#I was too busy trying to stay in the green light to even think about saving myself

[kate-inthedarkness]

hiii can i request an eli imagine where him and the reader are dating and shes the singer/guitarist for her own band thats opening for inhaler and theyre on tour together?

Thank you for sending this in, lovely!!

I love this idea so much (added my own little spin on it) xxx

Tuning Out - Eli Hewson

Summary: Your band is on tour with Inhaler, your boyfriend, Eli’s, band. Even though it seemed great to start with, you and Eli are hitting a rough patch because of it. And you don’t know how much more of it you can take…

Warnings: Arguing, Angst, Tears, some fluff at the end though! Xxx

The venue smells like sweat, beer, and fog machine fluid. It’s your third show in five nights, and the green room feels more like a cage than a break. You’re still holding your guitar, sweat clinging to the back of your neck, heart pulsing with leftover adrenaline when Elijah walks in.

The rest of your band were with the lads in their green room. Sophie, your bassist, was probably busy giggling over a text from her boyfriend back home. Jake, your guitarist, was most likely going over a new piece he’d written with Josh. And your drummer, Seán, you were betting money on him already being on his 5th beer.

But you, you didn’t have the interest or the energy to loosen up. You felt miserable. Not even the person you loved most brought light to your life right now. In some ways, he actually dampened any light you had left.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just tosses his water bottle on the table, takes a puff of his vocal steamer, runs a hand through his hair, and slumps into the chair across from you.

You keep your eyes on your strings, pretending to tune even though you know damn well the G is perfect.

“Good set,” he says finally, voice too casual.

You nod, curt. “Thanks.”

Silence. But it’s not the comfortable kind. It’s brittle.

He shifts forward. “You rushed the bridge on the last song again.”

You freeze. Just a second—but long enough for him to notice.

“I was in time with the click.”

“You weren’t, trust me. I was watching you.”

You look up, jaw tightening. “You always do this. I come offstage, and instead of ‘you were amazing,’ or ‘I’m so proud of you,’ I get a fucking critique.”

“I’m trying to help—“

“No, you’re trying to control,” you snap, louder than you meant to. “You think just because your band has a headline slot, me and my band are some little opener who needs notes from her boyfriend-slash-rock-knobhead.”

Elijah’s eyes flash. “That’s not fair. You know I respect your music.”

“Do I?”

The words hang in the air like broken strings.

You stand, your chair scraping the floor, and he follows you into the hallway—cooler, quieter, but no less tense. Your boots echo off the concrete as you walk, fast, angry.

He catches up. “Why are we like this lately?”

You stop dead, spinning to face him. “Because it’s too much. Being on the road, sharing a bus, playing shows, trying to be everything to each other 24/7. There’s no space.”

He looks at you like he’s hearing the truth for the first time in his life.

“I thought this would be perfect,” he says. “Us. Music. Your band. Living the dream.”

You laugh, bitter and tired. “Yeah, well, dreams don’t have laundry piles and petty arguments and trying to sleep while your boyfriend’s doing press outside the bunk. And most importantly, being forgotten about by said boyfriend.”

His face softens. “We’re burning out, aren’t we?”

You hesitate. Your throat’s tight. “I don’t want us to.”

“Neither do I.”

There’s a long beat where neither of you speak. You’re just two artists in love, with too much noise between you and not enough quiet to figure it out.

“Good luck with your set tonight, I’m heading back to the hotel.” You murmur, already walking away to find your band mates.

“You’ll wait up for me though, right?” He nearly pleads, voice hopeful and sad.

“I’m staying in Sophie’s room tonight,” you speak, still walking further away from him. The idea of staying in your bassist and best friends room making you feel less upset and alone. “I’ll talk to you when I don’t want to punch your lights out.”

——————————————

The hotel room is too quiet. Too sterile. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and you can’t seem to turn off the gnawing tension in your stomach.

It’s been hours since the fight, but it hasn’t stopped replaying in your mind—Elijah’s words, your own, every little detail that’s slowly unraveling the thread of something you thought was solid.

Sophie’s sitting on the edge of the king sized bed, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. You don’t even realise you’ve been staring at the wall for too long until she looks up, her eyes sharp with concern.

“You okay, pet?” She asks, her voice light, but there’s a softness underneath it that makes you want to crumble.

You shake your head before you can stop yourself. “I’m not. I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

Sophie puts her phone down, immediately sliding off the bed to sit beside you on the left side of the bed. She’s your best friend, your partner in crime, and the person who’s always known how to make things feel just a little less heavy.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice cracks. You don’t want to admit it out loud, but you feel the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. “It feels like me and Eli are falling apart, Soph. Like everything we had… it’s gone. I thought being on tour with him would be amazing. I thought it would bring us closer, but instead, it feels like I’m losing myself in it. Losing him in it. We fight about everything. Everything feels… too much.”

Sophie’s hand lands gently on yours, warm and steady. “I get it,” she says softly. “I’ve seen it. You two are great together, soulmates even. But the stress of everything—being on the road, the pressure, the expectations—it’s messing with your heads.”

You swallow, fighting the tears that sting the back of your eyes. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I thought I could do it. I thought I could be a girlfriend and a star and just… balance it all. But it’s too much. He’s great, he really is, but it’s like we’re not even us anymore. We’re just two people running on empty.”

Sophie lets out a long breath, rubbing her thumb across your knuckles like she’s trying to soothe both of you at once. She’s always known how to listen, how to make you feel seen.

“You don’t have to be perfect, you know?” She says, her voice low and reassuring. “No one expects you to have it all figured out. Not Elijah. Not the fans. And definitely not me. Hell, I’m trying to make it through the next few shows without tripping over my own feet.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tears welling up despite yourself. Sophie doesn’t stop there. She shifts closer, wrapping her arms around you, pulling you into her embrace.

“Relationships take work,” she says quietly. “But so does being you. You’ve got to make space for both. You’re a fucking icon to people, and that doesn’t change just because you’re in a relationship. And neither does Elijah’s love for you. He’s not asking you to put your career on hold. Christ, he’s probably trying to juggle his own insecurities about you getting more attention than him at times. It’s easy to get lost in the noise.”

The truth hits you hard, and for the first time in days, you let the tension in your body melt away. The weight you didn’t realise you were carrying lifts, and for a second, you start to see a light at the end of this grim tunnel.

“You’re right,” you whisper. “I’ve been so focused on making everything work perfectly, I’ve forgotten to take care of me. I’m not just his girlfriend, or the lead singer of a band. I’m… me first.”

Sophie pulls back, her hands on your shoulders as she looks you in the eyes. “Exactly. And if he’s the right one for you, he’ll get that. He’ll meet you where you are, even if that means pulling back a little. You’re not his backup dancer, babe. You’re his equal.”

You close your eyes, taking in a shaky breath. You feel so much lighter now, like the storm cloud that’s been hanging over you is finally starting to break. “I just need to talk to him. Without all the noise and the people. I need to tell him how I feel.”

Sophie smiles gently, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “You’ve got this. Don’t let fear or the pressure of being on tour make you forget how strong you are. He’ll hear you. He wants to, I know he does.”

You nod, the weight of her words sinking in. “Thanks, Soph. You really are the best.”

“Anytime, babe.” She gives your hand a quick squeeze before standing up. “Now, let’s get some sleep. We have an extra long day tomorrow.”

—————————————

Sleep holds you in its first deep grasp in days, warm and thick like a weighted blanket. Sophie’s steady breathing beside you is the only sound in the room, and for the first time since tour started, your heart isn’t racing.

Then—knock knock.

You stir, not fully waking. You think maybe you imagined it.

Knock knock. Firmer this time.

You blink your eyes open, frowning in the dark. Sophie shifts beside you but doesn’t wake. The digital clock on the beside table reads 2:17 AM.

Your body protests as you slide out of bed, stiff and slow. You’re still wearing Elijah’s shirt—one you took off his bunk days ago, slightly oversized and worn soft—and just your underwear on the bottom half. You tug the hem down on instinct, padding barefoot to the door.

When you crack it open, you freeze.

It’s him.

Elijah stands in the hallway, hoodie unzipped, hair tousled, eyes searching your face like he’s been standing there longer than he has.

Your breath catches, not just from the sight of him, but from the flicker of something unmistakable in his gaze as it drops for the briefest second—down your legs, back to your face.

“Hello, my eyes are up here.” You whisper, cheeks turning red.

He swallows. “Sorry… did I wake you?”

You narrow your eyes. “It’s two in the morning, Eli.”

“I know. I just—“ he shifts on his feet. “Can we talk?”

You lean your forehead against the doorframe, exhausted. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

His jaw tenses. “Well, I do.”

There’s a pause. Neither of you move.

“Please,” he says finally, voice quieter now. “Five minutes. If you still want me to leave after that, I will.”

You sigh, glance back at Sophie still dead asleep, then slip out into the hall and shut the door behind you. Thankfully the latch was on it or else you’d have to wake up a very unimpressed Sophie to let you back in.

“Okay,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper aware of what you’re wearing.

His eyes flick down again. He tries to be subtle, but he’s never been good at hiding what he’s thinking. “That’s my shirt.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch despite yourself. “Don’t get cocky.”

A beat passes. His voice softens. “I went by your green room after our set. You weren’t there.”

“Yeah, I told you I wasn’t sticking around.” You exhale. “Sophie came with me. I talked to her. Broke down, actually.”

His brows knit. “What did you say?”

You lean against the wall, the words already surfacing again, raw but real. “I told her I’m tired. That this whole thing is hurting me. That I’m losing myself in us. That I’m scared we’re not built to survive being in each other’s pockets 24/7. And that I miss how we used to be.”

His expression shifts—guilt and hurt flickering behind his eyes. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I know,” you whisper. “Because I stopped telling you. I got too caught up in keeping it all together, I forgot I could ask for help.”

He steps closer, not touching, just near enough that his warmth reaches you. “I’ve been screwing this up, haven’t I?”

“No,” you say gently. “We both have. I think we forgot that love doesn’t mean living in each other. It means holding space. Letting the other breathe.”

He nods slowly, like he’s turning your words over in his mind. “When you walked out earlier, it scared the shit out of me.”

You glance down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I needed to take care of myself. For once.”

“And you should,” he says quickly, stepping just a little closer now. “But can I still be someone you let in? Even when it’s messy? Even when we’re tired and selfish and fucking stubborn?”

You look up at him, something cracking open in your chest.

“I want us to work,” you say. “But not like this. We have to stop pretending the tour life is perfect. We have to make room for the truth, even when it sucks.”

He reaches up and brushes his thumb under your eye, careful, like he thinks you might vanish. “Then let’s start here.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Right here? In a hallway at 2 AM, while I’m in your shirt and no pants?”

He smirks. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

You groan, swatting his chest lightly. “Still a menace.”

“Always.”

The quiet between you shifts—no longer tense, but tender. You step forward, into his arms, and he wraps them around you like home. He smells like his cologne and subtle mint, and his chin rests perfectly on your head.

And when he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, he says, “Let’s be better. From now on, yeah? We need to look after each other.”

You nod, reaching up to kiss his lips gently. “I couldn’t agree more.” You whisper, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips.

And for the first time in days, with his lips so perfectly on yours, your heart feels full and steady again.

[cvnt4him]

Think’n ab cock warming izuku

A lazy Saturday morning, he has to get up later to finish some papers but that's a problem for later izuku. You wake up earlier than him for the first time ever, you admire his beautiful features whilst hes in slumber land.

His forest green hair being portrayed in the most beautiful lighting, said lighting brightening up his face despite being asleep, he's such a bright person he doesnt even need the suns array of beautiful sunshine for that. His slightly chewed lips dry yet so plump and kissable, the freckles that popped out more due to the sun's colors beaming on his beautifully tanned skin. He was gorgeous.

You leaned down to plant a gentle kiss onto his sleeping face, cupping his cheeks as you do so. The touch on his face makes him jolt and try and scoot away, his eyes squeezing shut and annoyance being painted on his features, he groans and tries to pull away but only to stay in the same place due to you holding his face.

Izuku was annoyed and opened his slightly crusted eyes to see your face, his eyes immediately softened. Finally being able to see his gorgeous emerald green eyes, you smile in content. He hums and closes his eyes again before you pepper kisses all around his face.

“ good morning~“

You sing in his ear, making him hum once more. He didn't want to be awake, izuku wanted to lounge around all day and be lazy with his other half before he had to go and teach a bunch of noisy kids, who he did love dearly.

“ you're always awake before me! I'm surprised I managed to get up before you!“

Izuku peers his eyes open slightly to look up at you with furrowed brows in annoyance, he groans and rolls his eyes before closing them again, all you can do is giggle at your adorable husband. You scoot in closer to him and squeeze his cheeks making him huff.

Izuku then sits up and yanks you into him making you bury your face in his chest. Your eyes widened in surprise but you weren't exactly complaining. He holds you close with a tight grip ensuring you can't move even if you tried.

“ go t’sleep baby. ’know you're tired, j’s get some rest hon.“

Izuku lazily gets out, his speech slightly slurred and his voice raspy and groggy do to the morning. He was a morning person, by all means but sometimes all he wanted was to be lazy with his significant other, and you seem to be ruining it by touching him whilst he's trying to sleep.

“ ’zuku m’not tired.“

“ shut up.“

Trying with all of your might you manage to squeeze out of his arms and roll onto of him making him turn over on his back, he groans and looks up to you with angry eyes ones you never really seem to see.

“ can I cockwarm you?“

His once angry eyes were now wide and confused. You wake up and the only thing on your mind is dick? Really? He groans again with a blush to his freckled and still baby-like cheeks, a scar on his right cheek. He was hesitant, he really was fathoming it, debating, thinking about it, whatever you want to say he truly was.

Izuku was having a hard time deciding, he did want you to do that to him only because he was particularly pent up, you two hadn't had sex in about 3 weeks? Thats far too long for someone like izuku, he would never force you to do something of the sort, normally you initiate sex and he happily obliges, but you both have been very busy recently and haven't had time to do much more than hold each other when nightfall returns at the end of everyday.

Izuku finally had an answer, he gulps and looks back up at your happy and waiting eyes. You would've been okay with either answer, really. You just wanted him to be inside of you. With a blush still on his cheeks, he nods to you before looking away.

“ I want a verbal answer my love.“

He sighs at your words, eyes shutting as he clears his throat trying to get rid of the grogginess of the morning time.

“ yes, you can c... cock.. warm me...“

Izuku manages to get the confirmation out as you giggle and lay down beside him, confused he follows you insuit, you scoot back into him and pull down his sleeping shorts just enough to get his flaccid cock out. You stroke him a little trying to get him to harden up, gentle tugs at his fat and heavy cock in your hand, the weight of it is always nice but the stretch is always better. The thought alone brung a smile to your face.

Izuku watched your movements closely, admiring the way you were so sweet and gentle with his member, so careful with such soft movements it made him twitch in your hand. With that, you knew he was ready. He gulped as you turned around and pulled your underwear to the side scooting back onto him and pushing his cock inside of you.

You both wince and groan and make some kind of noise as he tries to push his way inside, you were tight and he felt just how much so, going straight to his head as he gulped down hardly. His brain was getting fuzzy from the intense squeeze to his cock, you really should've prepped yourself first. with a couple of minutes waiting you finally manage to get him inside, he bottoms out almost immediately he's always so needy and impatient when it comes to things like this he ended up thrusting into you making you fall forward and moan.

“ zu what are you.. doing?“

You ask slightly out of breath, he was choking on his breath trying his hardest not to absolutely ram his cock in and out of you like he knows he needs. God izuku was so horny he just wanted to fuck you so badly.

“ s- sorry.. hon I- ngh~...“

He sentence was ended by a muffled groan, you really were squeezing his cock so tight. You take breather and scoot back into him, his cock still being buried deep inside. It makes him moan softly into your ear as you get closer, a beautiful noose that you always welcome and are always pleased to hear. He hums in a whiney tone on accident, getting extremely red when you laugh at the desperate sound escaping your poor husband.

You sigh happily as you can feel his heavy cock stuffing you full, twitching occasionally when you pulse around him. Izuku held you close wrapping his hands around your stomach, he buried his face in your neck trying to lull himself back to sleep, you intoxicating smell so sweet and driving him absolutely feral. He tried so hard to go back to sleep but he was having a hard time, his cock was so deep inside of you and only getting deeper as time passed yet he wasn't fucking you. Not like he wanted to.

Izuku sighed desperately and defeatedly as he looked down at you only to see you asleep with a smile on your face. For fucks sake. There was no way he was getting back to sleep, and absolutely no way hes not blowing his load deep inside of you.. if he even gets to cum.

[vicorices]

18+ mdni, collage au, use of marijuana, high sex, blink and you'll miss perv!vi, you smoke while she eats you (feral), spit, stoner!vi that got out of hand.

masterlist // requests // wc: 1,931

dealer!vi who’s deep down a damn loser when it comes to you, an unmeasured crush that started out when you bought weed for the first time and she got your number under the premise of talking to you whenever she had good stash.

she stares for a good while at her phone after, trying to find out a reason to talk to you without sounding lame, the last time she was so afraid to talk to a girl she was what? sixteen? so fucking lame.

dealer!vi who leaves in the middle of a party cause you texted asking is she was up and well, it's her fault when she's spoiling you rotten, constantly selling to you her very best stuff at a stupid low price: she wants you to keep coming to her, so she makes sure of making an undeniable offer.

she's knocking at your door and it's way to late to be in the streets, standing with her hands shoved inside her jacket as she waits for you to open up.

dealer!vi who's impressed actually by your rolling skills cause how the fuck did you learn how to roll a joint like that? you have such a good technique she finds herself looking at it, fingers in perfect control as they swiftly pour the green from your purple grinder into king-sized pink rolling papers — is it indirect kissing when you're licking the paper and she can visibly see strings of your saliva? must be.

she looks at you when you light up the joint and the air is quickly filled with the intense smell of weed, a subtle fruity and citric aroma as you passed her the joint. indirect kissing. indirect kissing when vi's smoking from the very same spot you did, sitting close to you after selling you a good amount of weed and accepting a sudden invitation to stay for a while and smoke, make the journey at least a bit more worth it and not leave after five minutes with you.

it doesn't have to be just pure business.

you're oblivious to it, but her gaze lingers in your legs and the subtle way your shirt rides up showing more and more skin without you noticing, worried you'll find out she's right there high and dry in your sofa.

stoner!vi who laughs at your jokes, leaning forward when talking to you cause even high she just thinks about how beautiful you are, eyes red, half lidded, relaxed in the comfortable of your small apartment close to the uni.

and like a good stoner she forgets about she's holding the joint at some point, too busy with the conversation, your company and the atmosphere you’ve so easily created, the ashes falling to the ground now. she has sold you marijuana for months, yet she's not able to talk to you for more than explaining you what strain she's carrying to sell until well — now.

liking your photos, flirting but not at all, it's absurd the amounts of times you appear on her mind without even trying to, messy haircut, she's sure you have a tattoo hidden under the winter clothes cause she can be a proud stoner, but she pays attention, at least when she wants something, when it comes to you.

"are you ever going to make a move on me, vi? cause i'm getting tired of waiting for you to snap out of it."

and maybe it's the weed, that dizzy and nice sensation on her chest that makes her smile, cause she's sure you're pulling her closer even when she's the one moving on her own.

"a move, you want me to make a move on you?"

you're taking the joint from her fingers and she swears it's the hottest thing she's ever experienced, the way you were suddenly so close to her only to pull away after, letting the smoke linger in the air when you light it again: she has felt that very same thing before, the awful need of pulling you into a kiss.

"i thought it was obvious when i texted you in the middle of the night, but you don't seem to get it much" the music seems to drown her unsteady breathing, the loud guitars by the speaker in the table while your bratty attitude only seems to turn her on even further. "should i spell it out for you? send a formal invitation?"

stoner!vi who's really bad in controlling her force when high, cause her hand fist in the fabric of your shirt and she's finally erasing the distance she was once polite to keep, moving you without much effort across the cushions to pull you closer to her, make you lay on the sofa to pin you down beneath her.

her muscles flex on top on you and she's finally aware of the effect she has on you, when she's finally kissing you and you're responding to her even when she barely touches you — so maybe it's not as lame as she thought, cause her kisses travels down your throat, messy, sloppy open-mouthed kisses she places as she holds you there, still and where she wants you to, not lame at all when you cannot control yourself either, squirming, already asking for more.

and fuck it's good. she can smell the subtle smell of weed in your clothes, and swear could choke 'cause you're parting your legs for her, a silent invitation she just gets with no need to spell it out for her now.

"gonna smoke it all by yourself?" vi's messing with you at first, watching you take the joint you forgot in your fingers to place it over your lips — "or are you gonna share that with me?"

stoner!vi who fantasizes with the thought of spitting right over your parted lips when she's helping you smoke, lighting up the joint as she sits on top of you. she's slower, but her hips press down against yours just right, and trapped in between her thighs is a damn sight. her blushed cheeks match her cherry hair who's much longer now since the first time you meet her, and you, a demon as always, let your hand find the skin beneath her shirt, the pad of your fingers roaming against her hip bone, trailing it down her pants.

with two fingers, she places the joint over your lips. your breathing collides against her hand, and she can feel the softness in your lips for a moment before you're blowing the smoke in her direction, slightly and for nothing more than five seconds but enough to make her think about kissing you again, yearning when she's stealing kiss after kiss, taking away the joint to have you pay attention to her instead. needy.

the weed makes her like that she'd say, but in reality vi's going to pieces even before her eyes become glassy. shambles when the music on the speaker is not enough to muffle your gasps, the irregular sound of your breathing after she slowly begins to ask you for more — hungry even when she's full fed.

she's building you up, taking her time since she dreamed about this a lot, and she desperately wants it to make it last, savor it as long as she can have it, so vi's dragging your shirt upwards, enough so she can see the obvious lack of a bra, latching on the skin of your breast until it's bruised and sensitive, purple because of her.

you do have a hidden tattoo, only for her to see.

yet it's her name on your swollen lips what she enjoys the most, how she's there in your lungs inside you, the sound of your moans when you ask if she could keep going. your always perfect hair lays now messy, and god she just want to imprint the sight of you in her brain, how your skin shiver when she's kissing the expanses of your belly, that flirty look on your face she can see even when she's completely on her knees for you already.

"you forgot about the joint again, peach" vi mutters against your navel, her chin presses against your stomach and the mere contact makes your skin burn "you okay up there? 'cause last time i recall i was invited to smoke with you love, you're making me feel a little betrayed here."

stoner!vi who likes the fact you're smoking from her weed. may seem stupid but she damn prides on knowing you choose her every time even when uni is fucking plagued with providers all around: you praise about her quality, chanting about how good your high was, how she never disappoints.

the world seems to stop against your skin, the time dies between your thighs, the intense smell of your arousal clouds her with longing and her mouth waters at the compulsion to lean forward.

"it's not fair, making me feel so- fuck so-" the words die on her tongue, cause your panties are soaked through, clinging to your folds and she's already drunk on it, lost in the haze as she looks up to you, barely illuminated by the lights in the apartment, the ember of the joint lighting every once in a while.

"talk to me," your voice is rough as your hand reaches down to her hair, taking the long strands of the mullet between your fingers — "how do i make you feel, huh? tell me vi."

stoner!vi who's a chaotic eater. she whimpers at your praises as her tongue laps from over your slick underwear, drool escaping from the corners of her mouth as her nose rubs against your sensitive cunt and she doesn't really care if she stinks like pussy after, if you're gushing all over her cheeks as she's making your underwear to the side; she's surrendering entirely, spreading you with her fingers and sinking her face in your puffy, swollen lips already sticky with a sheen of arousal.

she cannot seem to have enough, one arm tangled around your leg as she's comfortable enough to gather a good amount of saliva on her mouth so she can let it fall against your already leaky pussy, scooping it with her fingers to use it as lube when her digits are forcing themselves against your entrance, opening you up for her as vi's mouth sucks greedy around your clit.

so you forgot about the joint laying between your fingers as you hold her face against your sex, moving your hips against her mouth until she's looking at you through half lidded eyes and you can see how her face seems to glisten thanks to you. vi seems to be hitting all the nice places when her fingers scissors inside you, rubbing on your walls as you become pliant in her touch, inviting as you seem to suck her in deeper.

stoner!vi who pays attention, cause she's fixated in your face when you fall apart, dissolving into pleasure, splintering in lust for a brief moment she prolongs as much as it's possible, slowly pumping her fingers inside your tight entrance to keep seeing that pretty face all constricted in need, babbling about how good she's eating you, how full you are when her fingers fuck you dumb like that.

stoner!vi who shoves her fingers in your mouth right after fucking you, using her thumb to trace them along the seam at first, coaxing you to open them for her, pushing down on your tongue as soon as she's granted permission.

it's her turn to smoke now.

[bodybaggage]

Ghostly Heir or Batty Custody?

DP X DC

———

The Justice League Watchtower was an advanced piece of technology, housing the world’s greatest heroes. But even in a place dedicated to protecting the Earth, some things were simply unavoidable—like gossip.

It had started innocently enough, as these things often do. Superman, having just returned from Gotham, was discussing the latest developments in the Batcave with Wonder Woman over a cup of coffee. The conversation was meant to be private, but when you have people like the Flash who can be in and out of a room before anyone notices, privacy is a relative term.

“So, Batman has another kid?” Superman had said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Are we running a daycare now?”

Superman shrugged. “Not sure. But he’s different from the others. White hair, glows a little. Bruce is being… secretive.”

“Bruce is always secretive,” Wonder Woman pointed out.

“Yeah, but this one seems—” Superman’s words were cut off as the Flash zoomed by, pretending to be busy with something else. The two superhumans exchanged a glance but said nothing more, knowing that once the speedster got wind of something, the whole League would know within the hour.

And they did.

Back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne—better known as Batman—was oblivious to the brewing storm. He sat in the Batcave, going over the latest reports on Gotham’s criminal activity with his usual intensity. Beside him, a ghostly figure floated lazily, occasionally glancing at the screens with mild interest.

Danny Fenton—known to most as Danny Phantom—had been in Gotham for a few weeks now, lying low while he figured out how to deal with some supernatural issues back in Amity Park. Clockwork had suggested Gotham as a good place to lay low, citing the city’s reputation for attracting all sorts of weirdos. Besides, Clockwork had argued, Batman wouldn’t care as long as Danny didn’t cause trouble.

And for the most part, Danny hadn’t. He’d stayed out of Gotham’s wayward criminal elements, kept his ghostly powers under wraps, and only occasionally wandered the streets at night to stretch his legs (or float, as it were).

Of course, he hadn’t counted on the Bat Family.

Damian had challenged him to a duel within minutes of their first meeting, insisting that he prove himself worthy of staying in the Batcave. Danny had countered by turning intangible and letting Damian tire himself out, which only seemed to frustrate the young Robin more.

Tim had interrogated him about the nature of ectoplasm and ghost powers, scribbling notes furiously as Danny tried his best to explain without giving too much away.

Jason had simply grunted, muttering something about “another brat” before disappearing on his motorcycle, while Dick had been the only one to offer a somewhat normal welcome.

“You’re like, what, the seventh kid Bruce has taken in?” Dick had said, clapping Danny on the back. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not staying here permanently,” Danny had replied, but Dick had just laughed, as if Danny’s words were the punchline to a joke only he understood.

Things had been relatively quiet since then—until now.

It started as a low hum, a barely noticeable vibration in the air. Alfred, the ever-watchful butler, was the first to notice something amiss.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred said calmly, setting down the tray of tea he’d just brought in. “We appear to have… company.”

Bruce looked up from the Batcomputer, his eyes narrowing as the hum grew louder, evolving into a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Batcave. Danny, who had been floating upside down, lazily spinning in midair, suddenly snapped to attention.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Danny muttered, his expression turning from bored to annoyed in seconds.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Alfred replied, his tone as even as ever, despite the growing disturbance.

The rumble turned into a roar, and suddenly, with a burst of green light, a swirling portal opened up in the middle of the Batcave. The vortex crackled with energy, and from it stepped a towering figure clad in ghostly armor, a crown of ectoplasmic fire atop his head.

Pariah Dark, the Ghost King, had arrived.

“BATMAN!” Pariah’s voice boomed through the cave, rattling the glass cases that held the old Robin suits. “I, Pariah Dark, King of the Infinite Realms, have come to challenge you for the custody of my heir!”

There was a moment of silence as the words hung in the air. Danny facepalmed, groaning audibly. “This is not happening.”

Bruce, for his part, remained as stoic as ever, though his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “Your heir?”

“Yes, my heir!” Pariah bellowed, his eyes glowing with ectoplasmic energy. “The boy you have taken into your care! I will not allow this—this mortal to usurp my claim!”

Bruce’s gaze flicked to Danny, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Is there something you forgot to mention?”

“Oh, come on!” Danny threw his hands up in frustration. “This isn’t what it looks like! I’m not his heir, and I’m definitely not up for custody!”

Pariah seemed undeterred by Danny’s protests. “You defeated me in battle, boy. By the laws of the Infinite Realms, that makes you my heir! And now this Bat-creature seeks to claim you as his own! I will not stand for it!”

Bruce’s expression remained impassive. “I’m not trying to claim him.”

“See?” Danny gestured to Bruce. “Totally not trying to claim me. So you can just go back to the Ghost Zone, Pariah. No custody battle needed.”

Pariah’s eyes narrowed, his fiery crown flaring. “The only way to resolve this is through combat! Batman, I challenge you to a duel for the boy!”

Bruce glanced at the portal, calculating the odds. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I will take the boy by force!” Pariah declared, raising his massive sword, which seemed to materialize out of thin air, crackling with ectoplasmic energy.

Danny floated down between the two, trying to keep the peace. “Guys, let’s just calm down. No need for a duel. I’m fine. No one’s taking anyone by force.”

Pariah looked down at Danny, his expression a mix of paternal concern and royal indignation. “Do not worry, my heir. I will defend your honor.”

Danny groaned again. “I don’t need my honor defended. I need you to stop making this weird.”

Before Danny could protest further, Bruce stepped forward, his voice as calm as ever. “Very well. A duel, then.”

“Seriously?” Danny looked at Bruce, incredulous. “You’re just going to agree to this?”

“If it ends the situation quickly, yes,” Bruce replied, his tone as dry as ever. “This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with an overprotective guardian.”

Pariah raised his sword, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Prepare yourself, mortal! I will not hold back!”

“Hold on, hold on!” Danny zipped between them again, clearly exasperated. “We don’t need to do this! Pariah, go back to the Ghost Zone. Batman, you don’t have to fight him.”

Pariah looked genuinely perplexed. “But… the honor of the Infinite Realms demands it.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Danny insisted. “The Infinite Realms don’t care about some weird custody battle! Besides, I’m not a kid, and I’m not staying here permanently! I’m just crashing for a bit!”

Pariah frowned, lowering his sword slightly. “You… are not staying?”

“No!” Danny said, exasperated. “I’m not staying! I’m not your heir! I’m just Danny, okay?”

The Ghost King looked around, as if trying to process this information. “But… you are under his care. It was reported by reliable sources.”

“Reliable sources?” Danny echoed. “Who told you that?”

Pariah seemed to hesitate for the first time. “A rather talkative sorcerer in a trench coat. He mentioned it while muttering about ‘bloody bats’ and ‘undead nuisances.’”

Danny blinked, realization dawning. “Constantine. Of course.”

Bruce’s expression remained unchanged, though there was a faint glimmer of irritation in his eyes. “This… Constantine has been spreading rumors?”

Danny sighed heavily, feeling more tired by the minute. “Look, can we just forget this whole thing happened? Pariah, you go back to ruling the Ghost Zone. I’ll handle Constantine. And Batman, you can go back to doing… whatever it is you do.”

Pariah Dark seemed to mull this over for a moment before finally lowering his sword completely. “Very well. But know this, boy—if ever you require my assistance, you have but to call.”

“Sure, sure,” Danny muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With one last, dramatic sweep of his cape, Pariah Dark stepped back into the swirling green portal, which closed behind him with a final, ominous crackle.

For a moment, the Batcave was silent. Then Danny turned to Bruce, looking both sheepish and annoyed. “So… I guess I should have warned you about that.”

Bruce simply nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Next time, try to keep your interdimensional family disputes to a minimum.”

“I’ll do my best,” Danny promised, floating back toward the Batcomputer. “But with my luck, that’s not gonna be easy.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Bruce replied dryly, already turning back to his work. “And tell Constantine to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Danny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he floated back to his usual spot, thinking about the supernatural messes that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

As the Batcave returned to its usual state of brooding silence, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Gotham wasn’t the best place to lay low after all. But with the alternative being another encounter with Pariah, he figured the Batcave wasn’t so bad—at least, not until the next interdimensional incident.

[boyfhee]

MASERATIㅤ───────ㅤ재이

✶ 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍ㅤ｡⠀bf ! jay, est. rel, slightly suggestive

you're focusing on the road & jay is focusing on you. ( 868 )

╰⁠(⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠╯ㅤ..ㅤ new work after so long omg this is a bit rusty >< hope u enjoy it nonetheless

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀⭑ rbs&feedback ♡

jay can't help but fixate his eyes on you as you drive the car— his car, slick black maserati— well, now yours too. he knows by the subtle smile on your lips that you're aware of his little staring game and, he's knows that you love the fact that he's obsessed.

“again, i could've driven us back,” he insists, leaning back against the seat with his eyes travelling to the ring on your finger. a shy smile makes its way to his lips.

you huff softly, giving him a brief glance before focusing back on the road. “you can trust me with this beauty.”

“i do trust you,” a swift reply, as if the words were waiting on the tip of his tongue to be said. the car is the last thing he has to worry about anyway. “it's just that you look prettier as the passenger princess.”

he notices the way your lips curl into a smile, the way you mumble something in response that he fails to catch because he's too busy admiring you.

unknowingly, he's staring at you again—how the setting sun is casting its rays onto you, the way your hair is tousling in the cool breeze, your neck adorned with a dainty gold necklace that's being reflected off the golden hues off the evening.

“you're staring again,” you chuckle, feeling his gaze on you.

and he simply shrugs, still looking at you shamelessly. “can't help when i've got the prettiest angel right beside me,”

you look peaceful.

your hands guiding the steering and changing gears with practiced ease, the way a quiet laugh rolls off your glossy lips at his words— he's dying for a glance, but you're looking at the road, and then it's as if the heavens heard his prayers when you turn your head towards him, giving him a smile that makes him go haywire. you're doused in warmth and he swears, he's falling for you all over again.

“you're beautiful,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for his words to reach your ears. “and i want to kiss you senseless but you're driving,”

your heart almost skips a beat at his words, cheeks heating up at just the thought of his implications. it almost takes you back to the quick & messy makeout session you had in the parking lot earlier this noon, the way the cramped space of the car made you more hot and bothered, and how his hands traced your curves—

“imagining it already, doll?” he smirks, words laced with a seductively teasing tone. his hands slowly trail up one of your thighs, feeling you shiver under his touch. “i think you should focus on the road,”

you try, you do, but it's just so damn hard when he gives your thigh a light squeeze. you know he's messing with you and it's working. you're a mess, letting out a soft gasp, torn between driving home and pulling over somewhere discreet.

he chuckles at your reactions, enjoying your flushed face and nervous eyes. you shoot him a quick glare but he doesn't let up, trailing his hand to the slit of your dress before you end up slapping his hand away.

“jay—” you speak in annoyance once you stop at the red light. “you're going to get us crashed!”

“that's why i told you to focus on the road, angel,” he shrugs innocently, the action betraying the mischievous glint in his eyes. “or am i distracting you?”

your eyes settle on the traffic light, ignoring his words, waiting for the signal to turn green.

“oh come on angel, are you sulking now?” he huffs at the pout on your lips, one that makes him want to kiss you even more.

and you mumble under your breath. “no,”

he shakes his head, gently grabbing your chin to make you face him before bringing his lips down to yours in a searing kiss. it turns out yet again that you can't stay mad at him, not when he's kissing you like you're the oxygen he needs to breathe.

and just when the lights go green again, he pulls back, much to your disappointment, whispering against your now swollen lips. “promise i'll make it up to you when we're home,”

[chimielie]

match point

hajime opens the door, blinking blearily as the permanent fluorescents of the hallway greet his eyes. he drags a hand down his face, taking a quick opportunity to take you in, your shorts and knees (the left one has a nasty green bruise, leftover from his forcing you to try indoor climbing last week) and fuzzy socks peeking out from your sneakers. your shirt almost swallowing you, making the jacket you’re wearing look oddly cropped. your hair sticking straight up.

“hi, hajime,” you say, yawning uncontrollably. “thank you. sorry.”

“no problem,” he says, “come in, it’s too bright.”

inside, there’s only the pinpoint of his cell flashlight on, a beacon leading you to his room—first left in the hallway, you really would be able to find it blindfolded. you don’t act like it, though, putting a hand on his back and closing your eyes while he forges forward. the light brush of your fingers over the thin t-shirt he’d pulled over his head thirty seconds ago is the confusing kind of thing leaking out of his dreams.

“there’s a protein shake pack there, watch your—yeah. your step.” the warning comes just in time for you to stub your toe as he shuts the door behind the both of you.

he busies himself digging in his closet while you swear as quietly as you can.

“you want the bed? i’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“‘m not kicking you out of your own bed at—” you squint at your own phone screen. “3:47 a.m. i just really appreciate you letting me stay over, haji. thank you so much.”

“not your fault your roommates set off the fire alarm at 3:47 a.m. seriously, take the bed.”

you were lucky, he thought, lucky he had your contact set to break through Do Not Disturb, lucky he lived a floor above you so you didn’t have to scream hysterically at them for waking you up like this again in the middle of exam season. the violent string of texts he’d woken up to (and the distant shrieking of your apartment’s alarm) had made him laugh so hard he’d typed come over almost without thinking about it, i promise i won’t hotbox the bedroom while you’re trying to sleep.

“let’s just share,” you suggest, and he fumbles the spare blankets in his hands. he’s glad he’s facing away from you. “it’s too early to fight.”

“too late,” he corrects you. “you sure we’ll both fit?”

it’s a reference to your freshman year, when you used to climb into his twin XL bed and lie on top of him so neither of you were falling off the edge. physical affection was more common for you then, before he’d realized that his dumbass had gone and fallen in love with you and you were just his very affectionate friend.

“yeah, you have a big boy bed now. i miss the lightning mcqueen sheets, though.” you’re already hanging the jacket on the back of his chair, crawling through the vast ocean of cotton to curl into a ball near his pillows. he checks his phone again, wondering if he ever really woke up. he has dreams, secret, shameful ones, like this often.

there’s a song and dance missing. shouldn’t he be fighting harder to take the couch? building a pillow wall? as he joins you, even as he’s stretching his body out and feeling his left shoulder pop, you gravitate into him. he puts an arm around you, his bicep thick enough beneath your back to make you shift around to get comfortable again. your fuzzy sock-covered foot pushes up the ankle of his sweatpants.

“hey, wait,” he says. you make a soft sleepy noise that breaks his heart to hear like this: so close, and yet not at all. “was that my jacket you were wearing? the one i’ve been looking for?”

“yeah,” you nod into his chest. “you gave it to me last time we went out.”

“oh, i’d forgotten,” he hums. a few more moments pass, his own eyelids getting heavy.

“i like wearing your clothes,” you tell him, “it makes me feel like you’re my boyfriend.”

maybe in the morning he’ll do something about that; for now, he sleeps with your deep, even breathing an inch away, the warm glow of something new and right and shared suffusing his chest.

[wholoveseggs]

Small Victories

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

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

[rubyvhs]

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them). 

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree. 

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way. 

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI. 

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean. 

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer." 

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way. 

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends. 

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times. 

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever. 

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one. 

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes. 

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers. 

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you." 

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth. 

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever. 

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw. 

"We— Dean, can't here—" 

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing. 

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right." 

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?" 

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance. 

[pythonees]

✦┊ CARDBOARD DREAMING — ethan landry

WARNINGS: 18+, f!soft-bodied!reader, virgin!sub!ethan, drinking, frottage, semi-public, so much plot before the p0rn y'all I'm sorry, this is actually cute af tho

A/N: i am down bad for this doe eyed ghostface you have no idea. ignore the fact that i am once again late to a fandom and just enjoy the fact that i've posted two things so far this year, okay?

also it's so much harder for me to write now, so i can't really tell if i like this or not. oh well.

Loud music thumped around you and into your bones, making your head rattle with the booming, house shaking bass.

In the middle of the makeshift dance floor of a random fraternity, you sway along with your best friend to the beat of the music. It's easy to ignore everyone around you, lost in the shitty party lights. After the busy weeks of classes at the start of the semester, you had gone all out, grabbing the most poofy, princess-like dress you could find at the thrift store, one that was just barely long enough to cover your ass but still tastefully cute.

The long, white wig your friend had forced you to wear (one that sadly did complete the look, not that you would ever admit that to her) was sticking to your bright pink lip gloss every time you moved your head too fast. You've long since tried to keep your hair behind your shoulders, the silky fake texture making it too slippery to stay in place.

Taking a sip of the heavily spiked drink in your hand, you pull your friend closer as she turns her back to you, letting her grind up against you. The fake leather of her cat woman suit sticks to your dewy legs, the body glitter you had slathered on at the start of the night smearing onto the dark fabric.

"I take it cute guy is looking at you?" You say, letting your free arm wrap around her waist when she nods. The cute guy in question is a tall Rugby player from the UK, his curly hair only a few shades darker than his skin and wanted by half the population of the entire University. He had seemed wholly uninterested in every person that flung themselves at him, while still somehow being ridiculously polite about it.

Your friend is nothing if not persistent, and had decided after watching so many people try and fail to win his affections to try a different approach. She instead decided to play the long game, one that seems to be working.

"'m gonna make my move," your friend says, spinning around to face you with a wide grin, "wish me luck!"

You watch as she walks away, holding eye contact with him as she goes past him and towards the back of the house where one of the bathrooms are. You see him stare after her, quickly chugging the rest of his drink before he shoves the empty cup into one of his friends hands, following after her. There are envious looks following after the pair, and you giggle at a girl that actually stomps her foot in anger.

Thankful that you're now sitting down, you adjust the fluffy skirt of your dress as feeling starts to slowly come back to your feet. There are people dancing all around you, a couple curled up on the hopefully drink covered couch and making out. It's honestly kinda gross, her muddy green lipstick for whatever her costume was supposed to be is smeared all over her girlfriends face, mixing horribly with her orange face paint.

Looking away from the green mess, you cast your gaze around the room. Your friend is dancing with Rugby guy, tucked away in a corner so that no one can see that his hand is definitely lower than it should be in public. As you continue to scan the room, you find your gaze meeting with a cute looking knight across the room.

He's standing next to Chad, who's in your calc class and likes to bug you for notes whenever he falls asleep. Which is almost every class. Frankly, it pisses you off, considering he's one of the top students without really even trying. You'd kill him if he wasn't the sole reason you're even passing.

Anyway, the guy next to him, who you think is cute but you can't really tell because you're tipsy and not wearing your glasses, quickly looks away from you and toward Chad. He's clutching the shot glass to his chest, shaking his head as Chad looks away from him and to you. A wide grin takes over his face, and then he's grabbing mystery boy by the arm and dragging him over to the kitchen.

They're gone from your view for only a minute before Chad is directing him out and towards you. The cardboard knight has ditched the shot glass and instead has two red solo cups in his hands, staring down at them like they hold the secrets to the universe.

You try to keep the amused grin off your face as Chad weaves the two of them through the crowd. The open face of his cardboard knight's helmet does nothing to hide the bright flush of his cheeks, spreading along his nose and lighting up his brown eyes. Yeah, he's cute, dangerously so.

“Hello there princess,” Chad says, giving you an obnoxious bow while tipping his hat at you. You lean back in your arm chair, crossing your legs while you take a long sip of your drink.

“Well howdy there partner,” you say, using your free hand to lift the side of your dress in a mock curtsy while still in your seat. You down the last of the sickly sweet drink, licking your lips as you set the plastic cup on a cluttered side table, “and who might this be?”

“This,” Chad says, pulling his friend forward so that he was standing in front of him, the toe of his sneakers bumping against the cheap heels you had bedazzled the night before. He quickly pulls his foot back, mumbling out an apology while keeping his gaze away from yours, “is my friend Ethan, who thinks you look really pretty. Treat my boy well, yeah?”

With that Chad saunters off, probably looking for Tara, leaving you alone with Ethan. Ethan, who looks like Chad has betrayed him in the worst way possible by leaving him there with you.

"Hi, Ethan," you say, giving him a smile and then your name, "you enjoying the party?"

"Oh! It's, uh... it's great!" He says, a cute smile on his face, though you can tell he doesn't really mean what he's saying.

You snort, shifting over in the arm chair to try and make some room for him. It's not much, but you really don't mind the thought of being pressed up next to him, "You don't have to lie, it's not my party or anything. Come sit with me?"

He eyes the spot you made next to you with wide eyes, nodding absently as he squishes into the newly made space. It's a tight fit, just like you thought, so you carefully turn to face him, legs going over his and hanging over the armrest. You hear him suck in a deep breath, the flush on his face somehow going darker.

"Mmm, yeah, parties aren't really my thing. Chad wanted me to come, don't know how he convinced me though..." He says, mumbling down at the cups in his hands. One of which you know is for you.

You giggle, letting your fingers trail over the back of the hand holding the drink closest to you, "Well, I'm glad you came."

"You are? Why?" Ethan's gaze follows your hand, unconsciously pushing into the contact.

"Because every thrift store princess needs their cardboard knight!" You can't help the smug grin on your face when he ducks his head, moving your hand away from his to instead tuck a stray curl back inside his helmet, "Shame you've got this on though, hiding those beautiful curls."

"Oh, uhm. Thank you. Your hair is pretty too. You know, under the wig..." he presses his lips together, eyes flicking up to the wig before they fall to your face. You're happy to find that he's able to hold your gaze, even though he starts to get squirmy when you shift just a bit against him. It takes you a moment to realize that he knows what you look like outside of this party, and you feel jittery excitement knowing you've had his attention before tonight.

"You gonna drink both of those, or are one of them for me?" You tease, giggling when he starts to stutter out a response. Putting him out of his misery, you take the drink when he confirms through his rambling that yes, one of them is for you, "you're so sweet, thank you."

Taking a sip you throw your left arm along the back of the arm chair, letting your long nails dance along his exposed bicep, marveling at the shiver that wracks through him. He takes a drink himself, nose scrunching up cutely when the taste hits his mouth.

"Too strong for you?" You ask, voice muffled by the cup you bring up to take another drink from. He looks embarrassed when he nods his head, but instead of teasing him, you take a hold of his free hand, lacing your fingers together as you get up off the armchair, dragging him along with you.

"Where're we going?" He follows you along without complaint, hand a little clammy as they tighten around yours. You bring him into the kitchen, which is surprisingly empty, and head to the fridge. Bending over a little more than necessary, you fish through the various cans of sodas until you find one that's just a carbonated lemonade, making a show of straightening up slowly to give Ethan ample time to stare before you turn to face him.

Despite how slow you were, you're still able catch his gaze as it snaps back up to your eyes, but you pretend not to have noticed as you hand him your drink so you can open the can.

Taking a light hold of his wrist, you guide his hand down so that you can see into his cup, one that was filled significantly less than yours was. You pour in the fizzy drink right up to the top, pouring the little bit that's left into your own cup when you take it from him.

"There, that should taste a bit better," you say, smiling up at him as you step into his space. He nods jerkily, taking another go at the spiked punch. His face doesn't scrunch up, and he looks pleasantly surprised as he takes another drink.

"So?" Even without his response you know it's better, but he's got a nice voice, one you want to keep hearing. It's even better when he's flustered and stuttering, so you slide up to his side, staring up at him with his arm brushing your breasts.

He's only able to nod, eyes now locked onto where you're pressed against him, no doubt getting an eye full of your cleavage. You let him have his fill, keeping your smile innocent when he looks back at your face.

"Good," you say, taking his hand again and leading him to the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor, "I'm glad."

He follows behind obediently, and you make sure to add more of a swing to your hips for him to appreciate. You see Chad as you guide Ethan to the darkened corner, pretending you didn't see the wink and thumbs up he gives Ethan as you pass.

There's a little area in the corner of the room that isn't overly crowded, so you guide him over there before someone else can settle into the space. Smiling up at him through lowered lids, glossy bottom lip between your teeth, you sway to the music. The blush that had been slowly fading from Ethan's face is back in full force, eyes unable to stay in one place as they flick to and away from you.

You loop your arms around his shoulders, cup held loosely in your hand behind his head as you press right up against him. The cardboard scrapes against your exposed upper thighs as you move, though you ignore the discomfort when Ethan starts to hesitantly follow your movements. They're jerky and uncoordinated, but he looks adorable, concentrating hard on being able to follow your movements.

You keep it simple, not wanting to overwhelm him too fast. So you're pleasantly surprised when you feel the hesitant touch of his free hand as it settles on your waist, just barely resting there but touching you all the same.

There's cheering from the other room, loud and obnoxious and the perfect distraction you need. You tug at Ethan's neck, a pleasant thrill going through you when he dips his head down without hesitation. You don't even have to push up onto your toes, your heels making you tall enough that you can comfortably whisper into Ethan's ear, "I really want to kiss you right now."

"You- me?" He sputters around his words, cheeks flaming hot when he pulls back to look at you. You wait patiently, though you've been desperate to get your mouth on this doe eyed boy for so long you feel like you're about to explode, "Really?"

"Yes, really," you coo, shuffling close enough to press yourself firmly against his cardboard covered body, smiling when the hand that was still gently resting on your waist moves to press at your back.

"Yeah. Yes, yes please," he nods along with his words, cringing at the tinge of desperation that coats them. You don't mind though, more than happy to know that someone as pretty as him is this desperate for just a kiss.

Wanting to see how far it could go, you start at his chin, glossy lips smoothing along his clean shaven skin. The next is pressed to the corner of his mouth, and you struggle to contain your smile when you hear the small whine he lets out at the touch.

Meeting his gaze, you find his half lidded, bottom lip bright pink from being gnawed on between his teeth.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," you sing, quickly shoving your drink at a random passerby before you tuck your hands under the sides of his helmet, cupping his cheeks as you guide his lips to yours. They're soft and plush against yours, tangy from the lemon flavoured soda mixed into his drink.

Gently taking his bottom lip between your teeth, you revel in the moan he lets out when you pull back, giving him a flirty grin before going back in. Behind you, you can hear his cup drop to the ground, ignoring the feeling of the cold liquid splashing up the back of your legs. You run your tongue along his lip, soothing where you bit him. It has Ethan gasping, mouth open just enough for you lick into his.

After that it's a mess of teeth and tongues, uncaring of the people moving around you, lost in the heat radiating off of him. All you want is to run your hands all over Ethan. His homemade costume keeps you from feeling his chest against yours, and you groan in annoyance.

Gently pulling your hands out from under his helmet, you tug it up and off, holding it in one hand as you tuck your head into is neck.

The gasp he lets out when your lips graze along his skin has your thighs pressing together, makes you wonder just what other sounds you can get out of him. You run your hand through his curly hair, long nails gently scraping against his scalp, pulling a long moan that he has to muffle against your neck so that anyone close to you can't hear him.

His hot breath dances along your skin, tiny whines escaping as you bite at his neck, sucking a mark that will be too high up to hide on his pale skin. You can't wait for everyone to see it tomorrow morning.

"Hey," you whisper, pulling back a little to look at him. His eyes are half lidded and unfocused as he stares back at you, pink dusting along his cheeks and nose, "it's a little hot in here. Wanna go outside? Get some air?"

You don't know if he's really even hearing the words that come out of your mouth, gaze fixed to your lips void of the lip gloss that has been smeared onto his neck and face. He nods though, and that's all you need. Thankfully you were already near the backyard, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the open sliding door and past the few people loitering around.

It's cool out, a shiver running down your spine when a breeze dances over your flushed skin. Keeping a tight grip on Ethan's hand, you guide him to the back corner of the yard and to what used to be a storage shed. You know from being to a few parties here that it has been transformed into a bit of a lounge, if you could even call it that. There's a table and futon in there, with a mix of different garage sale armchairs and bean bags squeezed in.

Thankfully, it's empty when you open it, and the lingering smell of weed from the last hot boxing isn't as bad as you expected it to be. The futon isn't turned out, but you don't really care, gesturing for Ethan to sit while you close and latch the door behind you.

When you turn back Ethan's staring down at the ground while he's got a hand in his hair, musing up his beautiful curls. You gently place his cardboard helmet on the coffee table, moving to kneel next to him on the couch, facing him.

"There, this is much better," you whisper, shuffling forward so that your knees brush against his thigh. You can hear his gulp, failing to fight down your smile at the sound. Before he has the time to possibly get embarrassed over it, you cup his face in both of yours, kissing him again.

Now alone, without the possibility of people watching and potentially spooking Ethan, you're able to be a bit more... aggressive with your affections. Thumbing over the already blooming bruise you left on his neck, you lick into his mouth when he lets out a sweet moan. He's a little sloppy as he kisses you back, hesitant as his tongue slides along yours.

It's cute, the way he tries to copy your movements, has you humming happily into the kiss at every moan you're able to pull from him. You can hear the creek of the old metal frame beneath you as you push up on your knees, swinging your leg over his to settle on his lap.

It hikes up your already short skirt, ass exposed to the cool air of the shed. His erection presses into your core as you push your body into his, rolling your hips in the process. Ethan pulls away from you with a gasp, face bright red and his hand firmly planted on your hips to keep you from moving again.

“Shit, I- I'm so sorry. Fuck. I, uhm…” Ethan looks mortified, and when you smile at him, amused at his stuttering, he looks like he would have run out there if it weren't for you sitting on his lap.

The quick kiss you place on his lips quickly shuts him up, though it isn't much of one with the way you're still smiling.

“I'd be a little offended if you had no reaction to me,” you mumble, trailing kisses down along his jaw to bite at his neck. It has his breath shaking, lips firmly pressed together to try and muffle his moans, “especially with what I have planned for you.”

He looks confused when you pull away from his neck, so you just take one of his hands that were fisted in his pants, guiding it to the zipper on your side. Ethan's fingers are unsteady as he grasps the metal between his fingers, slowly pulling it down until it stops right at the swell of your hips. You pull the dress down over your breasts, letting him get his fill as you work at pulling apart the surprisingly intricate cardboard costume.

Ethan doesn't move to help you, too busy staring down at your chest, nipples pebbled in the cool night air. It's only when you start tugging the cardboard up that he seems to come back to himself, looking away from you as he lifts his arms. When his arms come back down to his sides you play with the collar of his polo, making sure your arms are tight against the sides of your breasts to perk them up a bit.

“Can I take this off too?” You whisper, letting your fingers dip underneath to graze along Ethan's flushed collarbone.

Ethan nods, a hoarse little ‘yeah’ escaping his lips as he again lifts his arms for you to tug the shirt up and off. Once it's out of the way you press your chest right up against his, smiling when his breath seems to get caught in his throat.

“You can touch me if you want,” you say, smoothing your hands across his shoulders and down his surprisingly defined biceps. Though you suppose with a roommate like Chad, it's likely he got dragged into quite a few gym trips after they became friends.

You bring your lips back to his, hands roaming between your body's to trail over his chest and stomach before going back up. Ethan's hesitant as he kisses you back, hands still on your hips before they slowly smooth up your sides. His thumbs come to sit right under your breasts, and you press yourself harder against him to try and encourage him to move that last little bit and touch you.

It's the tiny plea that escapes your lips as you take a quick gulp of air that makes Ethan more confident, mouth working against yours with more intent as his hands finally palm at your breasts. The happy hum you let out causes Ethan to smile against your lips, warm fingers moving to tweak your nipple.

Each moan and sigh you let out has Ethan moving with more and more confidence, touch firmer and kisses rougher. When you pull back to get much needed air, Ethan dips down to mouth at your neck, his ragged breaths cooling the spit on your skin as he moves further down.

You sit up on your knees to bring your chest level with his face, and Ethan moans at the sight. He presses a quick kiss right above your left breast, no doubt feeling the erratic beating of your heart, then moves down to take your nipple into his mouth. His tongue laves over the soft flesh, a soft moan vibrating against you as you push him firmly into your chest with a hand on the back of his head.

He suckles and runs his teeth over you until your skin is tingly, then swaps to the other nipple. You drop down into his lap before he can get lost in your flesh, settling back onto his erection with a satisfied moan. As you connect your mouth to his neck, teeth working at the skin to ensure he's bruised when you're done with him, you roll your hips against his.

Ethan's hips jerk up into yours, the seam of his jeans pressing right up against you perfectly. He tucks his face into your neck, breathing deeply as he wraps his arms around your waist. You're pulled flush against him, so you aren't able to really move, but Ethan doesn't seem to mind.

“Fuck, you feel so good against me,” You moan when you pull away from his neck, admiring the red splotches and teeth marks left behind, “Feel even better if you took these jeans off.”

“Yeah?” He breathes, looking at you in wonder. You can't help the giggle that escapes you, shifting back so you can get at his jeans. You undo the belt and unbutton the jeans, sliding off his lap to stand in front of him so he can take them off. As you stand, gravity pulls at your dress, and you tug at it just enough so that it can get over the swell of your hips and pool into a sparkly mess on the ground.

You're left in just your panties. And while you weren't expecting your night to go quite like this, you're very glad you decided to wear the cute, lacy pastel ones instead of something ugly and comfortable. Having Ethan gawk at you is a confidence boost like no other, letting him have his fill for a few seconds before you slide back into his lap.

With only your underwear in the way, the friction between you when you roll your hips into his is mind numbingly delicious. The wet spot in your panties makes it so they're basically non-existent, the glide smooth.

Ethan's mouth hangs open on a moan, gaze locked onto where your hips bring together. His hands fly up to grip your hips, but they just hold you, letting you set the pace as you continue to roll your hips against his. You plant your hands firmly on his shoulders, using them for leverage as you grind down into him.

You can't help the sounds falling from your lips, whines and gasps as you desperately rut yourself against his thickness. Every guy you've slept with before has never made you this desperate before, but being in this dingy shack with Ethan has you falling apart with him even being inside of you.

It takes more effort than you'd like to admit to slow your hips to a stop. You nearly start back again at the desperate whine Ethan lets out, his hips rolling up into you and forcing a gasp from your lips.

“As good as that feels, I really wanna get you inside of me,” you drop your gaze to your lap, hands trailing down his shoulders and along his chest before you let your fingers run along the band of his boxers, “Bet you'd fill me up so good.”

And you're not even lying. Even when he still had his jeans on you could tell he was thick, but now you can feel and see the outline of him in its entirety, and you can't wait for the full acke that will surely come with him stretching you out.

“Please,” Ethan whines, his hands sliding back to grab handfuls of your ass to push your hips down against his. Your eyes flutter shut, losing yourself in the feeling as you let him guide you, head dropping to his shoulder. Toes curling in your shoes, you lift up off of his lap to stop the orgasm you can feel building.

The whine Ethan lets out in protest is short lived as you yank at his boxers. His hands leave your ass to push them down far enough to free his erection, and you damn near salivate at the sight of him.

He's thicker than you've ever had, veiny and with a flushed head that's dripping precum.

It takes some very unsexy maneuvering to get your panties off without getting off his lap, but you're reluctant to lose his touch for even a moment. He helps guide them off, hands running over your thighs when your panties are out of reach. You let them hang off of your foot, too lazy to take it off or let it fall onto the dirty ground.

Slowly, you settle back onto his lap, making sure that his cock is nestled right between your soaking lips. It has the desired effect, a shaky moan escaping him and his head drops to your neck. You cradle the back of his head with one hand, the other gripping the back of the futon as you slowly roll your hips.

“A-ah, fuck,” Ethan whines, his hands bruising as they tighten on your hips, pulling you down into him. You aren't able to move, but the angle he has you at while he ruts up into you is enough to have you moaning along with him.

Grabbing a fistful of hair, you pull his face from your neck, smiling at the flushed, blissed out look on his face. “Sit tight, okay? Gonna see if there's any condoms in here.”

There are two side tables here. The first is full of rolling paper and random bits of weed that have fallen out of the grinders. You hit the jackpot with the second, quickly checking to make sure it's not off date before you pull a packet out and rip it open.

When you turn back Ethan has a tight grip around the base of his cock, eyes half lidded as he watches you move around the small room. When you move to put the condom on him he quickly shakes his head, holding his hand out to take it from you.

“Can’t. If you touch me I'll- I don't wanna, not yet.” You hum, letting him have it as you climb back onto his lap. His hands are unsteady, but he's able to slide the condom on in one go.

You don't give him any time to relax, shuffling forward to press yourself against him, your dominate hand gripping the futon once more. The kiss you press to his lips is a distraction, wanting to settle the racing of his heart that you can feel against your chest. Once his hands are steady as they roam across your skin, you reach back, grabbing a hold of him to line him up with your entrance.

The second you touch him he reacts, hands that were feeling up your thighs seize up, fingers digging into your skin. You make sure to go slow, for both of your benefits. Despite how bad you wanna find out if taking him all at once would make him cum on the spot, you don't think you would recover from his girth, even with how wet you are.

With every bit of him you take, it feels like the air in your lungs is being forced up out of you.

“Fuck. I'm not - I don't think I'm gonna last,” Ethan whines, head ducked so he can watch where he disappears inside of you.

As you fully settle into his lap, you have to take a moment for the both of you to get accustomed to the feeling. You've never felt a burn like this since you had lost your virginity, the tingles of pain seeming to heighten your pleasure.

You keep up the slow pace, rocking back and forth on his lap. Ethan's biting his lip so hard he'll surely draw blood, still watching where you're connected. Pulling his bottom lip out with your thumb, you give him a quick kiss, before you plant your hands firmly on his shoulders.

The fake dollar store rhinestones on your heels dig into the fat of your ass as you start to bounce on his lap. Ethan's head is thrown back, neck littered in your bites as he moans and whines in tandem to your movements. Your fingernails are surely leaving marks on his skin, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he gets louder every time you drag pink lines across his skin.

You aren't any better. Gasping and cursing each time he bottoms out, you feel like you're being split in two. Each time you lift off of him you can feel the sticky trails of your arousal that connect you two together. Tomorrow you'll feel bad for whatever poor soul discovers the mess you two are sure to leave behind.

Ethan's hands have migrated to your ass, helping you move along his length. He's babbling now, words all jumbled together. Slowly, he's just cursing over and over, hissing a desperate “shit shit SHIT” before his hands press flat against your back, holding you to him as he cum la into the condom.

You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, clenching around him at the feeling. He whines, mouthing at your neck to try and muffle the sound.

You cup his face, guiding him to look at you. The red that's taken over his face is adorable, and you tell him as much before kissing him. When you pull back he's pouting at you, a hand moving from your ass to trail between you.

“You didn't cum,” he says, thumb slipping down to nudge at your clit. The slight touch after being denied an orgasm has you gasping, clenching around his surprisingly still hard cock.

With a hum you roll your hips into his touch, watching him with a small smile, “Nights still young, I think you can figure something out.”

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

[rafes-slut]

Can't Help Myself

Warnings: pure fluff, rafe is obsessed with kissing reader no matter where they are, and they are super in love

summary: rafe cant stop himself from kissing you at any given chance and moment he wants to do so no matter who is watching

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

────୨ৎ────

Rafe Cameron had a problem—one he wasn’t interested in fixing.

You.

More specifically, kissing you.

It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing. If Rafe was within arm’s reach, his lips were finding their way to you. It wasn’t always a full-on, sweeping-you-off-your-feet kind of kiss. Sometimes, it was a lazy brush against your temple while you scrolled through your phone. Other times, it was a playful peck on the tip of your nose, just to hear you giggle. But most of the time? It was an all-consuming, world-fading, completely obsessed-with-you kind of kiss.

And he never cared who was watching.

1. The Grocery Store Incident

“Rafe,” you warned, swatting at his chest as he crowded you in front of the cereal aisle.

“Hm?” His voice was casual, but the smirk on his face was anything but.

“We’re in public.”

“And?” He dipped his head down, brushing his nose against yours. “I don’t see the problem.”

You did. The problem was that the older woman across the aisle was glaring at the two of you like you were corrupting the youth or something.

“Baby,” you whined, trying to step away, but Rafe’s arm tightened around your waist.

“I think you forgot something before we left the house,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your cheek.

You sighed. “And what was that?”

“A proper goodbye.” Before you could argue, he tilted your chin up and kissed you right there between the Frosted Flakes and Lucky Charms. His lips moved against yours with that familiar hunger, completely unconcerned about the world around him.

A throat cleared loudly beside you.

Rafe didn’t even look up. “Get your Cheerios and mind your business,” he muttered before kissing you again.

2. Mid-Conversation Mayhem

“You’re not even listening,” you accused, arms crossed as you leaned against his truck.

“I am.”

“You’re really not.”

“Say it again,” Rafe offered, stepping closer.

You huffed. “I was talking about—mmph.” Your words were cut off as his lips crashed into yours, effectively derailing your train of thought.

“Mm, sorry, what were you saying?” he teased when he finally pulled back, grinning at your dazed expression.

“I hate you,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

He only shrugged. “You love me.”

3. The Party Disruption

JJ was mid-story, hands flying as he animatedly talked about some ridiculous thing that had happened earlier. Everyone was laughing—except Rafe.

You barely had time to notice before his hand found the back of your neck, and suddenly, his lips were on yours again. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—just slow, languid, like he had all the time in the world.

“Jesus Christ, man,” Pope groaned.

“Rafe, I swear to God—”

“I don’t control when I need to kiss my girl,” Rafe interrupted smoothly, only pulling away when he was satisfied. “Keep talking, JJ.”

JJ shot him a glare but continued.

Rafe’s hand, however, stayed wrapped around your thigh, like he was keeping you right where he wanted you.

4. The Sleepy Surprise

You were half-asleep, curled up in bed when you felt a warm hand brush against your cheek. Then, soft lips pressed against your forehead.

Then your nose.

Then your cheek.

Then your lips.

You groaned, cracking an eye open. “Rafe.”

“Hey, baby.” He sounded way too awake.

“Why are you kissing me?”

His lips twitched. “Can’t sleep.”

“So you woke me up?”

“I had to. You were right there,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

It kind of did.

5. The Car Chaos

“You’re going to get us killed,” you scolded, laughing as Rafe leaned over at a red light, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“Worth it.”

The light turned green, and he reluctantly pulled away, hand finding your thigh instead.

“You have a problem.”

He smirked. “Yeah. And she’s sitting in my passenger seat.”

[pukefactory]

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I honestly can’t explain how this idea came to me—all I know is that I felt an urgent, feverish need to write it down. It’s strange, bizarre even, but so is the world of Dream BBQ, so perhaps it fits right in. I hope you enjoy reading this odd little concoction as much as I enjoyed bringing it to life.

– COMET

•☽────✧˖°˖ FLOATING BEASTS ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Reader Who Find A Weird Carousel

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You both stumble across the carousel in the middle of what should have been a very important, very adult job—there were business memos to send, unmarked doors to barge through, and someone important to yell at. Yet here it is. A carousel. Spinning in the middle of a sterile office floor like a memory that broke through the tile. ENA’s Salesperson side presses her clawed hand to her mouth, delighted: “Is this…a divestment opportunity or a horse-based deception?” Her Meanie side slaps the pole. “THIS IS A SICK FREAK THING! IT’S AN ART PIECE, ISN’T IT?! LET ME OFF, LET ME OFF!!!”

☆ The animals on the carousel are not horses. Or anything, really. One of them whispers through its eye: “Take a ride and trade your left regret for something soft.” ENA mounts the one that resembles a fax machine with legs. She looks over her shoulder at you, giggling. “You heard the printer-goat! Come on, up you go! We can’t not ride it. What if the fax goes to heaven without us?”

☆ As the carousel spins, so do the lights. They bend—pastel, then neon, then intrusive office fluorescents. ENA changes mid-rotation. On the upturn, she’s laughing, trying to hand you a melted popsicle she found in her sock. On the downturn, her Meanie side clutches her head. “I THINK I’M DYING! THIS ISN’T HR-APPROVED!!” You’re starting to feel a little dizzy, too.

☆ You two are supposed to be gathering data—some mundane corporate drivel. Instead, ENA is interviewing the beast-animals as they pass, voice recorder pressed to their strange heads. “What are your childhood traumas, and how do they affect your productivity?” she asks a creature with six mouths and a tie. It screams. She nods. “That’s actionable.”

☆ At one point, your seat morphs into something vaguely anatomical. ENA leans across the central pole, eyes glowing. “Wow, are you getting the uterine experience too?! Is this therapy or employee onboarding?” You’re too afraid to answer, so you nod. The animal chair purrs.

☆ The carousel halts, dead stop. All animals blink open their one eye and chant in unison: “SOMEONE MUST GET OFF FIRST.” ENA freezes mid-joke, then slowly turns to you, serious. “We have entered an allegorical stalemate. I nominate you to solve this like a true office champion. I’ll stay here and draft a formal email about my feelings.”

☆ You try to get off. The floor is gone—just smoke and looping elevator music. ENA grabs your wrist with both hands (claw and mitten), face flickering green. “WAIT. You’re too important to me. I mean, to this operation. If you perish in the fog of bureaucracy, who will argue about spreadsheets with me?”

☆ Later, you both lie flat on the slowly spinning platform, dizzy and barely sentient. ENA’s voice is soft now, cradled in the lullaby rhythm. “When I was a kid—well, when I was a beta version, I guess—I thought carousels were escape portals. I still kinda do.” She glances at you. “Maybe we didn’t waste time here. Maybe we…unworked together.”

☆ You two make it off, eventually. The animals bow. One gives ENA a stapler made of bones. Another whispers to you: “Next time, bring her flowers. She doesn’t know she wants them yet.” ENA is already speed walking away. “LET’S FIND THE STUPID BATHROOM ALREADY. THIS WAS A HORRIBLE DAY AND I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT.”

☆ After it’s over, sometimes you catch ENA staring off into nothing, her red side murmuring: “I keep dreaming of that printer-horse…Think it needs me.” She never explains. You never ask. But the next time you see something strange at work—like a balloon tied to a locked supply closet—ENA’s already holding your hand. “Ready to spiral again, business pal?”

[katsukistofu]

ikea meatballs before marriage?

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ touya todoroki x fem reader. fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ your fiancé and you get a little too into playing house when you’re supposed to be furniture shopping for your new apartment.

“you’re home early.” touya smirks. an apron you’re ninety-nine percent sure he stole from the aisle showcasing the ovens with ‘i cook as good as i look’ printed on it is tied around his waist.

“i’m home!” you say cheerfully, playing along with him. 

you take a moment to study “your” kitchen and droop in disappointment. 

it was a bit too dim for your liking, the lighting.

there’s no way you could read the recipe books rei had gifted you without touya having to stand there and hold a flashlight while you did.

but the deep forest green accented cabinets, reaching all the way to the ceiling, were beautiful.

perfect for storing fuyumi’s leftover snacks that her students gifted her yesterday.

she had complained to you over the phone about how there was no space at home since all the cupboards were full of soba noodles, courtesy of your fiancé and little brother-in-law.

touya nervously watches, until he sees as you visibly brighten up, and he lets a little huff out, half in pride, half in relief. 

he knew his pick couldn’t be that bad.

then you spot the fake plant hanging from overhead, and grimace as you see a cluster of even more potted plants under it near the toaster. 

cute in theory, but definitely a fire hazard.

touya notices the little way your eyebrows furrow with doubt, and casually leans against the edge of the sink to distract you from making any more keen observations. 

you giggle at the way he almost knocks off the price tag on it in the process, too busy staring at you to bother noticing. 

“how was work?” your favorite fire hazard asks, reaching out a hand to gently brush a stray lash you didn’t notice from your cheek. 

your face always feels hotter than usual when touya pulls away, even after all this time.

“ugh, so exhausting,” you fan yourself a bit, let out an exaggerated sigh. “the printer blew up and got toner all over my clothes, can you believe it?”

“aw.” there’s a playful sparkle in his eyes as touya innocently frowns in sugary sweet sympathy. “want me to run a bath for you later?”

you can feel your cheeks start to burn. you just took one with him yesterday!

but of course you find yourself stuttering out, “oh, um sure.” 

the memory of his fingers softly massaging your scalp as he helped you wash your hair. the gentlest of touches on your skin as he lathered you in suds, pressing a kiss to your forehead between rinses flood back to you. 

you remember trying to wash his hair one time, but he quickly stopped you by trapping you in his lap, insisting that he wanted to do yours first. like he does during every bath he runs for you when you stay over at the todoroki house.

and he would take just as good care of you, your heart knows, in your cozy new apartment that was waiting for you back in shizuoka too. 

not too far from home, so that everyone could still visit, but not too close either, so the both of you had your own space.

touya grins as a shy expression suddenly crosses over your face, knowing exactly what you’re thinking about. 

with amusement, he watches as you reach over to set your purse on the white marble counter. 

a pair of strong hands claim their usual spot on your waist, holding you in place, and then you’re pulled away until your back bumps against a familiar, firm chest.

“uh-uh, mrs. todoroki.” he murmurs softly in your ear. “i just cleaned that for you before you got home.”

your breath catches. mrs. todoroki?  

“my bad,” is all you can manage to squeak out.

his nose tickles your cheek in response and you giggle at the feeling of his piercings, cold and soothing against your warm skin.

“so. what do you want for dinner today?” touya says, leaning over you to open the fridge. he scans its empty contents with a face so serious that you have to bite back a laugh. 

“what do we have?”

“stale air—i mean,” touya coughs. “uh, salad.”

“that’s it? just salad?” you point an accusatory finger at him, and he snorts at the way you force your eyebrows to scrunch together to make an angry face. so cute.

“oh, you think this is funny? take that apron off right now, you big phony.” 

“yes ma’am.” he laughs airily, reaching behind him to undo the tie when his hands stop. 

touya turns to you with a pout. “can you do it for me? my fingers hurt from cooking and cleaning all day.”

he makes it so hard to stay mad at him, even as a joke. 

you bite your lip to suppress the fond grin growing on your face, but it's too late, touya’s already seen it and he knows you’ll give into him soon enough.

“aw, my poor husband all alone in the house, cooking air and salad. it must’ve been so hard for you.”

he pouts even more. “it really was.”

the giggle you’ve been holding back finally spills from your mouth. he was ridiculous, and you loved him for it. “okay you big baby, i’ll untie it for you.” you move to stand behind him, hands reaching for the back of his waist to untie the neat bow he did for himself earlier.

“i think you mean your big strong husband.” touya leans his weight back into you. 

not enough to hurt you or make you fall, but just enough to give you a hard time undoing the knot of his apron. 

“sewing machine was acting up like crazy today, had to teach it some manners.”

“i’m sure you did.” you fight back another laugh, which turns into a whine as his broad back leans into your face even more. 

“touya stop it! do you want this apron off of you or not?”

you can practically hear him smirk from in front of you.

“i’m okay with anything as long as it keeps your hands on me.”

you step away from him and he lets out a ‘oof!’ as his back thuds against the hard floor of the ikea showroom, taking down a fake plant with him.

touya is donning a new apron when the two of you find yourselves outside of another kitchen showroom. 

“‘relax, i’ll feed you bitches.’ it read in bold. 

you giggle hysterically as he stands there, hands on his hips and looking way too proud of his find, as you snap a pic to send to the groupchat with his siblings.

i’d rather eat poison, natsuo texts back. 

his message is hearted by fuyumi and shoto a few moments later. 

a miffed touya reaches over your shoulder to steal your phone, which you easily let go of and surrender like usual with a laugh.

 his chin rests on your head, your back pressed to his chest as he perches his upper arms on your shoulders to text back. 

after he hits send with a satisfied smirk, the both of you walk onto the set.

the kitchen this time was one with a less colorful theme, yet you hear a sharp intake of breath from touya and you feel your own breath catch in your throat.

the tall windows and generous lighting more than made up for it. 

framed paintings of cranes were hung on the slate gray wall behind the dining table, and the refrigerator was much, much larger than the one you saw touya open before.

familiar indigo petals catch your eye. there was a beautiful painting of rindou flowers next to the window in the kitchen, and you can’t help but stare.

“mom would love those.” touya murmurs from beside you. your fingers lace through his as you smile softly in agreement. 

“she would.”

still in the second showroom, touya’s rummaging inside the cabinets while you study the spice rack. 

imagine all the goodies you could fit in there, from sesame seeds to shichimi togarashi.

you drool thinking about all the miso soups and sweet potatoes you could put them on when he suddenly turns to you.

“i’ve been working on my cocktails while you were at work, by the way.” touya grins, handing you an empty, plastic wine glass from where you’re perched on the granite countertop. “wanna try?”

you raise it to your lips and take a delicate sip of nothing. 

“oh yum! what’d you put in it?”

“kale juice.” he snickers behind his hand. “your favorite.”

you make a disgusted face. “well that’d explain the kick to it.”

“right? i really, really think fuyumi and natsuo would like it.”

“touya todoroki, don’t you dare.”

“hey.” he raises both hands in innocence. “a little kale never hurt anyone.”

“you say that but you hate kale.”

“a little kale never hurt anyone unless it’s me.”

you roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. touya’s hands smoothly guide your legs to hug his waist, bringing you closer to him from where you’re sitting on the counter. he stays standing, towering over you. 

“can’t believe i’m marrying a hypocrite.” your voice is muffled against his shoulder, and he laughs.

suddenly, you gasp and point at the sink. “touya!”

his eyes widen at your raised voice, instinctively looking behind him for bugs to kill because that’s the only time your tone would sound that alarmed.

touya hugs you closer to him protectively. 

you can’t help but melt as his arms wrap even tighter around you, his serious turquoise eyes still scanning around the kitchen for any threats to you.

no bugs. 

no tacky “live, laugh, love”-esque sayings framed on the wall.

which he knows is your biggest interior design pet peeve after binging an insane amount of those house flipping shows with you.

“...what is it?” touya finally asks after a moment of hesitation. 

you giggle at the ticklish feeling of the cold silver of his lip piercing brushing against your forehead as he speaks.

“the dishes aren’t in alphabetical order!”

touya breathes a sigh of relief, then laughs into your neck. 

he pulls away to roll his eyes at you. “you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“what, why?” you laugh, fluttering your lashes at him. so utterly adorable, that he resists the urge to bite you.

touya fights back a blush and averts his eyes from your face, remembering his protective actions. they had been purely instinctive. he reaches up to cover his face with one hand.

“touuu!” you can’t help but laugh harder, reaching up to pry his fingers away from his face. “come on, look at me!”

touya shyly slides his gaze back to you, and lets you take his hand away from his face. 

you lace your fingers through his and lean in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips, which only makes him blush even harder. the chill of the ikea air conditioning did nothing to help.

his eyes trail in the direction of the spice rack you were dreamily looking at earlier.

“why is this crooked?” he frowns, reaching behind you to straighten it.

“pfft is it bothering you?” you take a glance at it. looked okay enough to you.

“yeah it is.” touya’s hands are on the shelf, trying to readjust it into the right position when suddenly—

snap!

the both of your eyes widen at the sound. 

the shelf was upright and more centered than before. 

except now it had a clean split down the middle of it.

of course, touya chooses to focus on the most important part.

“well at least it looks better now.”

and all he can think about as you laugh into his shoulder is that he can’t wait to stand hip to hip with you in your actual kitchen. 

sunshine peeking through the curtains as the two of you make soups, bake each other’s favorite pastries, and indulge in your random middle of the night cravings.

from now until forever.

after lunch in the restaurant, touya adds ikea meatballs to his list of favorite foods. 

you’re pretty sure that’s only because you fed them to him. 

because while you adore him to pieces, he is an unbelievably picky eater, much to fuyumi’s chagrin. 

luckily, he’ll eat anything as long as you’re the one giving it to him.

your sister-in-law thanks you for her lack of headaches when she makes dinner.

in the third kitchen showroom of today, you squint out the window behind the sink.

“i don’t know if i like it.”

“don’t know if you like what?” touya’s still washing his hand in the imaginary water under the faucet that’s clearly never going to start running. his silly self has been there for the past five minutes, at least. 

you hold back a laugh at how meticulous he is about it.

“the view.” 

he looks up and snorts at the wistful gaze you throw out the obviously fake window. 

it had a picture of city scenery taped on the wall outside of it, and the circular shape of a familiar building catches his eye. he recognizes it.

the meguro sky garden in tokyo.

the first place he ever took you out on a date to.

with a fond twitch of his lips, he remembers the way he almost tripped over his feet under the cherry blossom trees when you had suddenly pecked him on the cheek. all those years ago.

touya turns the faucet off, and comes up behind you to lean his head on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. his eyes soften as you nuzzle against his chin. 

he knows that you know he can’t feel any sensations there anymore. 

but god, does touya love that you still touch him in the places where he can’t feel. 

the way you litter soft kisses under his eyes, stroke his forearms as you guide them to your waist. like they’re still a part of him, like he’s not broken.

like he’s always been whole to you, never any less. 

“but sweetheart,” touya muses. “think about how close it's close to the best schools.”

your face heats up as you realize what he’s talking about. like you haven’t thought about it a million times before.

a kid. with him.

his and your kid.

as if the universe read your mind, a very chubby baby being pushed in a cart passes by the opposite side of the window, covering the picture of tokyo’s scenery.

and it stares at touya and you with the judgiest look you’ve ever seen in your life.

the two of you glance sideways at each other and burst out laughing. 

“nevermind,” you giggle, feeling small and safe tucked in his strong arms. “maybe the view isn’t so bad.”

looking softly down at you, the beautiful color of your eyes meets his, and his heartbeat quickens.

touya can’t help but agree.

a familiar weight softly rests on your shoulder when you groggily open your eyes, and your fiancé is close to follow as he stirs beside you.

you flip around to face him from where he was spooning you, giggling at the little trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth as you watch his eyes flutter open.

you feel your breath catch in your throat as you gaze upon him.

his hair is starlight in the morning.

touya, still half-asleep, snuggles against you, completely drunk on your warmth. the soft feeling of your skin against his. 

he doesn’t even try to resist it.

the little giddy smile that tugs at his lips whenever the cool feeling silver of your sapphire embedded ring sparkles under the sunlight pooling through the curtains of your shared bedroom as he laces his fingers through yours.

his own ring softly clinking against the one he gave you.

after moving into the privacy of the apartment, with no prying eyes or nosy siblings randomly bursting into his room, touya loves to sleep with his lips just barely grazing your neck.

whenever you wake up from a  nightmare, he’s already kissing the nape of it, the protective hand he has on your hip smoothing circles into your bare skin.

when he wakes from his, you’re already quietly cradling him in your arms, running your hands through his midnight black hair. 

you really have no idea how hard you make it for him to get up.

but the idea of seeing you happily smile because of him is what gives him the final push to wriggle out of your embrace, and the adorable little pout you give him  almost breaks his heart.

“where you going, tou?”

he grins cheekily, placing a finger on his lips. “it’s a secret.”

there's a grumble from you in response and he smooths the crinkle between your furrowed brows with a gentle kiss.

“i’'ll be back soon, i promise.”

“you better or i’m eating your last pocky.”

he laughs at your threat, as if he wouldn’t give it up to you the moment you asked.

at the sight of your eyes already starting to droop, touya presses another kiss to your forehead. “go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“no.” you pout as his socks pad against the floor when he leaves the room with another laugh. 

huddled up in your floral patterned blankets, you drink in the faint scent of sweet cologne that lingers on them. 

it still smells like him. warm like him, too.

there’s an old photo of touya framed on your nightstand. you love to look at when you fold his and your clothes. 

rei had slipped it out of the family album for you to keep the moment she saw how much you liked it. 

it’s the one where he’s holding a baby shoto like a football in his arms. there’s an easy grin on his face.

you look at it for a little longer, letting a sleepy, content smile spread across your lips. 

until five more minutes pass, and you’re starting to feel impatient.

“shoto!” you call out the doorway in the direction of the guest room you set up for him the day before he came to visit. “what’s your brother doing?”

“cooking.” comes shoto’s soft voice floating down the hallway.

and that’s all it takes for you to get up and rush to the kitchen at lightning speed.

thankfully, the fire alarm hasn’t gone off yet by the time you get there. 

you find touya slicing peaches on the counter, in front of the painting of rindou flowers. there’s a plate of neatly assorted fruit next to him, and your eyes widen as you admire the rose-shaped strawberries. how’d he do that?

“hey.” touya’s eyes narrow playfully when he notices you, putting down the knife. “you’re supposed to be in bed.”

you place your hands on your hips. 

“and you’re supposed to not be burning our new apartment down.” 

throwing a cautious glance at the unmanned pancakes sizzling in the pan beside you, you add on. “with your little brother in it.”

he breathes a laugh and saunters over where you’re standing by the fridge, cornering you to the counter. 

your fiancé grins at your stammers when he leans closer. he can practically feel the heat from your cheeks from here, and touya thinks the tiny house plant overhead grows an inch taller from the sheer warmth you’re radiating.

“stove’s off, sweetheart. they’re not gonna burn.”

“o-oh.” you sigh in relief.

“you worry too much.” touya murmurs softly as holds you in place by the waist to hold up a spoonful of blueberries he forgot to add to the batter. 

your lips reluctantly part to let him feed you, and his heart skips a beat at the hint of a smile on your face.

“mmph!”

suddenly, touya’s lips are on yours and you taste the sweet tartness of the peach he must’ve had before you came over. 

the cold piercing of his tongue teases your mouth and he corners you even further against the cool marble of the counter to make out, just as you hear a pot start to boil and your eyes snap open. 

you’re breathless as you muster all your willpower and break away from him.

“touya, the pot!” 

“oops.” he glances at it, still caging you against the counter with his arms. 

“forgot about that.”

“found your necklace that fell behind the bed last week.” touya says later after breakfast. you’re both sitting on cushions fuyumi and natsuo gifted you at the coffee table in front of the tv, watching ponyo as sunlight seeps into the living room.

it swings it back and forth on his finger and your eyes widen in relief.

“i was looking everywhere for that to wear to shoto’s class party!” 

“i know.” he grins, and you sigh as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. of course he did. 

touya reaches around your neck to securely clasp the back of the necklace’s chain, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“i think i deserve a little reward.”

you giggle, he was so cute.

“thanks touya.” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he pouts.

“not there.” 

“where then?” you smooth your hands against his bedhead and he almost whines when this time, you press a kiss to his forehead. “here?” 

always such a tease, and he adores you for it. 

touya looks like a desperate puppy as he huffs, nudging your nose with his. 

like you didn’t spoil him with kisses yesterday when he fixed the washing machine that was acting up.

you’re still not totally sure how he did it, but that was probably because you zoned out while he was explaining it to you. 

too busy watching the way his forearms flexed as he fixed the pipes behind it and when he’d take whatever wrench or screwdriver he asked you to hand him from the toolbox.

finally, finally your lips find his and you kiss him, soft and sweet.

a cool breeze blows through the open window, and the both of you breathe it in, smelling dewdrops on grass from the rain last night and hints of sunshine. 

touya smiles against your mouth, arms pulling you into his lap so he can taste you better.

you’re stuck with him. 

from now until forever.

“or maybe home is just two arms wrapped around you when you’re at your worst.”

— danagray

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — rin itoshi: in the in-between !

synopsis: after an accident leaves you unconscious for days, you wake up in a quiet hospital room to the soft light of morning and the even softer sight of him by your side.

rin itoshi x reader ⭑ fluff / hurt + comfort / mutual pining / slow burn likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

wc: 705

you wake up slowly, like resurfacing from the bottoms of a still, deep lake.

everything is muffled at first. the hum of machines, the cotton weight of your limbs, the soft ache in your chest. light spills in through half-closed blinds, warm and golden, brushing your skin like a memory. the scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, faint and sterile, but not entirely unpleasant.

you blink. once. twice.

the room is quiet, so quiet, you almost miss the shape of him.

his head is resting on the side of the bed, one arm folded beneath it, the other draped limply over the edge. there's a soft furrow between his brows, a faint crease of exhaustion that even sleep can't erase. his hair falls over his forehead in messy strands, a little longer than usual, like he's been to busy to remember to care.

rin itoshi.

fast asleep, here, next to you.

you don't move. you barely breathe.

there's something oddly surreal about it, like you're still dreaming and this is the part your mind made up for comfort. but he's real. real in the way his hoodie sleeves are bunched up over his forearms. real in the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders. real in the way his pinky grazes yours, so close, you can feel his warmth without touching him.

a knock sounds, gently.

you turn your head.

a nurse steps in with practiced quiet, clipboard hugged to her chest. she sees you, offers a small, knowing smile.

"you're awake," she says softly. "finally."

your throat is dry when you try to speak. "how long...?"

"two days," she replies, adjusting something on the monitor beside you. "he's been here the whole time."

you glance over.

rin doesn't stir. his posture is slack with sleep but something about it still feels tense, like even in unconsciousness, some part of him is still waiting. watching.

"he refused to leave," the nurse adds, her voice a little lighter now. "slept right there. barely touched the food we brought him. i think he was worried you'd vanish if he blinked too long."

you don't know what to respond.

so you don't.

instead, your gaze returns to him, his arms draped so carelessly, fingers twitching in sleep. the corner of his mouth soft. a strange, quiet part of your heart curls inward.

you whisper, "idiot."

maybe he hears it. or maybe some part of him feels your voice. either way, he stirs.

his lashes flutter. his hand shifts. and then those blue-green eyes blink open, unfocused at first. his expression shifts when he sees you. like watching clouds clear from a sky that hasn't seen sunlight in days.

"you're awake," he says.

his voice is raw from sleep yet steady. warm. filled with something that almost feels like a relief.

you nod, a small, tired smile pulling at your lips. "barely."

he sits up a little straighter. stretches his fingers, then curls them into fists. you can tell from the look on his face that he wants to say something, something smart or biting or sarcastic, but he doesn't.

he just exhales.

and stays.

you don’t ask why. not yet. not when he looks like he hasn’t breathed in two days and just remembered how.

“you stayed,” you murmur.

he looks away.

“...someone had to.”

and maybe that’s all he’ll give you. maybe that’s all either of you can handle right now, in this strange haze between the terrifying and the tender. but it’s enough.

he doesn’t say what you already feel in your bones.

that he was scared. that he didn’t know what to do. that something about seeing you like this, hooked up to wires and monitors, split something inside him.

you both say nothing for a while.

the silence isn’t heavy. it’s soft and patient. like the in-between of a breath.

then, gently, his fingers brush yours.

your eyes meet.

neither of you pulls away.

and in that moment, in the quiet echo of machines and half-said things, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this is how it starts. not with a confession. not with a kiss. but with this.

a hand half-held.

a heart almost spoken.

and someone who never left your side.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[wandasreallover]

ceo!wanda drabble|

Based on this photo ^

Title: Behind Closed Doors

The fluorescent lights of the office flickered like a stuttering heartbeat, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of stress. Today had been one of those days. You let out a heavy sigh as you walked through the doors of your apartment, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. Work had knocked the breath out of you—an impossible project deadline, an avalanche of demands from your boss, and the sharp criticism from a client who seemed to take pleasure in belittling your efforts. It felt as if the weight of the world was resting squarely on your shoulders, and it was a burden too heavy to bear alone.

You dropped your bag at the door, the sound echoing in the quiet space. The pent-up tension knotted in your chest; you were too drained to even think about making dinner. Instead, you decided to check in on Wanda, your partner and the indomitable CEO of Stark Financial. Her office was situated on the far side of the sleek, modern apartment you shared, a space that was usually filled with laughter, love, and warmth. Tonight, however, it was quiet, with only the muffled sound of typing breaking the stillness.

As you approached the door, you briefly hesitated. You didn't want to interrupt her again. The week had already been long, and you could see the stress lines etching deeper into her skin each day. Wanda was a force of nature—a cold, calculated leader in the office, yet behind closed doors, her warmth enveloped you like a comforting blanket. You admired her fiercely; still, a part of you felt like a distraction during her busy hours. So, you turned away.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” came a soft voice from the office.

You froze, caught in her web of concern. Wanda had a knack for sensing your presence, even when you thought you had managed to slip away unnoticed.

“I just thought I’d let you work,” you replied, trying to play it off. “You’re busy.”

“Not as busy as my heart when I’m waiting for you to get home,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Come here. I insist.”

You smiled despite yourself, nudging the door open and stepping inside her office. It was meticulously organized—a testament to Wanda’s precise mind. Papers were stacked neatly, and her laptop screen glowed with a kaleidoscope of spreadsheets and graphs. But as she looked up, her expression turned softer—an unguarded glimpse of the woman you adored.

“You look tired,” she remarked, concern furrowing her brow.

“I had a long day,” you admitted, sinking into the chair opposite her desk. “You know, same old stuff. I thought I would let you focus on your… empire.”

Wanda chuckled lightly. “I love my empire, but you are my home.”

The lump in your throat swelled. It was moments like this—where the walls of her icy exterior melted away with little gestures and word choices—that made you feel like you were the happiest person alive.

“I don’t want to take you away from your work, Wanda. I know how important it is to you,” you murmured, shifting in your seat.

“You could never take me away from what really matters,” she reassured. “And right now, that’s you.”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond as you caught the glimmer of sincerity shining in her green eyes. After a moment of hesitation, you slid out of the chair and made your way over to her. You stood beside her, the rich scent of her lavender shampoo wafting toward you, grounding you in the midst of your chaotic thoughts.

Without warning, she reached out and took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours and abruptly pulled you into her lap. “Stay here with me,” she said softly.

You exhaled sharply, feeling the warmth radiating off her, and leaned down, resting your head against her shoulder. She smelled like home—lavender and the faint, intoxicating hint of citrus from her favorite candle. The tension in your body began to unwind as you inhaled deeply, seeking comfort in her presence.

Time ticked by softly, the rhythmic clicking of her keyboard becoming a lullaby that wrapped around you. Her focus on work was unwavering, but you could sense her awareness of you—the way she shifted ever so slightly toward you, anchoring you in her space.

After a while, you felt your eyelids growing heavy. There was something soothing about being near her, something that made you forget the chaos of the day. As the day's exhaustion settled in your bones, you felt the warm tingle of sleep creeping up. You nestled in closer, finding solace against the soft, familiar curve of her neck, inhaling the warmth of her presence as you surrendered to the comfort.

Somewhere in the distance, the clicking of keys grew louder, faster—pulsing with unspoken pressure. But you were enveloped in Wanda’s warmth, and it was where you most wanted to be, despite the storm of her workload.

In a heartbeat, you fell asleep.

Hours passed like fleeting clouds on a lazy afternoon, and Wanda noticed the shift in your breathing—slow and steady, the tension of the day finally giving way to tranquility. She paused her work, grateful for the moment, yet worried about what had caused you such distress. The protective nature that so often emerged in her professional life flared up again, nudging her to gently brush your hair back and press her lips to your forehead.

“You're okay now,” she whispered, a soft promise meant only for you. She knew how hard it had been for you and felt her heart ache wishing she could take every burden from you.

With a weary sigh, Wanda returned to her work, but her heart wasn’t in it anymore. Her thoughts drifted not toward spreadsheets but rather to you: how hard you worked, how tough your days could be, and how all she wanted was to be your rock in the storm.

[jmkjournalblog]

Sweet thing (Part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 4000+

Warnings: Smut, Power dynamics, Mommy kink, manipulation, mild Dom/sub elements, a lot of talking. 

A/n: I couldn't forget this plot that came to me after watching AAA so, here we go. Btw English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

It started with Wanda’s persistent nudging. The woman seemed determined to weave Y/N into the very fabric of Westview, her matchmaking efforts growing more elaborate by the day. When Wanda suggested that Y/N stay with Agatha for a while to "bond" and "learn a few things about life in Westview" Y/N had blushed profusely, her eyes darting to the floor as though the very idea embarrassed her.

Agatha had played along, smiling tightly and shrugging. “Well, if you insist, Wanda,” she said, her tone light, though she was inwardly wary.

Now, as Y/N stood on her doorstep with a small bag, Agatha found herself studying the girl more closely than ever.

“You’re sure about this?” Agatha asked, one brow raised.

Y/N nodded quickly, her cheeks pink. “I don’t want to be a bother,” she said softly. “Wanda just thought…” She trailed off, wringing her hands.

“Oh, don’t worry about Wanda,” Agatha said with a wry smile. “She’s always got some scheme or another. Come on in, sweetie.”

Y/N stepped inside, her movements hesitant as she looked around the cozy living room. Agatha watched her, noting the way her fingers brushed the edge of a chair, her gaze lingering on the trinkets scattered about.

“Make yourself at home,” Agatha said, gesturing toward the couch. “I don’t bite. Usually.”

Y/N laughed softly, though her blush deepened. “Thank you,” she said, sitting on the edge of the couch and folding her hands in her lap.

Agatha leaned against the arm of a chair, crossing her arms as she studied the girl. “So, what’s Wanda got planned for us? Baking cookies? Knitting scarves? Or is this just her way of keeping us both busy?”

Y/N smiled shyly, her gaze dropping. “I think she just wants us to… get along,” she said.

Agatha chuckled. “Oh, we’ll get along just fine, sweetie. As long as you don’t burn the house down.”

The girl was irresistible in her own way—timid, bashful, eager to please. She fluttered around Agatha’s house like a nervous sparrow, her wide eyes full of gratitude and uncertainty. It was disarming, this sweetness that seemed to radiate from her with every clumsy gesture and quiet laugh.

At first, Agatha had kept her distance, watching Y/N from behind her sharp smirks and probing comments. But as the day wore on, the girl’s earnestness began to wear her down.

By evening, Agatha found herself leaning back on the couch, a glass of wine in hand as she watched Y/N kneeling on the floor in front of her, sorting through an old box of books.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Agatha said, her tone warm with amusement.

Y/N looked up, her green eyes wide and innocent. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly, her hands pausing over a dusty tome. “I want to help. You’ve been so nice, letting me stay here and all.”

Agatha chuckled, swirling her wine. “Sweetheart, you’re practically falling over yourself to please me. You don’t need to try so hard.”

Y/N hesitated, her hands faltering as a blush crept up her cheeks. “I just… I want you to like me,” she murmured, her voice soft.

Agatha’s smirk softened, her gaze lingering on the girl. She set her wine down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Oh, honey. I already like you,” she said, her voice rich and velvety. “Maybe a little too much.”

Y/N’s blush deepened, her eyes darting away as she fidgeted with the book in her lap. “You’re teasing me again,” she mumbled.

“Of course I am,” Agatha replied with a grin. “It’s adorable how flustered you get.”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh, the sound shaky but endearing. She set the book aside and shifted onto her knees, her movements hesitant. “You… you really think I’m adorable?”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, sensing the shy vulnerability in the question. She leaned back, her smirk widening. “Oh, absolutely. You’re like a little kitten, all wide eyes and nervous energy. Makes me want to… pet you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hands twisting in her lap as she looked up at Agatha, her cheeks burning. “I… I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha leaned forward, her hands resting on her knees as she studied the girl. There was something intoxicating about Y/N’s deference, the way she seemed to hang on Agatha’s every word, every glance. It sparked a possessive warmth deep in her chest, a need to see how far she could push this timid little thing.

“You don’t have to say anything, sweetie,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and smooth. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Y/N’s cheek.

The girl’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch, her breath catching as Agatha’s thumb traced the curve of her jaw. She leaned into the caress, her lips parting slightly as if to say something, but no words came.

Agatha’s smirk softened into something more indulgent, her gaze lingering on Y/N’s flushed face. “You’re too cute for your own good,” she said, her voice a husky murmur.

Y/N opened her eyes, her gaze meeting Agatha’s with a mixture of nervousness and longing. “Agnes…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Agatha’s name on her lips sent a shiver down her spine. She leaned closer, her hand slipping behind Y/N’s neck as she drew the girl toward her. Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, the warmth of Y/N’s mouth sending a surge of heat through Agatha’s veins.

Y/N gasped against her, her hands flying to Agatha’s arms as she clung to her, her body trembling. Agatha deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in Y/N’s hair as she pulled her closer.

When they broke apart, Y/N’s cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven as she stared up at Agatha with wide, wondering eyes. “I… I’ve never…” she began, but the words caught in her throat.

Agatha’s lips curved into a slow smile, her eyes dark with intrigue as she leaned closer, the warmth of the moment building between them. Her voice softened, dropping to a soothing murmur. "Oh, honey. Is that what’s got you so worked up?"

Y/N nodded, her gaze flitting nervously between Agatha’s eyes and her hands. "I just… I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or… or something." Her voice wavered, tinged with both embarrassment and vulnerability.

"Stupid?" Agatha let out a low, genuine laugh, her chest warming at the sheer adorableness of the girl’s nervousness. She reached out, her fingers brushing gently against Y/N’s cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Y/N flinched slightly at the touch, her lips parting in a soft gasp, and the vulnerability in that small reaction made Agatha’s heart skip.

"Sweetheart," she said, her voice a velvet murmur, "there’s nothing stupid about not knowing. It’s… charming, really." Her smile turned sly, a wicked gleam flickering in her eyes. "Besides," she added, her fingers tracing a slow line down Y/N’s jaw, "I happen to be an excellent teacher."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her wide eyes locking onto Agatha’s. There was a flicker of uncertainty there, but it was layered beneath something else—something that made Agatha’s pulse quicken. Y/N swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she asked, "You’d… teach me?"

Agatha’s smile deepened, satisfaction thrumming in her chest as she leaned closer, their faces mere inches apart. Her thumb brushed lightly over Y/N’s flushed cheek, the skin warm beneath her touch. "Oh, darling," she purred, her tone dripping with promise, "I’d love to teach you. But only if you want me to."

Y/N hesitated, her lips parting as though she were about to speak, but no words came. Instead, she nodded faintly, her eyes fluttering closed as her breathing grew shallow.

The moment stretched, thick with tension, until Y/N whispered, "I… I think I’d like that." Her words were so quiet that Agatha almost didn’t hear them, but the tremor in her voice sent a thrill racing through her.

"Good girl," Agatha murmured, her thumb brushing gently over Y/N’s bottom lip. Her hand tilted Y/N’s chin up, and she leaned in, her lips grazing Y/N’s in a kiss that was soft, tentative—testing the waters.

Y/N whimpered softly, the sound sending a jolt of heat through Agatha as she pressed more firmly against her. She guided Y/N’s chin with her fingers, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and Y/N’s lips parted under the pressure, trembling but eager. Agatha slid her tongue past the girl’s lips, tasting her, savoring the soft, unsure noises that escaped her throat.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, her hands fluttering uncertainly before resting on Agatha’s shoulders. Her fingers clutched the fabric of Agatha’s cardigan, her body trembling as she leaned into the older woman’s touch.

"Relax, sweetheart," Agatha whispered against Y/N’s lips, her voice low and soothing. "Just let me take care of you."

Y/N nodded shakily, her wide eyes brimming with nervous anticipation. Agatha leaned back slightly, her gaze raking over Y/N’s flushed face, the way her lips were slightly parted, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath.

Agatha’s hand drifted down, her fingertips tracing the curve of Y/N’s neck, the delicate line of her collarbone, before coming to rest on her trembling hands. "Give me your hand," she murmured.

Y/N obeyed immediately, her fingers light and hesitant in Agatha’s grasp. Agatha lifted the girl’s hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before trailing her mouth down to the tips of her fingers.

"Have you ever thought about how sensitive your hands are, darling?" Agatha asked, her voice teasing.

"N-No," Y/N stammered, her gaze fixed on Agatha as the older woman took her index finger into her mouth.

Agatha sucked lightly, her tongue swirling around the digit, and Y/N shuddered, a soft gasp slipping from her lips. "You’d be surprised what a little attention here can do," Agatha murmured, releasing the finger with a soft pop and grinning at Y/N’s reaction.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her cheeks a brilliant shade of red as she stammered, "I-I didn’t know…"

Agatha chuckled, her hands slipping to Y/N’s waist as she drew her closer. "Oh, honey, there’s so much you don’t know," she said, her voice low and affectionate. "But don’t worry—I’ll teach you everything."

Her fingers slid beneath the fabric of Y/N’s sweater, palms meeting warm, smooth skin. Y/N inhaled sharply, her body tensing for a moment before melting under Agatha’s touch.

"That’s it," Agatha murmured, her hands traveling upward, exploring the gentle curve of Y/N’s waist, the swell of her ribs.

Y/N whimpered, her head falling forward to rest against Agatha’s shoulder. "It feels… different," she admitted, her voice trembling.

"Good different?" Agatha teased, her fingers brushing just beneath the hem of Y/N’s bra.

Y/N nodded, her breath warm against Agatha’s neck. "Y-Yeah. Good."

"Good girl," Agatha whispered, her hands sliding higher to cup Y/N’s breasts over her bra. The fabric was soft, yielding under her touch, and Y/N arched instinctively into her hands.

Y/N gasped, her hands clutching at Agatha’s sleeves as she trembled in her grasp. "Agnes, I… I don’t…"

"Shh," Agatha soothed, her grin widened as her hands skimmed along Y/N’s waist, her thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles over the soft fabric of her sweater. The girl trembled beneath her touch, her breath quickening, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves.

“You’re so tense,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and coaxing. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

Y/N nodded, her lips parting slightly as Agatha’s hands slipped beneath her sweater, fingertips meeting warm, bare skin. The soft gasp that escaped Y/N sent a thrill through Agatha, her smirk deepening as she pressed her palms against Y/N’s ribs, sliding upward with deliberate slowness.

“That’s better,” Agatha whispered, her lips brushing against the curve of Y/N’s jaw. “Just let go. You’re safe with me.”

Y/N shivered, her head tilting instinctively to the side, exposing more of her neck. Agatha didn’t hesitate, her lips trailing along the delicate skin, leaving light kisses that grew firmer with every lingering touch. Her hands explored further, fingers curling under the hem of Y/N’s bra, testing the boundary before slipping beneath it.

Y/N whimpered, her body arching slightly into Agatha’s touch as her thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin. “Agnes…” she gasped, her voice catching on the name.

The girl’s breath came in shallow, trembling bursts, her hands clutching at the fabric of Agatha’s cardigan as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Agatha savored every reaction—the way Y/N’s body moved, the soft, stuttered sounds that spilled from her lips like a melody meant just for her.

“You’re so sensitive,” Agatha murmured, her lips brushing against Y/N’s temple. “So perfect. You feel how good this is, don’t you?”

Y/N could only nod, her cheeks burning as she whispered, “Y-Yes… It’s so much…”

“That’s the idea, darling,” Agatha said with a low chuckle. “It’s supposed to feel like this.”

She kissed Y/N again, deeper this time, her tongue coaxing the girl’s lips apart. Y/N moaned softly into the kiss, her body melting against Agatha’s as her hands moved to clutch at the older woman’s shoulders.

Agatha’s touch grew bolder, her hands skimming down Y/N’s sides, exploring every curve before settling on her hips. Her fingers teased at the waistband of Y/N’s skirt, brushing lightly against the bare skin just beneath it.

“Can I touch you here?” Agatha whispered against Y/N’s lips, her tone dark with intent.

Y/N hesitated, her breath catching, before nodding shyly. “Yes… Please.”

The eagerness in her voice sent a jolt of heat through Agatha, and she wasted no time, her hand slipping beneath the fabric to cup Y/N over her panties. The warmth, the slickness she felt there, made her smirk as she murmured, “Oh, darling, you’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

Y/N whimpered, her face burying in Agatha’s neck as her hips shifted instinctively toward her touch. “I… I don’t know what to do…” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to do anything, honey,” Agatha reassured her, her fingers stroking gently, coaxing soft moans from the girl’s lips. “Just feel. Let me guide you.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened, her body trembling as Agatha slipped her hand beneath the thin barrier of fabric, her fingers meeting slick, heated skin. The first touch drew a sharp gasp from Y/N, her hips jerking involuntarily.

“So wet for me,” Agatha murmured, her voice laced with satisfaction. “You really are my good girl, aren’t you?”

The words made Y/N whimper, her hands gripping tightly at Agatha’s arms. Her head fell back against the couch, exposing her flushed face, her parted lips, as Agatha’s fingers moved in slow, deliberate strokes.

“You’re doing so well,” Agatha crooned, her thumb finding Y/N’s clit and circling it lightly. “You’re beautiful like this, you know that? Absolutely stunning.”

Y/N moaned, her body arching as she struggled to process the overwhelming sensations. “It’s… It’s too much,” she breathed, her hands clutching at Agatha’s sleeves.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” Agatha murmured, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear. “Just let it happen.”

Y/N’s hips bucked against her hand, the heat building between them until every movement, every sound, seemed to reverberate in Agatha’s chest. Then it happened—Y/N’s voice broke on a trembling word, soft and desperate.

“Mommy…”

The room stilled for a beat. Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as the realization of what she’d said sank in. “I—I didn’t mean to—” she stammered, her face burning with mortification.

Agatha paused, then a slow, wicked grin spread across her face. “Mommy?” she repeated, her voice dripping with amusement.

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please, forget I said that!”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Agatha said, chuckling as she gently pried Y/N’s hands away. “You can’t just say something like that and expect me to let it go.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Y/N squeaked, her face crimson. “It just… slipped out!”

Agatha’s smirk softened, her hand stroking Y/N’s cheek as she murmured, “Relax, honey. I’m not mad. In fact…” Her lips brushed against Y/N’s ear, her voice a low purr. “I think I like it.”

Y/N froze, her breath catching. “You… you do?” she whispered.

“Mm-hmm,” Agatha hummed, her hand slipping back to rest on Y/N’s hip. “It suits you, darling. And me, too, don’t you think?”

Y/N hesitated, her blush deepening, before nodding shyly. “Okay… Mommy.”

Agatha’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm, tracing lazy circles over the girl’s clit. Each stroke drew a soft gasp or trembling moan from Y/N’s lips, her body arching into Agatha’s touch as if chasing more. The heat between them was electric, crackling with every shift of Y/N’s hips, every stuttered breath that escaped her throat. Agatha reveled in the power she wielded, her hand slipping lower to explore the slick, inviting folds beneath her fingertips.

Y/N’s thighs trembled as Agatha’s fingers teased her entrance, her movements unhurried but purposeful, testing her reaction with every touch. The girl’s wetness coated Agatha’s fingers, the tangible proof of her arousal sending a thrill through the older woman. With a deliberate slowness, Agatha slid a finger inside, the heat and tightness wrapping around her making her exhale sharply. Y/N tensed for a moment, a sharp intake of breath escaping her, before her body relaxed again, adjusting to the new sensation.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as she began to move her finger in slow, shallow strokes. Her thumb continued its lazy circles over Y/N’s clit, coaxing soft, breathless whimpers from her.

Y/N’s hands clung to Agatha’s arms, her nails pressing lightly into her skin as her body writhed beneath her touch. Her head fell back, her lips parted as quiet, desperate moans spilled freely from her.

Agatha took her time, savoring every moment, every reaction. She added a second finger, sliding them deeper, her pace measured but firm. The way Y/N’s walls clenched around her, the soft cries that escaped her lips—it was intoxicating, a symphony Agatha wanted to play forever.

The girl’s hips began to move in rhythm with Agatha’s hand, her body instinctively chasing the pleasure. Agatha leaned down, her lips finding Y/N’s neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing it with a kiss. Y/N whimpered, her hands fisting in Agatha’s cardigan as the sensations overwhelmed her. The steady, relentless motion of Agatha’s fingers against that sweet spot inside her combined with the teasing pressure on her clit to push her closer to the edge.

The tension in Y/N’s body built with every stroke, her moans growing louder, more desperate. Agatha’s grin widened as she felt the girl tremble beneath her, her thighs quaking as the pressure mounted.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and soothing, though her fingers never faltered. She curled them slightly, pressing against that sensitive spot that made Y/N cry out, her back arching. Her thumb circling Y/N’s clit with just enough pressure to make her whimper. “Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

The words were all it took. Y/N’s body tensed, her thighs clamping around Agatha’s hand as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. A strangled moan tore from her lips, her hips bucking as the orgasm took hold, overwhelming her with its intensity.

Agatha didn’t stop, her fingers moving gently to guide Y/N through it, her touch steady and reassuring. She kissed Y/N’s temple, her hand cradling her head as the girl’s body shuddered in her arms, her moans softening into breathless whimpers.

When Y/N finally stilled, her body going limp against the couch, Agatha withdrew her hand carefully, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. She looked at Y/N, her face flushed and her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, and couldn’t help the satisfied smile that tugged at her lips.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, her thumb brushing over Y/N’s cheek. The words were soft, almost tender, as she leaned down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of Y/N’s mouth.

Y/N barely managed a nod, her hands weakly clutching at Agatha’s cardigan as she whispered, “Thank you…”

Agatha’s hand lingered on Y/N’s cheek for a moment longer before she leaned back, brushing her hair away from her face. “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice warm but firm. “Let’s get you settled upstairs. You’ve had quite the night.”

Y/N nodded sleepily, her face still flushed, her body pliant as Agatha helped her to her feet. The younger woman swayed slightly, and Agatha steadied her with a firm grip on her arm, guiding her toward the staircase.

The walk upstairs was unhurried, the house bathed in the soft, golden glow of dimly lit sconces. Agatha’s hand remained on Y/N’s waist, steadying her, the closeness oddly comforting. The stairs creaked faintly beneath their steps, the sound blending with the faint hum of the nighttime stillness.

At the top of the stairs, Agatha turned toward her bedroom. She pushed open the door, revealing a cozy space with dark wood furnishings and a bed neatly made with a deep plum-colored quilt. The air smelled faintly of lavender and aged books, a mix uniquely hers.

“You’ll stay in here,” Agatha said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She crossed to a dresser, pulling open a drawer and rummaging for something suitable. “Can’t have you sleeping in your day clothes.”

She returned with a pair of soft, well-worn pajama pants and a loose button-up shirt. Agatha handed them to Y/N with a smirk, her eyes flicking down to the girl’s legs. “These might be a little short on you, honey. You’ve got a few inches on me, but they’ll do.”

Y/N took the clothes with a shy smile, the faint pink still lingering in her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured, holding the bundle close.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Agatha said, gesturing toward a door on the side of the room. “Get changed and come back. I’ll grab some extra blankets.”

Y/N nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking softly shut behind her. Agatha busied herself gathering an extra pillow and a quilt from the closet, her mind lingering on the events of the evening. The girl had melted so sweetly under her touch, her reactions raw and unfiltered. There was something deeply satisfying about coaxing such vulnerability out of her.

When Y/N returned, she was wearing the borrowed clothes, the pajama pants ending just above her ankles, the hem of the shirt brushing against her thighs. The fabric hung loosely on her frame, giving her an air of casual innocence that made Agatha’s smirk return.

“Not bad,” Agatha teased, tossing the quilt onto the bed.

Y/N ducked her head, a soft laugh escaping her. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha chuckled, patting the space beside her on the bed. “Come on, hop in.”

Y/N obeyed, slipping under the covers and settling on her side of the bed. Agatha slid in beside her, adjusting the quilt before resting her head against the pillows. The space between them felt charged, but not uncomfortably so.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Agatha murmured, her voice softened by the dark.

“Goodnight, Agnes,” Y/N replied, her voice small but content.

Agatha closed her eyes, her breathing evening out as the house settled into silence. Her body relaxed, lulled by the warmth of the girl beside her, her usual wariness dulled by the exhaustion of the day.

Y/N, however, lay awake. Her gaze flicked to Agatha, the older woman’s peaceful face illuminated faintly by the moonlight slipping through the curtains. Slowly, Y/N’s lips curved into a grin—a sharp, wicked expression that twisted her previously innocent features.

Agatha’s trust, her affection—it was all falling perfectly into place.

[precure1ove-archive]

hello! can i request malleus w a prefect or so reader, it doesnt matter that much to me tbh, on their honeymoon w tooth rotting fluff + kissing n cuddles? thank youu! ^v^

sun kissed mornings w. malleus draconia

byi : kissing, non-sexual intimacy, small angst?, aged up characters, prefect reader

a/n : this ask was so cute !! i listened to a night to remember by beabadoobee and laufey while writng and i think that set the mood, maybe?

A deep puff of air wafts behind you, tickling your skin, arms shift slightly around your waist and you seem to get even closer to the fae behind you.

The room you were in was painted golden, soft calls of seagulls and waves crashing over each other could be heard if you listened carefully.

Blinking softly as your vision became less blurry while you were waking up. Malleus was wrapped behind you, in a deep sleep you presume, if his snoring was anything to account for. You turn around in his arms, now getting a better look at his face.

Soft parted lips, eccentric markings now visible as you mess around with his hair. Enjoying the free reign of admiration of waking up earlier than him for once. 

“...hm.. It’s unfair how handsome you are..”

Your hands slide down, cradling his face -though something caught your eye- a content smile and two striking green eyes staring back at you. 

A kiss to the inside of your wrist as he pulls you even closer, trying to merge your bodies into one.

“Did I wake you?” you mumble into his shoulder, now playing with the silky strands of his hair.

“I awoke when I felt you move” A kiss to your neck now. He's being rather affectionate this morning.

Though you understand, it is your honeymoon after all. Thinking back, you never would have thought of marrying the weirdo outside ramshackle, too busy trying to get back to your old world. 

Now you never want to leave, especially not without him by your side.

Your head leaves his shoulder, resting against the fluffed up pillows. If you could stare at Malleus all day you wouldn't oppose such an idea, he looked as if he was personally sculpted by a goddess.

“I appreciate the compliments my dear, but isn't it too early?” He smirks back at you, seemingly lighting up at your image of him. Perhaps he enjoyed too much with how he was leaning in.

There was a kiss on your forehead, your cheek, underneath your ear,  jawline. The tip of your nose, your brow, the corner of your mouth. 

Then he stops, grinning proudly of the pinkish hue complimenting your features, even after all these years you're so easy to tease.

“I think you missed a spot” you pat a finger onto your lips, appreciating his shocked look at your boldness, not before his devilishly heart stopping smirk appears again.

“It seems I have.. I might have to go over it again, so I won't miss it this time.” You snicker at his words, meeting him halfway for the kiss. 

If there's one thing you love about your relationship with malleus it would definitely be the kisses. There's always something so intimate when kissing him, as if he stopped you would completely disappear, like you were planning to all that time ago. That's why he goes deeper, embracing you closely. Afraid that any time, you'll leave him. 

You part to try and catch your breath and he only parts so you can do so. 

“..are …we planning.. anything... today?”, you manage to get out, taking small gasps of air between each word. 

“..No, let's just stay in bed.” When he says it like that, head already so close to yours and eyeing your lips so desperately, you would be cruel to refuse. So you lean in for another kiss, and another, and another. All throughout the morning.

likes & reblogs appreciated

masterlist⠀ — ⠀ request here