skin if he didn’t keep training, lighting him up from the inside with the constant threat of bursting, his scars a mesh to hold it all in until they couldn’t any longer.

Your hands hesitated as the peroxide bubbled over the wound, your throat tightening as he waited patiently for you to be done so he could go back to his room and wait to do this all over again tomorrow.

‘Why do you let her do this to you?’ you couldn’t help but ask, fingertip brushing against the edges of a pale scar long since healed. He didn’t answer at first, you two never talked when he could get away with staying silent, and today your voice seemed to catch him off guard, your soft tone so unlike what he normally had to hear.

‘Do what?’ he asked back just as softly, like he truly didn’t know what you were talking about.

‘Hurt you like this.’ The liquid ran down his side and soaked into his outfit, three more polka-dots needing to be sewn into it to show everyone of today’s fumbles along with all the previous ones.

‘It was my own fault, I wasn’t paying attention, I’ll do better next time, I’m sorry.’ It came out so calmly, practiced like he’d said it a million times before and he probably might have considering who his mother was. It made your chest hurt to hear it, your lip quivering as you tried to be strong for him, but for all his silence and refusal to pay attention to himself, he was so observant of you, his eyes finally landing on the top of your head as you kneeled by the wax paper covered bed. ‘Why’re you sad?’ he whispered, like if he raised his voice any higher then his own might break, and when you blinked your vision blurred for just a moment.

‘If you could leave this place, would you?’ you wanted to know, his body stiffening in your peripherals as he thought about it, the silence stretching on for so long that it made you wonder if you’d offended him for making him think of freedom, of a life outside of the windowless room he called home, away from his remaining siblings and the woman who kept them all there.

‘I… I don’t know,’ he answered honestly, back arching as he slumped forward, his shoulders sagging and dark eyes so tired as you looked up at him.

‘Abner, you don’t have to stay here,’ you tried to tell him, your hand finding his on his lap, the first real contact you’d ever made outside of fixing him up; his fingers instinctively curled over you as he cautiously flipped his own hand to hold yours, probably the only kind touch he’d received in years. His eyes rested on your clasped hands before they finally met your own, a sadness unlike anything you’d ever experienced before hiding behind them making your breath catch in your throat like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

‘Yes I do.’

A tear rolled down your cheek before you could stop it, a miserable smile on his face at your empathy for someone as unworthy as him. The hand not holding yours reached up to brush it away before he caught himself, said sorry for touching you even as he held your hand a little tighter, unable to let himself let go. You let out a shaky sob as you rested your head on his lap, feeling him still again before letting his free hand lay over your head, almost pulling away at first before deciding otherwise. He ran his fingers through your hair, offered you comfort even though he was the one who was hurting, and you once again wished (begged) that you wouldn’t see him again tomorrow.

I love you, your mouth longed to say, you having fallen for him more and more with every visit ever since the first time you’d met him; your breaking heart was torn between longing to see him, this the only time he was allowed to leave the highly secured and reinforced floors he roamed, and never wanting him to have to visit ever again. Not seeing him meant he was fine, safe, unhurt for once in his life between the testing and the training and the pain and the loss that haunted him like a growing collection of phantoms. Not seeing him meant that he was okay.

You wanted so badly to get him out of there, to let him experience the world again after a near lifetime of knowing only this, but as you sighed into the costume that’d been so painstakingly tailored just for him, his rainbow-speckled prison suit with the gauntlets that allowed him not only the ability to destroy but also to keep himself alive as his silver slotted shackles that bound him to this place, to his siblings, to Her, you knew that it was impossible.

I love you, so please don’t go back there.

One of the scientists working for Her appeared in the doorway, still flipping through his clipboard and giving you just enough time to sit back up, his hands leaving you as he stood on command, suit back in place once more before you could finish your work; it’d still heal, but it’d be messy compared to the others without your bandages to shield him, the only protection you could offer as the man in the door motioned for him to follow.

He had a few more tests to do now that he’d ruined their training session, the man told him without even looking up, She wanted to see if exposing him to the dimension the dots came from again would allow him a little more resistance against them, maybe remove the need to expel them five times a day, your body frozen on the floor in the most unprofessional manner as he glanced back at you over his shoulder, a forced smile trying to tell you it’d be okay, he’d be okay.

‘Don’t go…’ you finally managed to say but it was too late, he was gone again.

It’d be okay though, just like he promised, you knew it would be as you curled in on yourself now that you were alone again, your hand burning like a peroxide-dabbed wound or a beautiful and deadly polka-dot.

He’d be back again tomorrow, after all.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello hope I'm not to early. Love reading your work on both here and on AO3, i's always worth the wait. Don't forget to put yourself first if you feel on the verge of a burnout. As for my prompt, how about one where Alec is the one who gotten the extra gifts instead of Jace and Clary? Like the creating new runes one? Maybe he was the one experimented? Or maybe he some how free Ithuriel (the angel) before Valentine's started drawing blood so Alec was blessed? Sorry for the long rambles.

Anon you were perfectly fine! I'm so glad you're enjoying it and thank you, @saeths is going to help me post them eventually because honestly, i'd have to probably take a week off to get them all over there at this point. Thank you for your lovely concern! I took a two day break from writing last week and am writing when it's most enjoyable (though sometimes I try to post the fills while half asleep and that's always a fun look-through the next morning). I love rambles so never apologize for them, i ramble myself profusely

anon thank you. you have given me a reason to start figuring out this idea! basically, valentine accidentally severs the soul tether between bby!alec and raziel during his experiments and accidentally gives alec to someone else and soul and magical tethers are more specific and important than blood ties.

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

-

Lilith stares at her belly in shock, confusion warring with disbelief as she feels a shallow heartbeat echoing. As if it’s embraced and protected by her own body. For a moment, it’s as if she has a babe nestled within her, growing and sustaining itself because of her.

Then the heartbeat wavers, as if it might fade and Lilith disperses herself into a wraith of shadows and follows it. It’s a nephilim soul, soft and innocent and so very weak and it belongs to her.

Oh, it’s not her womb the babe rests in, her precious son, but Lilith can feel her magic claiming him, her power anointing him as he’s consecrated as her son.

It’s only because of soft, flimsy tether to his soul that Lilith can summon herself to his side, hiding in the shadows as a man monitors an unconscious, pregnant nephilim.

Lilith is patient as she watches, her gaze covetous as she watches and she wants nothing more than to bury her hands into the woman’s stomach and pull free her son. She wants to hold him in her arms like this unworthy being is holding him in her womb.

Except she can’t, because while he is now her son, he still needs the incubation of a healthy womb and Lilith can’t give him that. Even if she could, there is no guarantee that it would be safe for a child once born of Raziel.

So, she waits and watches and learns.

Finds out that a mad, vicious shadowhunter is experimenting and somehow came across one of the many slivers of Lilith’s soul that she hid around this realm before she was banished.

The woman, Maryse doesn’t know what’s been done to her, or that the child she bears is no longer her son but Lilith doesn’t care. She only watches, delighted as Maryse grows larger, as Lilith’s son is nearly ready to be born.

 When it’s time, it takes everything not to simply speed up the process and rip him free, but Lilith is not yet strong enough, nor is the tie to her son powerful enough, to allow her free reign. So, she must leave this worthless nephilim to pretend to be her son’s mother.

However, not all is lost.

Her son is often left to his crib and Lilith spends more time in the shadows than she ever has before. She sings to her babe, coddles him when he cries and uses magic so that she can feed him when he’s hungry.

He’s a perfect child, Lilith's precious Alexander. A babe whose name she whispered in a dream to Maryse, so that she could claim every piece of him possible.

Sweet and strong and so adoring of her, his small face scrunching up and his fingers reaching out to her even when he can’t possibly recognize her for the shadows, she hides in.

It’s not enough.

It will never be enough, but it is something, for now.

[shivunin]

For @greypetrel's prompt "Witch Hazel (a spell)" for Emmaera (thank you again, Arja c: ) (~750 words):

“I don’t know what to do with her,” Emma confessed, pressing her hand to her forehead. 

The two of them sat in her office, the ocean making music outside of the window, the books orderly as a regiment on the shelves. Vivienne regarded her for a moment, then tilted her head. She still wore her headdress, its sharp points catching the afternoon sun. 

“Darling,” she said, “you know quite well that being a mage does not preclude learning the arts of war. So she does not want to use a staff; very well. Present her with other options and allow the girl to choose. If it is her choice, she will feel that she has won and cease fighting you over her own nature. It is quite simple.”

“But—” Emma cut herself off, thinking. Her fingers tapped a rhythm against her temple and Vivienne waited patiently until she spoke again. “Alright. What do you have in mind?” 

Half an hour later, the three of them stood in the courtyard. Vivienne swung her spirit blade one last time, tucking it into her belt even as it faded from existence. Adhlea watched with wide eyes, her arms wrapped around herself. When Emma had told her daughter that Vivienne would be showing them a spell, the girl had slumped along behind her to the courtyard, clearly expecting another lesson she had little interest in. This display had surprised her. That much was very evident. 

Apprentices whispered to each other around the periphery, for the Grand Enchanter never gave lessons if she could help it. Adhlea, curls bound into a kerchief, regarded her with a touch of hero worship in her eyes.  Vivienne surveyed her in return. 

“Very well,” she said, and produced the hilt of a sword from her pocket. It was very small, sized for a child’s hands, and Adhlea’s eyes fixed on it at once. 

“Your mother tells me that you have experience with a wooden practice sword,” Vivienne went on, and raised an eyebrow when Adhlea would have answered. Adhlea pressed her mouth together and nodded once. “Very good. This is not a practice sword, little Lavellan. It is a real weapon. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Adhlea paused. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, what is the danger with a weapon?”

“I could hurt myself.”

“No,” Vivienne said, and the hilt gleamed in her hand, though she hadn’t called magic to it. “You could hurt others. Look at your mother.”

Adhlea did so, her little face solemn, and Emmaera looked back. 

“Your mother is one of the strongest mages I have ever met,” Vivienne told Adhlea. “If you threw fire at her, she could unmake it at once. She could draw up a barrier to shield you both if someone tried the same. You cannot hurt her; not now. But a sword cuts both ways. If you are not careful when you touch it, when you swing, you could hurt yourself, yes. But it will hurt you far worse, my dear, if you hurt someone else. Not everyone is a mage of your mother’s caliber. Your father, for example, would be badly hurt if you swung without care. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adhlea said in a small voice. 

Emma pressed her lips together. She had been very, very careful to make sure that her daughter was not afraid of herself, nor the magic she held. In Lavellan’s opinion, shame and fear were half the reason human mages struggled so badly against demon possession. But Vivienne was right: if Adhlea was to learn this sort of magic, she needed to respect its dangers as much as she delighted in its possibilities. Cullen had told her much the same about teaching her to fight with a sword of steel. 

“I am going to hand you this now,” Vivienne said, still as composed and regal as if she were giving a speech to a queen, “if you drop it or use it before I tell you, you will not get it back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adhlea said, and pulled herself up into a posture resembling Vivienne’s. 

When Adhlea was allowed to call the blade into existence at last, Emma watched joy leap across her daughter’s face and knew that she had been right to bring this to her friend after all. Vivienne, the smallest of smiles curling at the corner of her mouth, caught Lavellan’s eyes and nodded. 

Present her with other options, Vivienne had said. How glad she was that this was an option at all.

[ievaxol]

3. hiding face in neck / 52. gripping thigh (ur choice all around)

send me a prompt

When the aether around him ripples, Hythlodaeus knows it is time yet again. He elegantly rises from his seat, adjusting his robes as he does and then spares a moment to fuss over the braid hanging over his shoulder, longer now than it was when last they met.

He'd been watching actively this time as she was cut down by the brute of Emet-selch's making, knew to expect her shortly.

Him and the Warrior of Light.

It had been a mistake, the first time. He'd laid in slumber for so long that he forgot how to think, to feel, turning his eyes away from the star as the last remnants of his family labored to rip it apart and put it back together again, all of them thinking they were the ones in the right.

Hythlodaeus didn't care about right anymore, if he ever did. He simply wanted to rest until his long wait was over.

A jolt of pain had alerted him to a presence then and even without soul sight he knows he would have recognized the shade of color instantly, the shimmer and beauty that had captivated all of Amarout a long time ago.

The Warrior of Light, shard of Azem, had lingered just long enough to cast a searching glance his way before being spit back out, eyes hard as crystal.

After that they'd met again and again as she fell in battle, to poison, never granted the liberty of death. A cruel fate to thrust upon someone, he'd thought, seeing the faint impressions of spells upon her aether.

Slowly, a friendship built.

The soul color that is so similar and yet not exactly the same as theirs moves toward him steadily, a ship toiling toward the light glinting over the stormy waves of the Lifestream. A place where neither of them was supposed to be, and yet.

Just like all the other times, she comes to him.

"Hyth," she says, hands pressing over the non-wound on her belly — the one that will be waiting for her when the rubberband of time snaps her back onto her body.

"My friend," he responds, as soothing as he can make it.

She'd pressed him down in the chair and climbed into his lap as soon as she arrived, wet breath snuffling against his neck. A simple need for comfort, he tells himself, hands running over her back in long, slow circles. The only two who would remember this death.

"Hyth," she repeats, pressing her face against his skin. "I don't want to go back and fight."

And yet she will, he knows. She'll return as many times as it takes, because she is that kind of person. He won't tell her that, of course — won't tell her anything, because that is not his role.

No, instead he listens to the hero's lament, sits patient as her hands wander from her belly to his chest and down to his thighs where her fingers dig in hard enough to draw blood, as though she could anchor herself to him through sheer willpower alone.

Once her words have run dry and her grip has gentled, her resolve will be back and with it, their time will be up. A quirk of the lifestream, perhaps, abiding by her unwillingness to leave as long as it lasts — or a cruel twist of fate, allowing him only this and not more.

Hythlodaeus does not know which would be worse.

What he does know is that she leaves him colder than before, makes every second a bit longer with every visit.

[leneemusing]

BDSM  &  DOM/SUB SMUT PROMPTS 

note: this encompasses a small spectrum of kinks,  fetishes,  and dom/sub dynamics some of which go beyond sexual acts themselves.  it’s not comprehensive as i’m drawing more from my own experience and knowledge.  i might do more research to include a wider variety in the future!  only continue if comfortable with these subjects. 

SEXUAL & NONSEXUAL WORDS

❝  before we begin,  i want you breathe with me.  match my inhale...and exhale...look me in the eyes.  that’s it.  just relax.  ❞

❝  i want you to know everything i do to you,  i’ve tried on myself first.  i know just how to touch you,  how tight to make your ropes,  how hard to make each hit.  and i’ll only do what you’ve agreed to.  ❞

❝  may i please touch you now?  ❞

❝  you stopped counting.  start again from one and no crying. ❞

❝  you’ve been a good [chosen term],  so patient.  you can cum now.  ❞

❝  would you like to cum?  do you think you’ve earned it?  ❞

❝  you can cry,  but you’re not allowed to make a sound.  understood?  ❞

❝  ask nicely and i might let you lick my plate clean.  ❞

❝  sit still at my feet and be a good  [chosen term] until i’m finished working.  if you make a noise without permission or move before i say so,  i will add more time.  do you understand?  ❞

❝  i’m in a good mood today,  you may choose your punishment this time but only if you ask for it politely. ❞

❝  you’ve been so good for me,  you may eat now.  ❞

❝  may i please take a nap with you,  [chosen term for dom]?  ❞

❝  what should your reward be,  hmm?  ❞

❝  we’re done when i say we are and if you ask again i’ll add another punishment.  ❞

❝  stand in the corner and face the wall.  arms up.  don’t lower them unless i give permission.  ❞

❝  did i say you could speed up?  fuck me slowly like a good [chosen term] or i’ll make you stop completely.  ❞

❝  i’ll send you to bed without dinner if you don’t cut that out.  ❞

❝  until you finish your water,  we’re not going anywhere.  ❞

❝  tell me when you’re about to cum.  ❞

❝  that’s enough.  take a cold shower and when you’re done come back to me.  don’t dress yourself.  no drying off.  ❞

❝  i said you would get a reward,  i didn’t say it would be you finishing.  ❞

❝  come here.  sit in my lap and tell me what you want,  [chosen term for sub].  ❞

❝  i need you inside me,  please,  i can’t wait anymore.  ❞

❝  and what happens if i say no?  ❞

❝  please  let me cum.  i’m a good [chosen term].  ❞

❝  can i finish now?  ❞

❝  i’ll take a spanking,  please.  ❞

❝  i’ll go without coming,  [chosen term for dom].  thank you.  ❞

❝  thank you for my punishment,  [chosen term].  ❞

❝  thank you for my reward,  [chosen term].  ❞

❝  i just want to make you happy,  [chosen term for dom].  ❞

❝  get on the bed,  on all fours.  wait just like that until i decide you’re ready.  ❞

❝  no.  give me a reason why i should do as you say.  ❞

❝  if you’re good,  i’ll buy you a new toy.   ❞

❝  i’ve brought you a present,  but you have to show me you deserve it.  ❞

❝  i’m close.  can i cum this time?  please?  ❞

❝  get over here and make me.  ❞

❝  stand still.  keep this book balanced on your head.  if it falls we start again.  ❞

❝  i’m your,  [chosen term].  ❞

❝  your my,  [chosen term]. ❞

SCENARIOS

1)  sender ties up receiver in a hanging bondage position as an act of submission and trust.  (feel free to specify the details)

2)  receiver ties up sender in a hanging bondage position as an act of submission and trust.  (feel free to specify the details) 

3)  sender ties up receiver on a bed or in a chair as an act of trust and training patience. 

4)  receiver ties up sender on a bed or in a chair as an act of trust and training patience. 

5)  for sender to spank receiver with [object of your choice] and make them count each stroke. 

6)  for receiver to spank sender with [object of your choice] and make them count each stroke. 

7)  for sender to sit on the floor in front of receiver and place their head in receiver’s lap to be pet and praised. 

8)  for receiver to sit on the floor in front of sender and place their head in sender’s lap to be pet and praised. 

9)  for sender to slowly massage over receiver’s body to relax their muscles and sooth the receiver after dominating them. 

10)  for receiver to slowly massage over sender’s body to relax their muscles and sooth the sender after dominating them. 

11)  for sender to slowly massage over receiver’s body as a form of foreplay. 

12)  for receiver to slowly massage over sender’s body as a form of foreplay. 

13)  for the dom to have the sub do a simple rope tie on the dom to teach them and let them feel some control.  

14)  for sender to invoke their safe word so receiver switches to aftercare. 

15)  for receiver to invoke their safe word so sender switches to aftercare. 

16)  for the sub to clean the dom’s house while they observe their work and praise them. 

17)  for the sub to clean the dom’s house while they observe their work and degrade them. 

18)  for sender to tie up receiver before giving them oral. 

19)  for receiver to tie up sender before giving them oral. 

20)  for sender to tie up receiver and have them do oral on sender while bound. 

21)  for receiver to tie up sender and have them do oral on receiver while bound. 

22)  for our muses to have penetrative sex while one of them is bound (feel free to specify)

23)  for the dom to have the sub on all fours,  using them as a table or footstool. 

24)  for the sub to sit on the dom’s lap with their dock/strap inside them,  meant to be completely still until they are given permission to move. 

25)  for sender to stand naked or in their underwear with a gag in their mouth,  not allowed to do anything else until receiver gives permission.��

26)  for receiver to stand naked in their underwear with a gag in their mouth,  not allowed to do anything else until sender gives permission. 

27)  sender has had to wear a gag or muzzle as punishment for disobedience,  receiver finally decides to let them out of it and test their submission. 

28)  receiver has had to wear a gag or muzzle as punishment for disobedience,  sender finally decides to let them out of it and test their submission. 

29)  for giving oral to be used as punishment. 

30)  for giving oral to be used as reward. 

31)  for the sub to sit on the floor beneath the dom’s desk or table with their cock/strap in their mouth.  they must stay like that until the dom either tells them to move away or to proceed with the blowjob. 

32)  the dom has been edging the sub for days and finally gives permission for them to cum,  but they must do it with their own hands while the dom watches. 

33)  for the dom to remain fully clothed while the sub is completely naked. (feel free to specify details of what act they are doing) 

34)  the sub must perform a basic task with several steps,  between each step they have to go the dom and be edged before proceeding.  (feel free to specify task) 

35)  for the sub to take a turn carrying out a dominating act as a method of building trust and confidence. 

[captainsophiestark]

Anything For You

Daisy Johnson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2022! Requested by Anon :)

Fandom: Marvel

Prompt: “You know I’d do anything.”

Summary: Y/N and Skye are dating, and when Skye gets in a hairy situation with Ian Quinn in Malta, it's Y/N to the rescue. They'd do anything for their girlfriend, after all.

Word Count: 1,242

Category: Fluff, maybe a tiny bit of Angst?

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"She should be just up ahead of you. Her last known location put her in the building somewhere around the corner."

I didn't bother replying to May as I sprinted for all I was worth. Skye, my girlfriend of just under a month, had gone into a dangerous situation undercover, with almost no training. She'd done incredibly well, sucking Ian Quinn and allowing me, Ward, and Coulson to get past his security fence for a rescue mission of Doctor Franklin Hall. We'd lost contact with her, however, not long after she'd been in a tight situation with Quinn, and I was absolutely worried sick.

I hurtled around the corner at top speed, a little more recklessly than I'd normally behave. I quickly decided it was the right call, however, when I saw Skye trapped on a walkway, two armed men blocking both of her options for escape.

The man behind Skye saw me coming, but he was too slow to warn his partner. I slammed into the guy with his back to me, the one standing between me and my girlfriend, knocking him out before he got the chance to even attempt to defend himself. The remaining hostile tried to make a grab for Skye, but I grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind me before he could. He squared up and took a few swings at me, but I managed to duck, dodge, and sidestep them all.

I waited patiently for my opening, drawing on every ounce of training I'd ever received. Finally, I saw my chance when the guy overcommitted to a pretty nasty right hook. I got past his guard with the hardest uppercut I could manage, and when he reeled back from the hit, I landed a few more precise blows that dropped him like a stone.

Once he was down and I'd done a quick scan to make sure no one else was getting the drop on us (they weren't), I turned back to Skye.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, rushing to close the distance between us and taking her hands in mine as I looked her over for any sign of injury. She shook her head.

"No. No, I'm fine."

She seemed shaken, but like she'd said, she didn't seem to be hurt. I sighed, feeling the adrenaline finally start to drain out of me, and pulled her into my chest.

"Alright, it's alright," I said, stroking her hair with one hand as she wrapped her arms around me and laid her head on my chest. She'd gone into total badass mode for her escape, which I was incredibly proud of, but the shock and fear of what she'd just managed to escape would be hitting her any minute. "You're alright, Skye. You did good, you're safe. Now let's get out of here."

She nodded, but kept holding on to me while she took a few deep breaths. The island shook beneath us, and we both realized it was our cue to meet up with the rest of our team and get the hell out of here.

We could finish decompressing later.

****************

I absentmindedly ran my hands through Skye's hair as we laid in bed together, squeezed onto her twin bunk on the Bus. The whole team had made it back from Malta safely, thankfully, although we'd just made an enemy out of Quinn and we hadn't been able to save Doctor Hall.

Honestly, I didn't really care about any of that stuff. Skye and I had made it out safely, and that's all that mattered to me.

"You know, you really did a fantastic job today," I mused as we relaxed together, taking in the gentle hum of the engines now that the Bus was in the air. "I mean seriously. I'm still pissed that Ward's your SO and not me, but... clearly he's doing a pretty good job training you."

Skye laughed, and I smiled.

"I guess we do have to give him some credit," she said. "Although I think his training is working mostly because I'm just a great student and a natural agent."

I laughed. Skye turned to glare up at me, clearly offended, but I couldn't help it.

"Babe, I've seen you down there doing your drills on the punching bag. You're definitely getting better, and nobody gets stuff right away, but... your stance is anything but natural."

Skye just huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Whatever."

We passed a few moments in comfortable silence, me smiling to myself and Skye clearly still a little grumpy. I was starting to drift off for some much needed sleep after all the chaos of the day when she spoke again, waking me up and drawing my attention.

"Thank you for today, by the way," she said. "You completely saved me. I don't know what I would've done without you."

I gave her a light squeeze with the arm I had wrapped around her. "Anytime. I will literally always come for you if you need me, Skye. I'd do anything for you. You know I'd do anything."

She nodded without looking up at me, and squeezed me a little tighter with the arm she had slung across my stomach. She didn't say anything, but I knew my words meant the world to her. When we'd first met, she'd had absolutely no one in the world. She'd been completely on her own, without anybody to trust or to have her back. I'd become that person for her recently, and although she wasn't really one for the most touchy-feely conversations and declarations of love, I knew what I meant to her.

After a few moments of Skye taking deep breaths and me gently rubbing circles on her back, the tension and emotionally charged air of the moment faded away. Skye cleared her throat.

"So... when you say you'd do anything for me..."

"Oh boy," I said, rolling my eyes and taking my arm from around her shoulders. I shifted and so did Skye so she was now laying next to me, resting her head on her fist and looking at me with mischief in her eyes. "What do you want?"

"A glass of water?"

"Last I checked, your legs were not broken despite your jump off a balcony today."

"Yeah, but... this bed is so comfortable, and I don't want to get up. And you said you'd do anything for me."

I sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling like I was praying for strength, but then I threw the covers off and stood up.

"You're the love of my life," said Skye as I slipped on a pair of shoes sitting by the bed and headed for the door of her bunk. "My hero and angel."

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever. Save your flattery and keep the covers warm for me, alright?"

"Promise."

I pulled open the door and stepped out into the hallway with a dramatic sigh, pausing at the last minute to shoot a grin and a wink back at Skye. She beamed at me in response, and my heart leapt in my chest. We really hadn't known each other all that long in the grand scheme of things, but I already knew for a fact that she was the love of my life.

I'd get her a million glasses of water and save her on a million missions, and I knew she'd do the same for me.

[beca-mitchell]

Going along with that Chloe has distant/cold/not affectionate parents, imagine Chloe meeting Beca's mom for the first time. Chloe is obviously super nervous because 1. it's her gf's mom and 2. her experiences with parents are largely shitty. So they go to Beca's home and Chloe is trying not to hyperventilate. Beca's mom turns out to be the coolest person Chloe has ever met (she is a painter AND Beca got her love for music from her) but aside from her endlessly entertaining stories, the woman welcomes Chloe with open arms. Chloe spends the whole time there half expecting the rug to be pulled out from under her, but, when they are saying goodbye, Beca's mom pulls her in a bear hug, and whispers "Welcome to the family." and Chloe damn near breaks down right there

o...do u mean maybe something like this?? mayhaps? i gave it a shot?

- - -

"You're nervous," Beca observes, sitting down at the edge of the bed in the guest room where they've been unpacking since arriving at Beca's mother's house. "I've never seen you like this."

Chloe pokes at Beca's thigh with her foot. "I'm not nervous."

"You're biting your nail, babe."

Chloe lowers her hand sheepishly. "Bad habit."

"Nervous habit," Beca corrects gently. "It's fine, Chloe. It's just my mom."

"It's not just your mom," Chloe emphasizes. She sits up so she can scoot towards Beca across the bed. Placing her hands on Beca's thigh, she squeezes gently. "My girlfriend's mom. It means something."

Beca smiles, pushing her head against Chloe's. "Okay. But you don’t have to be this nervous. Not this nervous. You're breathing so heavily. Should I be worried, or...?"

"I just..."

Beca waits patiently, knowing a bit about Chloe's unresolved issues with her parents. She never pries, having allowed Chloe to open up to her over the years and even more so in recent memory due to the enhanced intimacy in their romantic relationship.

"I don't feel like I'm good with parents," Chloe murmurs.

"I bet you are."

"I bet I'm not. Your mom probably thinks I'm insane already."

"She does not. You're overthinking. She knows how disgustingly into you I am. It's kind of embarrassing actually because I'm sure she likes you more than me already with how much I talk about you."

Chloe's lips twitch. "You talk about me?"

"An embarrassing amount. We don't have to get into that."

A gentle knock sounds at the door. Beca would laugh at how quickly Chloe straightens up and tucks her hair behind her ears if she weren't so concerned about Chloe's well-being. "I'll get that. She's probably just back from work." Swinging open the door, Beca smiles, greeting her mother with a hug and receiving a wet kiss on the cheek in return.

"My little star," she whispers, pressing Beca's head against her shoulder. "You haven't grown," she teases. Chloe giggles at that, drawing both women's attention. "You must be Chloe. You're even more beautiful in person."

"Hi," Chloe offers, standing slowly. She lets her hands slip into Beca's mother's hands, watching it happen as if she is somehow watching this all unfold from above. Beca's mother's smile is gentle and welcoming. "It's great to meet you Ms. Stevens."

"Oh please, it's Marissa. Ms. Stevens was my mother." Her smile only grows as she squeezes Chloe's hands again. Chloe wills herself to be still, not used to this level of affection or care from a parental figure. Her eyes dart to Beca who looks like her smile could take over her face at any given moment. "You have a lovely voice, by the way."

Beca laughs at that, prompting her mother to look at her questioningly. "Nothing," she says quickly, catching Chloe's worried look. "Just an inside joke."

"All that acapella, huh? You know," she whispers, drawing closer to Chloe as if sharing a secret. "I taught Beca everything she knows about music. She never stopped singing as a kid." She winks. "Why do you think she wears that star necklace all the time? My little star indeed."

"Mom," Beca warns.

"Oh please," she says dismissively. "You are smitten with this girl. Everybody with eyes can tell. There is no more street cred or whatever you kids are saying these days. None for you."

"I like your mom, Bec," Chloe says, going for humor, but her voice ends up coming out a bit on the quieter side.

Marissa's eyes swivel back to her and her gaze softens into an incredibly affectionate expression. "I like you, Chloe." She pulls Chloe into a gentle hug, tucking a hand behind the back of Chloe's head in a protective, tender hold. "Welcome to the family," she whispers.

Chloe has never felt more at home in her life, surrounded by the love she feels then and now.

fin

[gabzlovesu]

LAZY MORNINGS

giyuu x reader

warnings: morning sex, clit pinching, creampie cuz yeah why not?

a/n: i'm really burnt out but this was at least something? i'm sorry that i'm ending this event with mediocre content :(

✧ WEEK OF SINS EVENT MASTERLIST ✧ ╰ You can find all of the event information and other works here once they have been posted!

Waking up horny is a different kind of unbearable pain – at least for you. It usually ends in three ways: you give up and suffer in silence, you silently pleasure yourself while Giyuu is fast asleep next to you, or you patiently wait for him to wake up and help you.

Fuck it. You didn’t feel like choosing one of these options today.

‘All he needs is a little nudge’ is what you think to yourself as you scoot over and grind your ass against his crotch. He must’ve been awake because not even a second later his hand stops your hips.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t. Pleaseeee.”

“No Y/N, I’m trying to rest.”

This man was always resting. He never did anything, and every single bone in his body was lazy. Maybe there’s another way you could convince him. The hand holding your hips still is guided into your panties that could hardly stop the juices leaking from your cunt. “Are you really gonna let me suffer like this, Giyuu?”

You can hear him stifle a groan as he chokes out his answer, “Yes…”

“Fine, I’ll just do it myself.” You coat his fingers in your slick and draw abstract shapes on your clit. The pressure from both of your hands is a pleasant feeling that you weren’t expecting. You can’t help but roll your hips in sync with his fingers, causing him to curse under his breath.

“Y/N, if I fuck you it’s not gonna be the way that you want.” You were fine with that, you just needed him to help you untie that jumbled knot in your core and that’s all that mattered right now. Instead of responding, you just keep going, hoping he’ll get the hint.

“Alright, I don’t wanna hear you begging later.” Giyuu tosses the covers back, the cold air nipping at your skin and making your nipples harden instantly. “You’re so needy and impatient, but I guess I’ll just have to fix that.” He shoos your hand away, insisting that he continues without your help.

Since you wanted to rush him, he would take his time rubbing light, painstakingly-slow circles on your clit. For every ten seconds that passed, he seemed to have complete only one rotation and it was driving you insane. “Giyuu –

“The answer is no. And I told you I didn’t want to hear you beg.” The delicate strokes are replaced by the sudden pinching of your sensitive bud. Only when a rush of ‘i’m sorry’s fell from your lips did he let go, chuckling softly in amusement.

He pulls your panties off, and you can feel the wet material slide down your leg and leave goosebumps in it’s wake. Giyuu prompts himself up on his elbow and hoists your leg to allow access. That’s pretty much all the work he intends on doing right now.

Even though he’s fucking you from the side, he still hits your sweet spot at the right angle and he can see how your breasts jiggle with each thrust. If only he could see that pretty face of yours, but hearing your soft moans, going an octave higher the more he rams into you, is enough to satisfy him. And there was the fact that your neck was exposed for him to kiss to his heart’s content.

He was a little sad that he couldn’t fuck you in all the different ways that he normally could or paint your face white like he wanted, but emptying his load into your tight cunt kept the mess to a minimum, which meant less work for him. Lazy sex wasn’t so bad in his eyes…

WANT TO JOIN MY TAGLIST? CLICK HERE! taglist:@angwritez @misss-chrisss @hungrynessforfics @dejwrites @rinhoes @iloveitblackbhna @protectpancakes @fight-me-bitch @nneedynymph @indiecursor @po3ticb3auty @nanaminshousewife @rxxicole @gemimaya @thenerdyrebel @luffysthickwaifu @svlims @4ngrysgf @daichisbunnybaby @urwifey2 @picayunne @kurtaclangobrr @kookieflvr @woahhajime @novaresque @syomi @chrolloderulo @vivisspamm @dabilovesme @erentoes @kutosznn @queenmjp @sweeneyblue1 @tyga-lily @jeanslove @getoswhore @thicksimpx @cosmicyeager @sakurashell @38riku @tonaken @korathefairy @waytoohornez @muzanskimono @wiserebelpartypie @hellavile @g0revixen @yeagertv

[venenatd]

just friends; eren jaegar x reader

summary: you and eren are best pals and have both recently be dumped. so, a plan to get over your exes is needed! what’s better than going out on the town trying to find quick fucks >:) also eren is a smug bastard but kinda has a heart of gold??

content: smut / nsfw 18+. minors dni. (choking, unprotected sex, creampie drinking, drunk sex, possessiveness ig? dirty talk, both of them want to be dominant tbh. slight size kink, oral both m and f receiving. female bodied reader) 

i am new to this pls let me know if i should add anything!!

word count: 5.8k words of unedited content 

a/n: uh so i never thought i’d be back on my tumblr bullshit at 23 but hey after years without the app i’m back. i needed to get out the h-word and this is what happened. enjoy and i’m sorry if it’s terrible lmao

“You look different” 

Frowning at the man waiting ever so patiently for you on the sofa, you look a little defeated. “Is that meant to be a compliment, Eren?”. He sighed, raising his eyebrows at you. To be fair, maybe you did. Wearing a figure hugging black dress, that definitely just hid your ass cheeks, hair styled and sprayed in place, dark lipstick and makeup on your face. Usually Eren would have seen you in sweats, always running a little late for class, snack in hand. 

“Different isn’t bad,” he offered, checking the watch that lay on his wrist, “are we ever going to get to the bar? Your plan will fall through if you’re not careful.”

Ah, the plan. Both you and Eren were newly single. In your final year at university, having managed to keep each relationship going until almost the end. Ironic. Weren’t most meant to fail in the first year? But alas, your partners had decided it was the end within a couple of weeks each other, and as you and Eren had been close since you met on orientation day, you each took to the other for comfort. You had done the crying first, going to him the minute your call with the ex had ended. Leaving wet splotches on his shirt, he had calmed you, only for you to do the same to him later. Now the crying was done, it was time to move on, and what better advice to follow than getting under someone to get over another?

“I just need to look hot enough for a guy to fuck me.”

“What a romantic you are.”

“Shut up Er-”

Eren shifted from the couch, interrupting your usual sass, “and what about me, y/n? Do I look beautiful?”. He threw in a wink with his comment, his aura of cockiness always radiating. You rolled your eyes, before studying his figure. His dark hair half pulled back into a bun, the rest draping his neck and onto a deep emerald green silk shirt, with the top few buttons loose, tucked into dark pants. A ring on each hand, fingers with chipping black nail polish, and to top it off, a thin chain on his neck. You hated to admit it and add to his smug demeanour but... the man did look good. 

“Gorgeous as always Eren,” you said sarcastically, even if it was truthful, “I’m sure there will be a queue of women who are wanting to jump on you.”

“Not if they aren’t all taken already,” he taps at his watch. Whilst the two of you had already been drinking as he waited for you to get ready, it was definitely on the later side.

“Order the uber, and we can go.”

Walking over to him and adding shoes to your outfit, you present yourself before him, a cute little smile playing on your lips. He’s staring down at his phone, quickly going through the motions for the ride. Finally, he looks up to catch your eyes. His jade pupils flick down slightly, and he hopes you miss that they land at the cleavage you’re sporting in your current get up. He flicks your nose, earning a scowl from you and a smile from him.

“You look perfect”

The club is far fuller than you both expected, dance floor and tables taken up and crowded round. Luckily, you had managed to secure you and Eren a pair of seats at the bar, and you were currently on your third..? Fourth drink of the evening. Green eyes watch your lips carefully, as you finish the vodka and lemonade. 

“So, anyone take your fancy?” he prompts, looking around at the mess of people.

Humming, you scan the area. There’s some people you recognise from class, but plenty more you don’t know. Fucking friends seems like a bad move, even in your tipsy state, so you look to the strangers faces. They don’t look like him. Ugh. 

There’s a few options though, and as you point them out to Eren they come with brief descriptors: dark hair and stubble, wide set blonde. He tuts at the options, sarcastically letting out a “sure sure, I see the appeal”. 

“And how about you, anyone you like the look of?” you ask with a sigh.

Christ, Eren thinks to himself. It’s been long enough that he hasn’t had to look for someone else. Sure there were attractive people in the world, but with her around, he hadn’t needed to give anyone else a second look. His palm moves to the back of his neck, stretching out behind him with a huff. “Let’s look on the dance floor?” he offers, clearly not as eager as you were tonight. Moving his hand back down, he holds it out for you, pulling towards the throng of people.

He looks effervescently cool like this. Shirt open, hair starting to fall from his bun. Eren is looking around at the people surrounding the two of you. The two of you had been working in circles, allowing each other an eyeful as the club goers move around the space. As a group of guys push their way from the dance floor to the bar, you get shoved towards Eren. Heels were never quite your forte, and you stumble against him, hands on either side of his chest. Grinning down at you with that smug little smile that annoyed you so much, Eren brought large hands to your waist, pushing you away a little. But his hands stay there as he continues to sway to the music, making no effort to break the contact. And so you bring your arms up to his neck, allowing his movements to carry you on time to the song. For the first time in the past couple of weeks, you feel light. Your chest isn’t constricted by some foreign weight. It’s just you and your best friend, buzzed and free.

Colours change above you, as you look up to Eren, him down to you. A playful grin takes his lips as he pulls you a little closer, you so easily accepting the narrowing distance. Your black silk meets his deep green, chest pushing into his. You carefully analyse his features, seeing if he attempts to check you out like earlier. 

Was it the alcohol making your cheeks so warm? Lit up by a purple hue, you watch his eyes return to exploring the crowd, his hand still holding on to you. His smirk falters, his eyebrows creasing together. You’re not moving in circles anymore, Eren pausing in his movements as he thinks about what to do next. He shouldn’t lie to you, but seeing your ex at the bar would really harsh the night. Under his fingers, he can feel your body tense, suddenly unsure at how close the contact between you was. 

But Eren doesn’t want you to know, he doesn’t want you to be distracted by your ex tonight. He doesn’t want to see your hurt little face anymore. The way your eyes would be red and puffy the next day. The way he would feel your shoulders heaving under his arms. You don’t deserve that. Hell, you didn’t deserve the huge amount of shit your ex had put you through over the years he’d known you. Eren would sit back and listen to you rant, support you where he could. But fuck that guy. And he wasn’t sure what sparked in his chest, but Eren’s jade orbs are trained straight back on you. His eyebrows calm, tension releasing from them. As you can turn to scope out whatever had changed his body language so suddenly, he catches your jaw. 

Beginning to slowly move again, his eyes have narrowed, taking in the way the dress hugs you, the shine on your skin from the hot dance floor. Eren couldn’t quite figure out what was intoxicating him right now. Definitely a lot of alcohol, but also a sudden… possessiveness. He didn’t want you in pain anymore. Eren wanted you in pleasure. His breath is suddenly on your neck, making your hair raise. 

“I’ve only seen one person I’m interested in tonight.” 

“Oh?” you squeak, before clearing your throat a little. The new deep notes in his voice catch you off guard. It almost sounds like he’s… No. He’s your best friend. The little looks you’d been giving each other all night were just two people looking out for one another, two people seeing each other happy for the first time in a while. Your voice is calmer as you ask light-heartedly, “and who would that be?” 

His lips are so close to your ear. 

“You.” 

“Eren-” your hands move from behind his neck, resting on his shoulders. You need to see your best friend's face, you need to know if he’s joking right now. If he’s mocking you. When you draw back, you see his face. Smug, as always. Fuck you’ve always wanted to knock that cockiness down a peg. Cheshire smile showing his teeth and his eyes looking down at you. Half lidded eyes, pupils blown. He’s not joking. Fuck.

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your breath is caught in your throat. All too aware suddenly of each of his finger pads pressing into your skin, the contact feeling like fire with the added alcohol. But, you find yourself nodding, the yes just escaping your lips before he’s pressed into them.

Large hands travel to your hip, and up your back, pressing you into him. You can feel his body, tense in exhilaration against you, hands back around his neck. One travels up to the nape of his back, tangling into his hair and pulling him deeper into you. The music is all consuming, you can feel the bass in your body, you can feel Eren against you, you can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

Eren’s hand on your back travels up, echoing your placement on him, to hold the back of your neck. He doesn’t want you to go, you feel too good. The heat between your bodies could suffocate him. His thumb puts pressure under your jaw, he isn’t even sure you can feel it. But he can, measuring your pulse racing underneath the pad. He’s smiling into this kiss, this all consuming kiss.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and you’re all too eager to allow him into your mouth. Tasting the whisky from your home, tasting the coke from the club. His teeth take your lip nipping slightly, before sucking the plump of it into his mouth. You both come up for air, eyes meeting in acknowledgment of the situation.

“Wanna get out of here?”

The drive home had only served to heap tension between you. As clearly that it was that you wanted each other, you would have to wait a while longer. Your thighs pressed together, slowly inhaling and exhaling. Going through your mind was whether this was a good idea, staring out at the city passing by you. Eren was your friend. You were dating another man two weeks ago. The same man that had previously asked you if he needed to be worried about Eren. You’d laughed it off, because it was Eren. You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt him grip your leg, a little too harshly at first, before settling, leaving a gentle pattern of circles and lines on your inner thigh. It was Eren.

Just one hallway. You had to make it one hallway to get into your apartment. One hallway left to come to your senses. And just like he read your mind, Eren is once again touching you, just his hand on yours pulling you backwards. You twist just in time, his hands instantly cupping your cheeks as he kisses you, deeply and intensely. Pushing you back into the wall, you pray a neighbour doesn’t walk out now. His knee is pressing gently between your legs, and you allow it. Your fingers sink into Eren’s arms, lightly covered by the fabric yet you can still feel the muscle underneath, relaxing and tensing as he pulls you closer. 

His lips are making their way to your jaw, lifting your chin upwards, tentatively licking the bone before moving downwards still, sucking and nipping and licking your neck. A whimper breaks through. You really need to get inside. Gripping his hair, you sharply pull backwards.

“Not going to play nice, huh?” 

When did he speak like this? The playful and shit-eating grin your friend Eren always wore was replaced by something darker, his words laced with intent. 

“Don’t challenge me.” 

You were off, finally at your door, making quick work with the lock, moving in first before he followed. The door shut as you pushed Eren against it, usual doe eyes being taken over with a deep lust. Your hands are instantly at his belt, as his hands find your face once again. This time he’s grabbing your hair, making you look up at him as he glares down at you. You’re constantly challenging one another in conversation, and it’s translating to the bedroom far too easily. 

Lips are on one another again, as you leave the belt and start towards his shirt. You bite down on his bottom lip, earning a hiss from him, and you feel his hand being brought around your throat. He doesn’t add too much pressure, checking if this turn is indeed okay with you. When you push against the weight, he takes the gleam in your eye as a yes, and uses the force to push you against the next wall, finally moving off the front door. 

It’s a constant battle to get to the bedroom, both of you taking control for short bursts. Eren pulling the thin straps of your dress down, you untucking his shirt. His muscular torso is on full display, and you had never viewed it in this light before. 

Finally he pushes you onto the bed, situating himself between your legs. Your kisses are sloppy and infused with alcohol. Hands are desperate with one another, both of you needing to be closer. Are you scared if the contact ends your thoughts will return to sanity? 

Eren’s hot and heavy over you, his hands seem everywhere at once. Smoothing up your thigh, digging in slightly to the flesh when you grind against one another. His hands rest at your hips for a moment, and he’s looking down at you, still fucking smiling. All at once, he’s flipped you over his prominent hard on pressing into your ass. He’s whispering in your ear, leaving wet kisses along your neck, to your shoulder blades. Fingers take the zip at the back of your dress, slowly and carefully pulling it down, leaving licks and pecks as he goes. It’s torturous. 

You attempt to speed things up by rutting your ass against his crotch, and you think you hear a quiet moan, before his hand is brought down to the fabric, smacking your cheek. You gasp, turning your head to look at him. Eren is too occupied in taking in all of your body, his green eyes are darkened with authority and lust. His nimble fingers play with the short hem of your dress, thumb dipping beneath, before he pushes the silk up. 

You both let out soft fuck’s, as his hands grab at the plump of your ass. It’s like he’s testing the softness, the way your flesh responds to his touch so easily. He slaps at you again, earning a sharp moan from you. Eren’s leaning down, his mouth once again trailing across the apex of your behind, leaving trails of saliva as he goes. Before you can even register the new sensations you can feel a soft pressure against your clothed cunt, just enough to let you know the presence of his hand, but not enough for you to get off on. You’re mewling, once again trying to get closer to him. This time he allows it, eagerly pressing his ring and middle finger to your clit, allowing you to grind upon them. 

Seeing you underneath him like this… it’s new and strange and so fucking hot. He’s watching you desperately try and fill the need building in your core, and he can only feel his cock twitch in his pants as he sees you coming undone. If you wanted more, he could definitely give it to you. Bringing his large hands away, to the flimsy fabric that was covering you, he pulls it down, exposing you to him. His heart and dick fucking jump. His hands return to your ass, watching the jiggle as you move and whimper. Spreading you, he brings his face down, breath tingling on your most sensitive areas.

Your breath catches in your throat as his tongue, gentle at first, licks between your folds. He’s tasting you, he’s moaning into your pussy, as you write beneath him. Eren’s hands are squeezing your ass cheeks, holding you still as you try to grind against his face. 

“Patience, y/n”, he says, with a slap on your behind again. 

“Fuck you,” you hiss. 

“You will be in a minute, baby girl, don’t worry.”

You go to make a retort but he’s instantly back, licking up your slit and a deep moan escapes you. Jesus you can feel the smile on his lips as he’s back on your pussy. Eren is so proud of the sounds he can draw from you. He wonders if your ex could make you come undone so easily. 

You taste sweet and saccharine on him, and he doesn’t hold back the groan as he further works his way into you. Hardened tongue moving it’s way from your entrance down to your clit. He swipes at it, before moving away again. Kissing your thighs, kissing the skin between your holes. Every now and then he’ll move back to your clit, allowing you a moment of pleasure before he’s teasing again. “Fuck, please”. Your whines are being smothered by the sheets, and Eren wants nothing more than to hear them, loud and clear.

Eren’s ringed fingers make their way to your hair, his face lifting from between your legs. He pulls you back round, and holy shit you can see how wet you are on his face. There’s a sheen to his lips and chin, and instinctively you reach up to his neck, pulling him back on top of you. Your tongue meets his, tasting your tartness on his mouth. A hand makes it way back down in between your thighs, playing and parting your folds. Your hand in turn reaches up his neck, pulling sharply at his hair once again. “Eren. More- please” you get out in between staggered breaths. 

“Aw, since you asked so nicely” his eyes watch your expression closely as his thumb rests on your clit, his finger swiftly moving inside you. Your eyebrows raise and knot, eyes wide and lips parted. But he keeps it still as your legs shaked around his arm. “Eren, move” you demand this time. 

“Oh, that’s not so nice. I liked it when you were polite.” He starts to retract his finger, thumb gently swabbing your clit so you’ll know what you miss.

“Please, please, please, Eren, please” you speak before he even gets the first knuckle out. All the teasing was creating a tightness in your lower stomach. 

“Much better.”

You whine as he continues to pull his finger from you, until he pushes it back in, curling his solitary finger up. Your fingernails are pressing deep into the muscle of his bicep, feeling how it moves as he finger fucks you. He’s hitting that perfect spot inside you again and again, and his thumb is swiping eagerly on your clit. 

Eren can feel you fluttering around his finger, desperate for more, desperate to release on him. He adds another finger, your wetness allowing him entrance easily. He wants to fuck you so bad, his cock so hard it felt like it was about to burst. 

He pushes your hands off him, leaving crescent moon indents deep in his skin, he works his way back down. He brings the black silk with him this time, fully being able to take in your body as you’re left naked before him. Holy shit you’re beautiful. He doesn’t want to stare too long and make you shy. But he still kisses his way down, before he’s back at your pussy. 

This time he allows you more movement, letting your fingers work their way back into his hair, letting you roll your hips against his tongue and stubble. 

With his spare hand he pulls out his cock, slowly pulling at it, before he realises he can’t do that for too long without cumming before the main event. Instead he reaches up, rolling your perked nipples in between his fingers. There are so many sensations on your body, and Eren can feel your cunt beginning to tighten around his fingers. You hold your breath before letting out little moans, building towards reaching your height.

“You want to cum on my fingers?

Your back is arching, whispering “yes, yes, yes, please” as your walls are tightening around him. He quickens the pace, making sure to hit that spot inside you over and over. Thighs around his face, he can feel your slick pooling in his mouth, and coating his chin once again. 

Your gummy walls are so tight around his thick fingers, he needs you to finish, watch you fully unravel below him. Sucking and licking at your clit, he’s pushing you towards the edge. 

“Eren-” his name is strangled coming out of you, and then your moaning, undulating your cunt against his mouth, riding out your orgasm. 

His jade eyes look up at you, watching as you pull your head up to look at him, before another wave of pleasure hits you and you have to arch your neck and look back up. He waits for you to come down, letting you fuck his face and fingers. Grinding against his stubble and tongue as you let out pitiful and beautiful moans. You’re so fucking wet, the sounds coming from between the two of you should be forbidden, as you release onto him. 

Finally he withdraws, using his forearm to wipe his face. He lies next to you, allowing you a moment as he draws little circles on your stomach. Eren has never quite looked at you in this light. Sure, you were pretty, and the two of you were obviously close. But now you’d walked a line that couldn’t be undone. You weren’t over your ex, and as okay as Eren was with what had happened between you, he didn’t want you to run. He’s overcome with thoughts, looking down to your chest and the heavy breaths you were taking. All he could pray was that you weren’t pretending he was someone else. 

But as Eren is getting caught up in his own mind, you’re twisting, hand reaching to his crotch, cock having been recaptured by his boxers. Palming him, you feel how big he really is for the first time. Fingers trace the edge of his pants and underwear, and he lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them down. Shit. His dick slapped back to his stomach, precum leaking from the top of his pink head. He was bigger than you’d imagined, because of course you’d imagined it a couple of times.

Your hand looks so small around his cock, but you slowly tease him, his deep green orbs following your movements. Bringing your head down to him, you kitten lick the precum from the top of his dick. He hisses gently, and you look up at him with these big doe eyes, so fucking eager to please.

You push your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue as you begin working along his shaft. He moans just at the sight of you, your eyes peeking up through dark lashes. His hand goes through your hair, eagerly pushing you deeper around him. 

He lets out a hoarse, “is this okay?” before you put your own hand on his pushing it for the both of you. You don’t even want to come up for air, you just want him close to you, inside you. 

You were learning far more about each other than you had expected, as Eren takes back over. He pushes himself further into you, muttering a good girl that has you whining. The vibrations around his cock make his hips buck, and now you’re gagging as his length hits the back of your throat. He holds you there instead of letting you off, and your nails are sharp against his thighs.

His head lolls back as he starts to move his hips under you, moving you in turn with your hair. He picks up the pace quickly, allowing saliva to drool from you and straight to his cock. 

Your eyes prick, big fat tears forming at the corners. But you’re enjoying this way too much, the moans and gasps he gives make you moan, pressing your thighs together for some kind of friction. 

He takes your jaw in his grasp, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. Your tongue sits out your mouth, him smacking the head of his dick on it. He notices your tears then, the mascara that’s running a little. He swipes at the corner of your eyes, leaning down to press a kiss into your forehead. 

Bringing you up to him, your dripping folds sliding across his length. His lips are on your cheeks, across your jaw, licking up your neck before reclaiming your plush lips once again. You continue grinding against one another, tongues slipping in and out of each other's mouths. Eventually Eren brings his hands to your hips, lifting you up as you hold his shaft up.

Your foreheads are pressed together as he slowly pushes inside you. The stretch is burning and all-consuming, eyes pricking up again as you feel him hit your furthest wall. Eren breathes out heavily, “So fucking tight”

You roll your hips, allowing some friction from him on your clit. It helps your muscles relax a little, and balancing your hands on his shoulders you push yourself up and down, using his length for your own pleasure. Eren’s eyes don’t leave your form, watching your breasts bounce and how your eyes flutter close as he fills you entirely.

“You really did want to be fucked, huh? Look at you” he teases you, watching as you go to talk back before he thrusts his hips up. It leaves the words caught in your throat.

His pace maintains, holding you in place as he fucks up into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. There are long moments where you hold your breath, holding his cock tight within you. Then you’ll release and moan, before holding it in again. Well, Eren is all too happy to help you with that. 

One hand grabbing the flesh of your hip, the other wrapping around your throat, he pushes into you at a punishing rate. Your eyes go wide at the sudden restriction of your throat, feeling the cold metal of his ring against your pulse. 

“Who knew this about you? That you were such a slut?”

As much as he knows you want to deny it, you want to smack the smugness from his voice, he can feel your pussy tighten around him. He sees your eyes roll back a little. 

“You’re getting tighter.” 

The hand on your hip moves down, attempting to hold you in place whilst letting his thumb press over your clit. The sounds of him slapping against your wetness is obscene, and he’s only distracted from it as you whimper out pathetic yes’s and please’s. 

“You wanna cum?” he’s grunting, trying to keep the pace going until you can reach your peak.

You nod against his wide hand, still tight around your neck. “Oh you can do better than that. I already know how bad you want it, slut.”

“Please Eren, please make me cum. I want to cum, please, please, please” you can barely make out the words, your head going light and body tightening.

“Cum for me.” 

You release, and as he can feel the fluttering of your walls around him, he lets go of your throat. The sudden oxygen as you cum leaves you overwhelmed. Burying yourself in his shoulder, he fucks you through it. Cock slapping up into your cunt over and over, somehow being sucked deeper in as you coat his length with more of your own slick. He can feel your nails breaking the flesh of his back as you’re holding on for dear life, moaning his name and even a fucking thank you into his ear.

As you begin to slow, legs shake as you stay straddled over him. He flips you, Eren now firmly on top, slowly moving in and out of you. The stimulation is intense, your cunt sparking at any sensation. 

Caged between his forearms, his hair is a mess thanks to you. You push tendrils back past his ears as he leans down to kiss you once again. This kiss is different. It feels… less desperate. It feels deep and meaningful, caring even.

Your eyes meet in acknowledgment, both of you too worried to speak about the shift in tone. 

He reaches down instead, pulling your leg up and splitting you on his cock. A tongue swipes at your nipple, biting and playing with each as he gradually picks up pace again. You’re still so fucking wet it’s easy for him to thrust into you at a dizzying pace. You can feel all of him against your gummy walls. Each time he passes that special spot inside you, you moan and gasp, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

His thrusts were becoming more primal, holding your thighs close around his hips. Letting your sweaty bodies collide again and again, his balls slapping against you. The grunts and moans coming from his lips were so infuriatingly erotic. Eren just wanted one more from you, and then he’d let himself finish. If this was to be a drunken mistake, so be it, but he would at least make it memorable. 

Those jade eyes were on you once again, the power and dominance radiating from the immeasurable. He can see you barely being able to hold on, completely fucked out beneath him. You’re moaning and whining, hands moving over the swell of your breasts and playing with your nipples as if it’s going to keep you grounded. 

He sits up, eyes flicking down to where you were conjoined. It took so much restraint not to cum inside you right then and there. Your glistening sex was so tight around him, the wet slapping noises echo again and again. You’re pulling and sucking him in, cream pooling around his length. 

“Give me one more, y/n. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”  

You try to look up at him through heavy lids. Your friend Eren saying this is so taboo. The words he’s said tonight so far from normal for the both of you. You flutter around him, somehow your pussy still wants to be fucked, still wants to push you off the edge one more time. You can feel the coil inside your stomach tightening. 

Eyes rolling back, you can barely keep it together anymore. He’s pounding into you at a startling rate, fingers flicking over your clit again and again and again. 

“P - please, it’s s-so good.” 

Your breaths between words were quick, “you’re so big-”

“Yeah you like that? You like being so full of my cock? Such a pretty face you make when you’re all fucked out.” 

Holy shit.

Eren could tell how much words affected you, your back arching and legs pulling him somehow closer into you.

“Come on, baby. I wanna hear those moans.” he’s grunting, getting so fucking close to losing himself in your cunt. He knows what he wants to hear most though, “say my name. Tell me who’s treating you how you should be”

With that, you’re losing yourself around him again. Writing on the bed, gripping sheets in tightly balled fists. White light taking over your sight as you clench around Eren. This orgasm was the most intense, taking your body by surprise in its overstimulated state. You weren’t even making a noise, just holding on to the high for as long as possible. 

And then you shattered, whining and moaning, whispering his name over and over again. 

As you moved underneath him, Eren kept his punishing pace up until he watched you expel the last of your energy. Name forming on your lips over and over again he falters, releasing inside you. You can feel the stickiness inside you, the sensation of being filled up. Eren watches for a moment as he sees the white pearls forming around your stretched out pussy.

His chest is back on yours as he kisses your neck, shoulders, whatever skin he can. Thrusting back into you a couple of times, he finally pulls out. You feel his cum dripping out of you, but you’re too spent to do anything about it.

Eren lies next to you, both of your bodies attempting to regulate from that. 

“You okay?” 

He’s checking in, making sure he didn’t go too far with someone he genuinely cares for. 

You nod, turning to meet his stare. Giving him a drowsy smile, you’re not sure what comes next. But for now, you’re happy. Curling into his side, he puts an arm round you and lets you rest for a while. As he notices your breathing become deeper, he nestles into you, muttering something about clean up. 

Moving away from you, you can make out some noises of a tap, drawers opening and closing. In your sleepy state you feel him gently wiping at you, two glasses of water being put on the bedside table. Finally he makes his way back to you, and Eren notes how cute you look. Hot and completely fucked out, yes. But also gentle and at peace, allowing the heaviness of sleep taking over.

He rests behind you, wanting to be back in your warmth. He pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. The fragrance of you takes over his nostrils, and he’s all too eager to move closer to your hair, pressing one last kiss at the nape of your neck. Whatever tomorrow brings, he hopes it’s not the last time he gets to be this close to you.

[chiwhorei]

𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase�� stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

[cowboy-turtle]

me again 🤪

14. LP Javier

do you know how hard it was to make this one fluffy? thank you for the challenge bestie 😌 for context, this takes place between parts 7 & 8

February Fluff Prompt #14: “Let’s go, I’ll buy you dinner. And maybe breakfast.”

Pairing: La Parca's Javier Peña x f!Reader

Word Count: 944

Tags: javier peña being soft…

ct’s february fluff masterlist | main masterlist

It’s those fleeting moments, late summer nights heavy and sparkling with their unique, transient energy. When each breath feels limitless and the sky is so glad to be rid of the sun it sighs in relief. If you weren’t careful, a night like this could topple you with its potential.

And here that potential comes knocking now, warm skin that travels down the two undone buttons of his shirt and teasing eyes when he catches you checking him out. His lips are soft and welcoming when he steps forward to kiss you in greeting, your favorite type of hello from him. It’s true, you decide, you could get drunk off a night like this.

It’s apparent in the rosy-peach hue that decorates your apartment with the setting sun, the last breaths of summer still lingering. When the air was still warm with residual heat but the days began to grow shorter, minute by minute before you even notice time’s changed. That’s when the stars were at their best, the intoxicating mix of good weather and longer evenings allowing the perfect opportunity to stay out all night if you wanted to.

“You’ve done that?” Javier asks, bringing his cigarette up to his lips as he tilts his head to punctuate the question. “Spent the entire night outside just to look at the stars?”

“Not lately.” You smile at him through the reflection of the bathroom mirror, catching him admiring where your sundress falls at your thighs. He doesn’t shy away from getting discovered, grinning from his spot in the doorway as he watches you get ready.

He’d called not even a half hour before, his night suddenly free, which left you little time to spruce up before his arrival. He seems content waiting, though, perched there the entire time you’ve been in front of the mirror.

“Not lately?” he asks.

You purse your lips, applying another thin coat of lipstick. “It was a long time ago. It’s something…” you pause, deciding whether to continue. You catch Javier’s eye in the reflection, your patiently captive audience of one blowing smoke out into the hallway. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, his look seems to read. It comforts you enough to continue.

“It’s something I used to do with my dad.”

“Yeah?” Something in his eyes changes at this small offering into your past, a sort of fondness creeping at the edges that saturates into his voice. “Sounds like you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” You cap the tube of lipstick, popping your lips. “We used to always drive way out of the city to see them better.”

You smile to yourself as it starts to come back, this memory that’s collected cobwebs for so long.

“He was really into astronomy, you know? And every year at the end of September we’d go far out to this cliffside. It was the only place you could see the Southern Cross and the Big Dipper at the same time. They’re only visible together for a couple weeks out of the year.”

You’re elsewhere now, reminiscing. “The drive would take so long, the sun would be rising by the time we got back. We’d always go out and get breakfast afterwards.”

You find Javier in the mirror again, subtly reserved tenderness in his eyes. “Do you miss it?”

A wistful air colors your responding sigh, giving a tiny nod that you hope is imperceptible.

You turn to him then, showing him you’re ready in an attempt to draw him away from any further observations. But he’s quiet when he watches you lock your front door, silent in stewing contemplation but knowing when not to press a subject as you walk downstairs together. His next question surprises you.

“Those constellations, are they visible this time of year?”

You can almost see the cogs whirring behind his aviators.

“Yes,” you offer slowly, “they are.”

His jaw ticks for a second, then he nods.

“Okay, then let’s go.”

“What?” You turn when he slows his pace, thumbing back towards his parked car.

“Let’s do it, let’s drive out there tonight.”

“Javi,” you say his name in a laugh, “getting there and back would take the entire night.”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be my first all-nighter.”

“But,” your breath stutters out in disbelief, “but don’t you have work early tomorrow?”

“I do,” he tilts his chin at you, ever convincing, “and I’ll still get there early tomorrow.”

A small well of affection begins to form in your throat. You can’t believe him, so adamant on doing this for you right now. “But what about dinner?”

He contemplates this miniscule wrench in your plans, but you can see the exact moment he reaches a satisfying conclusion.

“That’s fine. Let’s go,” he starts walking towards his car, “I’ll buy you dinner.” Then he stops, thinking through the timeline of your night. “And maybe breakfast.”

“Really?” Your voice feels tiny with hope, and he smiles at you as he goes to unlock your passenger door. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Cariño,” he levels his gaze with you now, serious with his intent. His hand comes to rest upon your cheek, and you can’t help but nestle into the comforting weight of it. “I want to see what you see. Will you show me?”

You can feel it then, in the rosy-peach potential of that late summer night. Slowly, just like the minutes edging into nightfall, bricks were tumbling off the walls you’ve built to shut out the world, leaving just enough space for a lone, determined man to walk through.

“Okay,” you finally agree, smiling back up at him. “Let’s go.”

--

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[oh-ranpo]

stay, don’t go.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader warnings: angsty angst an: I don’t know, I just wrote it lmao word count: 2.4k+

“And if he was wrong about you, he was wrong about me!”

You kept hearing those words replaying over and over in your head. You knew that he had been upset about Sam giving up the shield, but you were surprised at how you hadn’t seen these particular emotions coming. There were a lot of things that Bucky worried about, but this burden of a thought broke your heart even more than usual. It was the most transparent he had been in months, and you hadn’t even been the one he was opening up to. Not that it mattered all that much, but now, you were struggling to find a way to help with the newly re-opened wound.

After the therapy session with Sam, Bucky had withdrawn into himself even more. Even though you had been waiting right outside the door, it was almost as if he didn’t see you at all when he walked through it. You had reached for his hand, and he had let you take his, but he didn’t say a word to you. 

He’s had a rough day, you had told yourself. Getting arrested on top of everything else he was dealing with had to be a lot. He just needed some time to process it all. 

Only, now, it was five hours later and he still hadn’t said a thing. You managed to get some hums in response to your prompting, and a shrug here and there, but no actual words fell from his lips. The anger from earlier in the day had dissipated, and now his shoulders drooped as he seemed to be carrying the world on his shoulders. Not that this was anything new to you either. It was a look you had long grown used to, but after hearing his outburst at therapy, you had a better idea than usual as to what was causing his pain this time.

Bucky had taken a spot in one of the chairs in the corner of your shared hotel room, and his blue eyes were fixed on the wall in front of him as he seemed to be attempting to stare a hole through it. You could practically hear the gears in his head turning, and you were sure that if you could read his thoughts, you wouldn’t be able to handle the emotional turmoil that lay inside. When you couldn’t get him to talk, you decided to order some food - something that you knew he liked - and then sat down in the chair next to him. 

“Food should be here soon,” you told him, as if he couldn’t hear you placing the delivery order just five minutes prior from the other side of the room. This time, Bucky didn’t even bother acknowledging what you had said as his hand came up to rest under his chin. He was still staring at the same spot on the wall, and his eyes were squinting slightly as he seemed to be deep in thought.

You sighed as you glanced down at your watch and saw that it was getting later in the evening, and you wondered what Sam was up to. The three of you had parted ways after the police station, and Sam had barely said anything to you or Bucky when you left. You could make out some of their conversation through the door during therapy, but really the only part you had heard clearly were Bucky’s words. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the ‘he’ Bucky had been referring to was Steve. This was what his whole trip had been about in the first place.

You knew that you couldn’t go the whole night without addressing the elephant in the room, but you also knew how Bucky was when it came to opening up. Even with you. You knew that, besides Sam, you were one of the only people that he trusted since Steve passed away, and you didn’t take that lightly. You really only pressed when you knew that it would be good for him to talk about something, and this was one of those times.

“Bucky?” You started again, using his name this time in an attempt to draw his attention away from the wall. He didn’t look over at you at first, but slowly, as you waited patiently, they started to trail over in your direction. When his eyes finally met yours, you gave him a small, sad smile as you leaned against the arm of the chair closest to him. “About what you said to Sam today…” 

You didn’t get a chance to finish your thought before Bucky was swiftly moving out of his seat. The movement caught you by surprise, as he had seemed so relaxed - well, as relaxed as he could be given the situation - but now he was running his hands through his hair as he started pacing in circles.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he mumbled, as his hand ran over his face, and his other gloved hand shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Slowly, you stood up from your own chair and made your way over to him, your hand reaching out for the sleeve of his jacket before he harshly pulled it out of your grasp. 

His entire reaction was confusing you because usually, he just shut down. He didn’t get this visibly worked up, he just shut down and refused to give you any emotion or feedback on how he was feeling. Now, you could tell that he was upset, and from the look on his face, he knew that his expression and actions were giving him away.

“But you know you should,” you continued as you tried to reach for him again, this time more slowly. “Let me be there for you, Buck.” The second part of your statement came out at nearly a whisper, but it had been loud enough he had heard you and he started shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t have to. I’m- I’m fine. I just need to go-“ Now, he had started moving towards the hotel door, and you felt your heart start to race in your chest. He was trying to leave.

“Wait, no, don’t go!” You cried, as you rushed to stop him, and Bucky’s hand hesitated over the doorknob. “Please. Stay. Talk to me.” You hated how broken your words sounded, but after everything that had taken place over the last few months, you couldn’t bear the thought of him walking out of that door and leaving you alone. Hesitantly, Bucky looked back over his shoulder at you, and you could see that same, decades-old pain swimming in his light blue irises.

“You’d be better off if I did. I’m doing nothing for you here.” Earlier, when you thought the comment about Steve was the most painful thing you had heard him say, this was a close second. You shook your head firmly as you took another step closer to him, and instead of reaching for the door knob fully, Bucky allowed his hand to fall back down to his side.

“No, Bucky, I wouldn’t be better off. I lived five years without you. Five years of never knowing if you were going to come back. I’ve known a life without you, and that is something I never want to have to experience again.”

Bucky’s shoulders deflated at your words, and you could see a flash of something in his expression that gave you a sliver of hope. You knew how he felt about you, and you knew that, deep down, he was well aware of how you felt about him. That was a secret you never tried to keep from him, and the one thing he never tried to hide from you either. 

After he didn’t move any closer to the door, and he didn’t respond to your words either, you slowly reached out for him once more, but this time, he didn’t pull away. You took ahold of his gloved hand and moved closer to him. The pain and conflict was still present in his expression, but as you lifted your other hand to cup his cheek, you hoped that maybe you would be able to find a way to bring him some comfort.

“Come sit back down with me, please,” you whispered, and for a moment, he didn’t move. You knew that if he really wanted to leave, you would have to let him, but your heart started to crack at the mere thought. Thankfully, after another heavy moment of silence, Bucky nodded and allowed you to lead him back to the end of the bed. You didn’t drop his hand, and when the two of you sat down next to one another, you sat close enough so that your leg was pressed up against his. 

“I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but I heard what you said to Sam today. About Steve,” you murmured, your gaze falling to where your hands were entwined and resting on his thigh. “And Bucky, you know that isn’t true, right? Steve… he thought the world of you. He would have, and did, do anything for you. He knew you, Buck, just as I do, and he saw the heart that you have and knew that you were worth every bit of it.”

When you looked up, you could see the tears swimming in his eyes as he tried to hold them back. Steve had always been a sensitive subject, and you knew that, but you also knew that what you said was true. You had known Steve, and you had seen and heard the way he felt about his best friend. Before he was Captain America, Bucky had always been there for him, and after he was Captain America, he was there to return the favor without hesitation. He never held Bucky’s Hydra days against him because he knew, just as you did, that he had no control over that. He was a victim; a pawn in a much bigger game than he ever could have won on his own. He was still paying for it, even after all this time. You just hoped that someday he’d find a way to forgive himself.

“I just don’t know sometimes,” Bucky managed to choke out after another heavy silence. “I mean, I’m trying, but the nightmares and the constant reminders of what I did…” His voice trailed off as he fixed his eyes on the window across the room in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. You knew that he hated crying in front of anyone, despite you having told him numerous times that he didn’t have to hide that part of himself from you.

“That wasn’t you, at least, not really,” you replied. “You’re James Buchanan Barnes, White Wolf.” This time you nudged him in the shoulder with your own and he cracked half a smile as his eyes flickered back over to you. “The Winter Soldier was not you. And before you try to argue with me, I’ve seen him and I’ve seen you, and I can tell you that he is nowhere near the same guy as the one that’s sitting right here next to me.”

Bucky cringed at the reminder that you had been forced to bear witness to his time as The Winter Soldier when Zemo had activated him a few years before the blip. He had spent months apologizing, despite not having done anything to you, and you cursed yourself for bringing it up again. 

“I mean, the metal arm is the only thing you guys have in common, and on the Bucky I know… it’s actually kind of sexy.” You added the last part lightly, and when Bucky looked over at you again, you waggled your eyebrows playfully. He just shook his head as the corners of his lips turned up just a bit, before his gaze fell to his lap. The hand you were holding now was the metal one, and you followed his gaze as you released your hold on it before slowly slipping his glove off. He flexed the metal appendages as soon as the glove was gone, and you reached for it as your fingers traced over the cool metal.

“It’s a curse,” he mumbled, his eyes still locked on where it was resting in his lap. “I mean, Shuri was nice enough to make it better than the old one but…” 

You shook your head as you grabbed it before lifting it to your lips and pressing a small kiss to the back of it.

“It’s not a curse, it’s a part of you. And because of that, I love it. Just like I love you.”

Bucky inhaled sharply at those three little words, even though you had been saying them practically non-stop since he had returned. You had said it before he was gone too, but you knew, back then, that he didn’t believe it. 

“I do love you, Bucky. So please… don’t leave.” 

For a moment, you could tell that Bucky had almost completely forgotten about how he had been about to walk out. It was a gift that you possessed that he had never truly understood. Even though you were talking about his problems, it didn’t feel nearly as bad as it did when he talked about his problems with anyone else. Not that he opened up enough to anyone else to really do much good. 

“I couldn’t leave,” he murmured as your eyes lifted to meet his. “You’re the only one that makes me feel… well, anything.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest as that was practically him saying he loved you too, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“And thank you,” he continued. “For what you said.” You nodded in response as you leaned against his shoulder, his metal hand falling to your thigh as you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“I’m always here for you to talk to, you know that? Though, you do need to talk to Sam too. He’s going through a hard time just like you are, and he needs his friends to be there with him too.” 

Slowly, Bucky nodded, but before either of you could continue, there was a knock on the hotel room door, and you were reminded of the take-out order that you had placed earlier.

“You hungry?” You asked with another smile as you stood up from the end of the bed and moved towards the door.

“I could eat,” you heard him respond, and you chuckled as you pulled open the door to grab your food. 

Things were far from perfect, but every day the two of you took baby steps towards healing together. And really, you couldn’t ask for much more than that.