#IVE BARELY WRITTEN THE BEGINNING SOS

[bakatenshii]

is this the longest fic I’ll ever have written? (maybe)

[rottengurlz]

oc introductions

[bluukive]

Bump !

coɴтεɴт - MDNI, sēxual content under the cut, fem! Reader, dry hūmping, needy reader, equally needy Toji (he thinks he's nonchalant but he's not), dirty talk, he nūts in his sweats

cнαrαcтεrѕ - Toji x reader

an - ive never written smut in my life idk why I wrote this mb gang.

You didn't think your afternoon with Toji would end up like... this. All wound up on your stupidly smug boyfriends lap.

"Hey- now. Cmon, this isn't funny!"

But Toji thinks it's funny. He thinks it's hilarious the way you're trying to act unbothered. As if your pussy wasn't betraying you at that moment, clenching around nothing and pulsing softly against his thigh. The thick muscle tenses underneath you, making your breath hitch. Toji could feel it all.

Toji wraps a bulky arm around your waist lazily as you sit on his lap, pulling you closer as the taut muscle flexes against you. He murmurs in your reddening ear, his voice low and mockingly gentle. "You always act so innocent, like you've never even thought about... you know..."

"No. I don't know," you retort whilst trying to stay casual about the whole ordeal.

"You're fidgeting, sweetheart - twitching every time I move. And your breathing? It changed the moment you sat down."

Toji's lips brush against your ear, maddeningly slow. His stupidly attractive scar rubbed against the tender skin, sending waves of heat directly to your lower region. That's why you grip onto his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself, cursing at how observant your boyfriend was.

But it doesn't work. You're shaking like a damn leaf and shifting in a poor attempt to get comfortable.

Toji adjusts his posture, spreading his legs wider as he lounges against the couch, one arm draped lazily across the back.

"Well, aren't you comfortable?" He practically purrs in a casual tone that's at odds with the way his thumb is currently tracing circles on your hip.

You can feel the thick digit dig in slightly. There's a subtle tensing in his jaw as his lidded eyes briefly flicker over your trembling body.

Isn't Toji just cruel to take his sweet time, knowing your hips are just aching to stutter in their place over his leg? His thumb gently pulls your bottom lip down as he leans in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth first, then trailing along the soft curve of your jawline.

And then his lips are on yours. Finally.

The sensation of Toji capturing your bottom lip between his has you short-circuiting. The gentle sucking sounds as he pulls at your lip, punctuated by soft, contented hums from him. Your own ragged breathing and quiet gasps fill the silence between kisses. The occasional wet, smacking sound when he releases your lip only to recapture it.

"Mm-"

His hand slides into your hair, tangling there as he holds you just where he wants you. You're subtly leaning in, chasing his lips when he pulls back slightly, your breath catching in your throat. Your fingers have found their way to his chest, unconsciously gripping his shirt. And so your hips begin to shift. You're unaware of your humping, barely conscious of the small tingles of pleasure shooting up to your short-clad pussy.

He smirks slightly, loosening his grip just enough to allow a tiny shift of your ass.

"Seems like someone's getting restless." His tone remains casually amused, even as he subtly adjusts you on his lap for better alignment.

"Can't help yourself, can you?"

He maintains that blasé expression, but his eyes betray a flicker of intense heat as he takes in the sight of you, flushed and breathless.

Your cheeks flame an even deeper red, a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "Shut up," you stammer, trying to sound defiant but failing as your voice wavers.

"Got it baaad for me, don't ya? Pathetic." His hand slides down to your ass, squeezing teasingly through the damp shorts. You let out a string of incoherently breathy groans, the sounds doing nothing to soften your boyfriend's aching cock.

Toji thinks for a second, wanting you to chase your orgasm on your own. His eyes are visibly glazed over behind all that teasing.

"Hmph. You wanna act like a desperate little thing, don't ya? Go on then, show me how bad you want it."

He watches with a mix of amusement and arousal as you clumsily try to hump his thigh, his expression softening slightly despite himself. He can feel the heat radiating from your core, the dampness seeping through your panties and onto his leg.

Toji's cock stirs noticeably in his sweatpants, tenting them slightly as he watches you hump his thigh. He reaches down to adjust himself casually, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your eyes widen slightly as you notice him adjusting himself, a fierce flush spreading across your cheeks. You pause in your humping, looking up at him with wide eyes before quickly looking away, your face burning with embarrassment. Toji was quite literally your boyfriend. He didn't care whether you saw him adjust himself or not.

He glances down at you, taking in your pause with a bemused smirk. "Taking a break already? You've got enugh stamina to keep going, doll. Don't be lazy." His voice is playful teasing, his free hand gently ruffling your hair in a supportive yet slightly condescending manner.

There's a brief pause between you both, tension thick in the air. Toji decides to take matters into his own hands, literally. He gently grabs your arm, pulling you closer to him if that is even possible.

"You want help?" He asks gruffly, his eyes locked onto yours, waiting for a response or any sign that you actually want guidance. "Say it. Repeat after me. 'Please, Toji. I can't do it by myself.'"

"Fuck. That's - that's embarrassing," you're choking out. You were testing the waters in this new relationship, unsure as to how far you could actually let the lust cloud over your frazzled mind. It seemed as if you could go pretty far, though.

Eventually, you gave in, the wet, sloppy ache between your legs too prominent to ignore. Not to mention the click of the tongue you heard emitting from your partners mouth, subtle, and disapproving. "Please, Toji. Help me get off. I - I can't do it by myself."

He smirks, caving in after seeing the subtle way your glossy lower lip juts out. Finally, Toji's burly hands settle on your hips, already setting a slow and lewd rhythm that makes you tense up and fall onto his chest with a shiver.

It's nothing like you've ever felt before. Toji's hands tighten on your hips as he guides you over his thick, muscular thigh, the limb clenching to provide additional stimulation. He can feel the heat of your pussy pressing against him, the wetness seeping through his pants.

"That's it, just like that. Atta girl," He murmurs, his voice deep and soothing as he watches your lower half gyrate so well under his guidance. A small smirk plays on his lips as he sees how lost you are in the sensation. His hands stay on your hips, giving you the occasional squeeze or nudge to keep you moving just the way he likes.

"Fuck. Huhh...," You're panting, body hunched over as you chase your orgasm. To Toji's disapproval, though. He tuts at you, stopping your hips completely and making a frustrated grunt leave your throat.

"Mmm, not quite. Arch that back like you mean it." His commanding tone mixes with a teasing lilt as he gives your hip a playful smack. You winced, immediately pressing your clothed tits to his, back curving into a delicious arch. Toji made a mental note to free those later.

Heh, just how he likes.

Toji notices the more needy difference in your demeanour, how you seem to naturally seek his approval. He likes it. He likes how you look, arching your back for him. He gives your hip another light smack.

"Better. Muuuuch better. Knew ya had it in ya."

A subtle thwack is delivered to your ass, making you hide your face into the crook of his neck. Toji lets out a low, satisfied sigh as he watches you move. His breath hitches slightly when you buck your hips particularly hard, the sound coming out as a deep.

"Mmm." He murmurs praise under his breath, "So greedy for it."

He tightens his grip on your ass, using it to direct your movements as he lifts you slightly, then presses you down hard onto his thigh.

"Like this, just like this, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my thigh..." His voice has a commanding undertone, yet remains intimate and teasing. You could hear the deep baritone of his voice rumble all the way to your pussy as you writhed and grinded against him.

"K-kiss me. Please," you mumbled almost drunkenly. Toji obliged and could feel the inexperience reflected in the eager but clumsy movement of your lips against his own. Your tongue darts out, lacking a rhythm, trying earnestly to mimic what you've seen in movies. It's adorably awkward and rather endearing.

Toji chuckles softly against your lips, finding the clumsy kiss rather charming. He gently parts his lips, allowing you to stumble inside. He doesn't deepen the kiss. Instead, he lets you set the pace, occasionally murmuring against your mouth.

"Slooower, baby..."

He's grabbing your ass completely now, noticing the signs of your oncoming orgasm. His hips are flushed against yours, and oh, the friction is delicious. Lewd, sloppy noises emit from your wet cunt as you bumped against his ridiculously prominent erection.

"Like - like that. Just like that... oh, I feel -" the babbles increased in pitch as you both groaned and grinded in tandem against each other. Your breath puffs against Toji's lips, the tip of your nose nudging against his own as he begins to grind upwards into you. You were glad for the fabric covering you both. Otherwise, he'd be balls deep within you. It's a tempting idea, but neither of you were thinking straight, if at all.

You could feel his clothed cock slamming against your short-clad pussy with a lewd squelching sound.

"Fuuuuck yeah. Hump back on my cock. Use me. Get yourself off on me."

Toji's words just kept tumbling from his lips feverishly. There wasn't a single coherent thought going through his brain when he eyed your hips increasing its sluggishly desperate tempo.

"Feels....sooo good, hah.." You're shaking your head, tummy caving in as your orgasm nears. The dull thudding in your pussy grows until your body floods with an intense heat that has your mind blanking.

He's pushing away his orgasm as best as he can, wanting to see you come undone first. And you do just that, body twitching as your toes curl uncontrollably. Toji watches, mesmerized, as your face contorts in ecstasy, your eyes rolling back, and your mouth falling open in a silent shudder.

He hears your high-pitched whimper, followed by a breathless, trembling "Oh, fuuuck," that's drawn out seconds into the orgasm.

Agonisingly quick and without any proper rhythm, Toji's hissing out soft curses. His muffled groans rumble through his chest as he grips your hips tighter, grinding you down onto his twitching erection. Panting heavily, he focuses all his remaining energy on bucking upwards, desperate to overstimulate your clit through layers of fabric.

"S-so much..." You're groaning against the strong muscle of your boyfriends neck that's coated in a light sheen of sweat. Toji feels your nose dig into the skin, rubbing affectionately as the hot, creamy wads of his release soil his sweats.

It takes a few minutes for both of you to regain any sort of sense, the air hot and heavy between you. A thick finger runs lightly up your inner thigh, Toji's eyes watching as you flinch and twitch at the gentle touch.

He chuckles softly, "You're still shivering..." He brings his fingers closer to your most sensitive area, hovering just above without touching.

You're gently pushing his hand away as the afterschocks of your collective orgasm die down, to which he chuckles and kisses your temple.

"...did you cum in your sweats?"

He kisses your temple again, a mix of amusement and satisfaction in his voice. "Mmm...? Yes, I did." His hand trails down your side lovingly.

"Feel how wet it is..." Toji murmurs in a sultry manner. The slut guides your hand to press against the soaked fabric at his crotch. With a catty grin, he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"Just imagine how much better it would be with nothing between us next time."

Uhm, so what the hell was even that... I've never actually felt the (consensual) touch of a man so I was lowk freestyling 🙏🙏

[froggibus]

Sex Rocks! - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: AMAB! Sloan Cameron x fem! Reader (reader uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Sloan is in for much more than they bargained for when they find a statue with magical properties—and you might be the only one who can help them out

CW: porn with plot, AMAB! Venture, sex pollen (but it’s a magical sex statue), dubcon, masturbation, showering, dirty thoughts (abt reader), slight voyeurism, blowjob, hair pulling, face fucking, cum swallowing, cock riding, mating press, multiple orgasms, protected AND unprotected sex, doggy style, multiple rounds, overstim, lots of cum, (think that's everything) use of the word shaft (im so sorry i hate this word but there’s only so many synonyms for dick)

yes the title is a pun ^.^ i meant to post this way earlier in the day but i got distracted and didn't end up finishing til tonight and it came out WAY LONGER than i thought. this is fr the longest smut ive ever written. anyway venture whores hope you all enjoy <3

It must’ve been Sloan’s lucky day. After barely an hour of searching, the glittering artifact they’d been looking for seemed to jump right out. Though the dusty gold colour blended in with the shimmering sand of the cavern, the three pink gems of the small statuette seemed to call to them. 

The figure was cold to the touch and buttery, barely bigger than the size of their hand. It was shaped like a beautiful curvy woman, with full breasts accentuated with the pink stones and a thick tummy—the likeness of some old, forgotten deity that Sloan could never remember the name of. 

They took out a soft piece of cut cloth and wrapped the statue before tucking it in their pack and beginning the short trek to the surface. Sloan buzzed the whole way up, that warm tingling washing over them. The kind they always felt when they found a new artifact, or when you laughed at one of their dumb jokes. 

As the surface came into view, the golden sunshine just beginning to dip below the horizon, the warmth grew stronger. It had been a hot day, and it seemed that though the sun was setting, the heat had not yet begun to dissipate. They took a long pause, letting themself rest on the rocks outside of the cave.

Wiping the sweat away from their forehead, they took a big drink from the canteen of water they’d brought along with them. It was a short trek, they weren’t usually this sweaty and parched from something so basic—but with the warmth of the day at its peak, they shrugged it off.

The car they’d taken was only just down the trail, maybe ten minutes away. With one last sip of their cold water, they tucked it into their pack and started the walk back. The sky was turning pink as they set off, but slowly turned to purple and then the rich black of night.

Despite the day’s end, the heat only grew more unbearable with the walk. Their thighs cramped as they made their way down the trail, their heart beginning to race. Whatever, they tried to ignore it and power through to the car.

Sweat coated Sloan’s forehead and chest by the time they made it to their vehicle. Their hair was slicked to the back of their neck, and the t-shirt they’d been wearing was rendered near see-thru. 

“Jeez,” they sighed, tugging off their t-shirt.

They tossed the sweaty fabric into their backseat along with their pack before sliding in the front seat to drive. They kept the AC on full blast the whole trip back home, though it did little to stop the boiling in their blood. 

Sloan was just pulling off the highway when a gasp forced its way out at the sudden tight feeling in their pants. They risked a glance down to their hard cock now straining against the thick fabric of their carharts. They shook it off, turning onto their street and trying to ignore the feeling of the bulge in their pants only growing with each minute.

It was almost painfully hard by the time they made it home. Sloan almost forgot their pack in the back of the car in their race to get inside and free their aching cock from the fabric that confined it. 

A sigh ghosted their lips when their cock sprung free from their boxers and they wrapped their sweaty palm around it. Their core was near sweltering, their cock throbbing in need. 

With a glance at the door to make sure it was locked behind them, Sloan spat in their hand and started to spread it across their aching cock. A shiver crawled its way up their spine, acting as a brief reprieve from the heat that threatened to consume them. They clamped a hand over their mouth and began to slide their hand up their length.

With barely a touch, they were already so sensitive. Pre cum dripped down the tip, pooling across their fingertips and mixing with the saliva already spread over their skin. They squeezed harder, dragging their hand up and down faster. Their muffled moans vibrated against the clammy skin of their palm, their eyes falling shut as their hand fell into a rhythm.

Thoughts of you filled their head. Thoughts of your smile, of your warm skin, of pinning you to the bed and using you however they pleased. Sloan gasped, opening their eyes as they came into their palm.

Fuck. Cum rolled across their fingers, down their still hard cock and collected into the hair at the base of their pubic bone. They smeared the remainder of the cum on their thighs, shaking off the aftershocks of their orgasm and deciding a cold shower would solve both the mess they made, and the throb between their legs.

With their clean hand, they dragged their backpack with them all the way to their bedroom, tossing it in the corner before grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom. They didn’t wait for the water to warm before stripping and stepping beneath the brisk stream.

The cool water settled the burning beneath their skin—but only just barely. Much to Sloan’s dismay, it also did nothing to soothe the ache between their legs. It was almost embarrassing, having an unrelenting boner for no reason like they were in school again.

They sighed, squeezing some coconut scented body wash into their hand and slicking across their cock. They didn’t bother to change the water back to warm, instead opting to let the frigid stream drip down their back. The nice smelling soap felt much, much better than their own spit—but they could imagine a few things that would feel even better.

Like your pretty lips wrapped around their tip, those kind eyes of yours pleading at them to cum in your mouth and—Sloan moaned, fingers clenching around their hard length. Just the thought of you touching them, or them touching you, was enough to have Sloan gasping and furiously jerking their cock.

Drops of soap flew away from their palm with every stroke, splattering the tile of the shower in front of them. God, wouldn’t they love to do that to you. What they wouldn’t give to do that to you. To have you lay down in front of them, completely at their mercy while they fucked you relentlessly and left you covered in their cum.

Their cock twitched, and then they were cumming. Wave after wave of hot cum burst out, coating the tile in front of them before being washed away by the water. Hard, shaking breaths wracked their chest as their senses returned to them and they could once again feel the cool water against their tanned skin. 

As they looked at the cum mixing with the water down the drain, all they could think was ‘what a waste.’

It only took ten minutes after their shower for the tingling in their cock to become unbearable again. The heat had returned almost immediately—and with a vengeance—but they’d managed to ignore the tenderness between their legs for only ten minutes.

Sloan was glad they didn’t bother putting their clothes back on as they settled into their bed and grasped their shaft once more. Cumming once or twice a day was normal for them, but this was something else entirely. Something had to be wrong.

Sloan pushed away their fears and started once again stroking their dick, leftover water and precum acting as a lubricant for their hand to easily slide around. They closed their eyes, and let themself think of you once more. 

How their cum would look running down your thighs, or splattered on your back. How nice your hands would feel gripping their cock, how you’d just beg them to fuck you.

Sweat dripped down their chest, wetting their tummy and the dark hair at the base of their cock. How long had they been jerking off this time? They risked a teary eyed glance at the screen of their phone—had it really been almost twenty minutes since they laid down in bed?

Twenty minutes and they were no closer to coming, but their dick was growing uncomfortably hard. A sigh passed through their lips. Their hand wasn’t enough, they needed something more, something hotter. 

Their mind went to you, pleasure hazed thoughts wondering if they called you, would you come? Would you help them? Before they could think it through, their fingers were dancing across the screen. Just the sight of the tiny contact picture of you at the top of their screen had them squeezing tighter, thick drips of pre cum rolling down their tip.

Sloan lets themself fall back into bed, their mind dancing away to thoughts of you sinking down on their cock. They roll their head to the side, their eyes catching sight of the bag they’d carelessly tossed in the corner just before their shower. 

Could the statue have done this? There were myths surrounding it, sure, but this? The thought was preposterous a week ago. Now though, with their insatiable lust, the thought doesn’t seem so crazy to Sloan.

Shit. They shouldn’t drag you into this. If it really is the statue, they don’t want to expose you to this. They reach for their phone to ask you not to come, to send you away, but just as their palm reaches the cold metal, the front door clicks open.

“Sloan?” You call, peaking your head in the front door. As soon as you’d gotten their message, you’d left your house. You’re talking more to yourself than them at this point, tiptoeing through the dark of their home. “I used the spare key you gave me to get in…are you here?”

Sloan bit their lip at the sound of your voice, risking a glance to the bag that contained the statue. Maybe inviting you here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“In here!” they call. Their voice is raspy, dripping with the need radiating from their core.

You follow the sound of their voice to the closed door of their bedroom, warm light leaking out from the cracks. It’s Sloan, and they don’t sound like they’re in danger, but something about their voice…

You push open the door. It takes two seconds for you to scan the room, two seconds for your eyes to fall on Sloan—sweaty, writhing and desperately jerking their cock in bed—and two seconds for you to turn away, covering your eyes.

“Shit,” you gasp. “I–I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

But it’s strange. They called you here to help them, they knew you were going to come into their room—was this what they needed your help with? You couldn’t help but clench your legs at the thought, a heat rushing to your core.

Sloan’s voice cut through the darkness of your hand. “I-it’s okay,” they say. “You can look.”

You slowly peel your hand away from your eyes. Though they covered themself with a blanket, you could still see the glistening skin of their chest, and the up-down motion of their hand beneath the fabric. 

Sloan knows it’s shameless of them to keep stroking their cock while talking to you, while you’re right there watching—but they can’t stop. Now that you’re here in front of them, the pressure’s increased tenfold.

You squint. “What’s going on?”

“I found that statue.” They keep jerking off.

“And?”

“The rumors about it were true.”

“Fuck,” you curse. 

When they’d been telling you about the myths behind the statue, you’d both laughed it off, stealing wanton glances at each other as you did. They’d assured you it wasn’t possible, that there was no scientific reason a statue would bear unto its users an insatiable appetite for sex.

Seeing them now, though, all sweaty and desperate, has you thinking they were wrong. 

“Sloan,” you say calmly, stepping in the room and gently shutting the door behind you, “what can I do to help?”

They bite your lip, and it’s just now that you notice their eyes are almost completely black in lust. A shiver runs up your spine. 

They pull back the blanket. “Touch me,” they swallow. “Please.”

You glance at their thick, throbbing cock dripping in precum. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in the worst possible way. It wouldn’t be right—they’re clearly not thinking straight. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sloan’s not sure whether it’s the statue, or their frustration, or some terrible combination of the two that prompts them to say, “oh don’t tell me you haven’t been wanting me to fuck you for months.”

Their brazenness sends another wave of heat to your core, your underwear suddenly feeling wetter than usual. “Sloan,” you say carefully.

“If you’re worried about consent,” they rasp. “I want it. All the time. For months, too. I think about it nonstop.”

Their words ease your nerves, and you find yourself approaching their bedside. Your eyes stayed glued to their cock and the hand furiously stroking it. “What do you think about?”

They watch you, dedicating each pump of their length to you. “I think about you while I fuck myself. I think about—about fucking you, and having you bounce on my cock and—god.”

You sink down on the bed next to them, wrapping your hand around the one rubbing their dick. “Let me.”

They slide their hand away, letting you take over. Already, your hand feels a million times better than theirs ever did, the ache in their core finally beginning to relent. They lay their head back, watching your hand glide across their sticky skin.

They suck in a breath. “Fuck,” they look at you through their lashes. “Use your mouth.”

You’re taken aback by their command. Their cock looks so inviting, dripping wet and throbbing in your palm. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had which only makes you want it more.

You look them in the eyes while you lick a bead of precum away from the tip. Sloan shivers, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling you down. You gasp as you take their cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it. It’s salty, a mix of sweat and precum, with a strange undertone of coconut—but it’s just how you imagined it.

Your jaw strains to take them into your mouth, their tip hitting the back of your throat after only a few seconds. You gag slightly, but Sloan only pushes your hand down further, groaning at the warmth of your mouth. This was exactly what they needed.

As soon as you start to see black spots, they pull you off. A strand of drool connects your lips to their length, dripping and coating your chin. They hum at the sight of you, so filthy already.

“Do you like how it tastes?”

You’re so flustered, so bewildered by the situation that you can only nod, clenching the base of their cock. You put your lips back on their tip and eagerly slide down for more. Their calloused fingers still tug at your hair, using the strands like reins to push and pull you how they see fit.

Sloan watches you intently the whole time, admiring the spit that coats your mouth and the way your throat bulges when they pull you a certain way. They’ve dreamt about fucking you for months now, but none of their wildest dreams could ever compare to this.

Despite the way your eyes water, Sloan pulls you down further. You look so fucking cute choking on their thick cock—they can’t help it. When you finally slap a hand against their thigh, they let go of your head and watch you gasp for air.

“Get on your knees,” they command.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice with the way your throat burns. The dominance in them only makes you wetter, a noticeable throbbing rushing through your clit. You’re all too eager to settle on your knees at their bedside.

They cup your chin, swiping their thumb across your lips to smear your drool and their pre across them. “So cute,” they murmur.

You lean back in to take their cock once more, but they tsk at you. Just as you tilt your head in confusion, you watch as Sloan grips their cock and rubs the messy, wet tip across your mouth. They smear it all across your face, making a mess all over your cheeks and nose.

A whine slips from your lips before you can stop it, but Sloan only laughs at it and finally lets their cock slap against your mouth. You open wide and take them once more, rolling your tongue over their length.

“So eager,” they tease, their fingers resuming their position in your hair, “if I’d known you’d be such a slut for me, I would’ve fucked you months ago.”

Sloan watches the shame glimmer in your eyes, followed by pure pleasure, and doesn’t miss the way you rock your hips against the floor. 

It only takes a few minutes of you on your knees before they’re coming, pushing your head down so you have no choice but to swallow their cum. Your eyes shoot wide as the hot cum spills in your mouth, pulling back from their cock and opening your mouth so they can see it.

“Good girl,” they purr. “Now swallow.”

You nod and obey without a second thought, licking their cock a few more times after to clean up the excess. “Sloan,” you say quietly, your voice raspy from the way they just fucked your throat.

“Hm?”

“Do you have condoms?”

They tap the nightstand that you’re sitting next to. “You wanna fuck me?”

You pass them the condom, eagerly waiting as they lay back in bed and roll it over their cock. Though they’re slow to put it on, you don’t miss the way their hands shake in anticipation.

Sloan watches you the whole time as you strip, discarding your clothes as quickly as you can. You climb onto the bed and straddle their waist, a knee on either side of their hips. Their hands clench your waist tightly, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise. 

Usually Sloan would be happy to let you adjust, but with the warmth of your pussy right there, they can’t wait any longer. Using your hips as leverage, they thrust up into you, the tip of their cock bottoming out against your cervix.

You cry out, burying your head against their sticky chest. “Sloan,” you whine.

“Sorry,” they pant, but continue thrusting into you.

You relax into them, slamming your hips into theirs to meet their rhythm. It’s painful at first, both the stretch of their cock and how deep it reaches—but it’s amazing, too.

Sloan barely thinks as they pound in and out of you, using your own body weight as leverage to get their cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your whines are like music to their ears, complemented by the rhythm of matching groans they loose every time their cock brushes your cervix.

You cum so hard you swear you go blind for a second. Everything is hot, your vision goes white, and all you can focus on is the way your cunt is gushing around their cock, juices coating their thighs. You go limp on their chest for a minute, letting them fuck you like a toy while you recover.

Sloan’s own orgasm isn’t far behind, their cock twitching as they spill into the condom—though they’d much rather spill into you. They almost draw blood with how tightly their nails dig into your sides, and the only word they seem to remember is your name.

Even though they’re unbearably hot and their cock is so sensitive it hurts, they still need more. 

“Can I keep going? Tell me I can keep going.”

You’re exhausted from the brutal pace they’ve set, but their cock fills you so well and they sound so desperate, you have no choice but to say yes. Upon your agreement, Sloan is flipping you onto the mattress beneath them and bending your legs to your chest. 

They can get deeper like this, and Sloan knows it too. They start their pace off slower this time, trying to give you time to recover before their own need takes over. They hold your hands, pinning them above your head while they fuck you.

Their eyes lock with yours as they increase the pace, the tip of their cock hitting that spot inside of you perfectly every time. There are tears in your eyes from the pleasure, but it only makes them harder. 

“Too deep,” you whine, squeezing their hands with as much strength as you can muster.

“You don’t love having me fill you up?” They mumble into your ear, “if I can’t stuff you with my cum, I’ll fill you with my cock.”

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, their dirty words sending you over the edge. You try to clench your knees together but Sloan’s body is in the way. They fuck you through your orgasm, squeezing your hands back with every bit of pressure you squeeze theirs with.

“That’s it,” though their words are soft, they punctuate each one with a thrust, “cum on my cock.”

They slide their hands down your body, resting on your hips once more. Their thrusts start to get sloppy, and you know they can’t last much longer like this. You reach up, desperate for something—anything—to ground yourself, your fingers coming in contact with their hair.

Sloan whines and cums in one sloppy motion, resting their head on your neck while they lazily thrust through their high. Soft groans and whines vibrate against your collarbone.

It takes a minute for them to collect their strength again, pulling their cock out of you. You look at them through tear blurred vision, eyes widening at the cum soaked condom dripping into the wild tangle of hair at the base of their length. There’s a ring of white around their cock from it all, and the only thought crossing your mind is how badly you want to lick it off.

Sloan can’t decide whether to admire the sheer amount of cum filling the condom, or be disappointed that they weren’t able to fuck it into you instead. They pull it off of their cock and toss it onto the floor—it’ll be a pain to clean later, but they don’t care. They reach into their nightstand for another one, but your hand wraps around their wrist first.

“You’re still hard?”

As if in reply, their cock twitches against your leg. Though the searing heat has finally begun to fade, the pure need coursing through their veins has not.

“You’re done already?” They counter.

“N-no,” you say quickly, though your pussy feels unbearably sensitive in the cold room. “But you don’t need to use that.”

They look down at the purple wrapper in their hand, then back up at you. Their eyes practically glitter in anticipation. “Raw?”

You nod shyly, reaching out your arms to beckon them back to you. You’ll never be able to match their insatiable pace—you know that—but you told them you’d help, even if it means letting them use you like a fleshlight.

They plant a kiss to the base of your throat, a devilish twinkle in the dark of their eyes. “Roll onto your knees.”

With their help, you roll onto your stomach and pull your knees up, arching your back to give them access to your dripping cunt. Too tired to keep your chest up, you rest your cheek against the single pillow in their bed and let yourself relax.

Sloan’s hands retrace the marks they left on your lips earlier, positioning you perfectly to line up with their cock. They land a harsh slap to your cunt with the head of their cock and slip it in all at once, relishing in the gasp that leaves your lips.

They rock their hips into yours, reaching up to tangle a hand in your hair. With one hand gripping your hips and another in your hair, they piston into you. You bite your lip to try and cover the onslaught of moans they fuck out of you and pray that Sloan doesn’t have neighbors—although at this point, they’ve probably heard enough.

“Feels even better raw,” they groan, balls slapping against your clit with a particularly brutal thrust. “S’like it was made for me.”

The burning in the pit of your stomach grows at their dirty words, your pussy utterly gushing around their length. Without the condom, you can feel the desperate throbbing of their cock, feel every twitch of their tip when they bottom out inside of you. They reach everywhere inside you, rubbing places you didn’t even know you had.

Waves of pleasure roll over you, each more intense after the last. Your pussy flutters around Sloan’s cock, but their pace doesn’t slow. They keep slamming into you, lewd slapping noises loud enough to cover your desperate moans. They tug your hair hard, pulling you closer, and roll their hips against yours.

Their cockhead brushes your cervix and your eyes roll back in the sharp pleasure that travels through your pussy. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth and your moans transform from fully formed words to stupid sounding babbles.

Sloan releases your hair from their grip and moves their hand to massage your ass. “Sounds so cute when you whine,” they coo breathily.

Your senses all come flooding back to you when you feel the first spurt of their hot cum inside of you. Your tummy flutters with butterflies, your pussy contracts, and you cum with them. Both of you writhe in bed against each other, Sloan’s desperate, near primal pants like music to your ears.

“Fuck,” you groan as you collapse into the bed.

They keep their cock inside of you, shallowly thrusting their cum back in. “Please don’t stop,” they whine. “Please, I-I need more. Please.”

Your whole body burns, your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you’d even be able to cum again. “Sloan,” you sigh, looking back at them. 

“Please. Please let me keep using you. Please. You don’t even have to do anything but please let me use this pussy,” they pinch your clit in emphasis. “Please.”

“Well, with begging like that,” you joke.

Sloan wastes no time slamming their cock back inside of you, and though you can hardly feel the harsh slapping motion, you can tell their pace has slowed. You lay there, sweaty and hot and with their cum dripping out and being fucked back in.

Sloan murmurs praises to you while they thrust, their mind half gone from how fucking horny they are. They can see cum dripping down your pussy, down your thighs and it’s so filthy and it’s so hot and all they want is more. They pound into you, chasing that final high they may or may not get, desperately gripping your sensitive skin until there’s marks.

Finally, they cum again, their hot cum gushing until you’re so full it starts to burst from the seams between your pussy and their cock. Sloan watches it leak out in a trance, as if in disbelief that not only did they fuck you, they also just fucked you raw.

The heat has completely faded from their body, and as they pull out from your cunt and watch the cum drip, their cock finally starts to soften. “Are you okay?”

You manage a weak thumbs up from where you lay in the bed.

Just as they go to put on their pants, their cock twitches again, and the heat comes rushing back. Sloan sighs, looking at you guiltily, “think you can do a round 2?”

overwatch masterlist | masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[lelengerine]

pairing. na jaemin x reader

synopsis. you and jaemin had always believed in a future together, but as the years pass, and growing up starts to get in the way, you begin to wonder if some promises were never meant to last forever.

tags. childhood best friends to strangers, angst haha 😞, honestly jaem is a little toxic… just a little, the time skips are a bit wide but oh well, no specific prns are used

wc. 4.0k words

notes. hii its been a while TT i’ve been drowning from school work yet again but i managed to whip this up somehow (the longest thing ive ever written here so far) !! thank u my lovely pookies @teddyjun + @pwblant for proofreading this 😙🩷 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list ꒱

you first met jaemin when you were ten years old. 

the world was still big then, impossibly so, and yet, in his smile, you found a place to call your own. he was messy—his knees perpetually scraped, his grin too wide, as if he were holding the weight of all the impossibilities in life and yet, still finds time to laugh. his hand would reach for yours, tug you into the sunlight, and you both found yourselves running, the soft grass beneath your feet, breathless laughter spilling out between your gasps. it’s the simplest of moments, but you don’t know yet that this will be a forever built on a thousand such moments, moments too beautiful to question but too fleeting to understand.

it starts that way, with the purity of a child’s promise. the world is too big, too wide, but with jaemin by your side, it feels like you could touch the stars on your tippy toes if you tried hard enough. you make promise rings together one afternoon, and his face brims with excitement, eyes alight with the kind of certainty only a child could hold. "we’re meant to be together," he says, "no matter what happens."

“you sound so sure of it.”

“yeah, cause i’m not leaving you ever!”

you laugh at his response, a small sound that’s heavy with the weight of unspoken belief. your hands work quickly, clumsily, folding notebook paper into shapes that barely resemble rings, but when you slip them on each other’s fingers, neither of you question it. there is no doubt. this moment, like so many before it, feels sacred. a bond sealed not in reality, but in the purest of intentions. it’s a promise for the future—your future—and you both believe it, with all of your hearts.

"one day, i’ll start my own company," he utters out while fiddling on the ring you made him, voice filled with such quiet determination. "and we’ll be able to live together."

you smile, a perfect answer ready for him. "and i’ll be an artist," your voice carries the excitement you have, "i’ll have my own gallery and, oh! my paintings can decorate our home!"

he squeezes your hand, fingers tightening like he’s anchoring both of you to this moment, to the future you’ve already built together in your dreams. "i’ll be your first investor," he says, a laugh of his spilling out, one full of hope.

“do you even know what that means?” your eyebrow quirks up at him.

“isn’t that what they call it?” he looks at you, head tilted with slight confusion. “i heard my mom say something like how she was going to invest in someone the other day so i’ll invest in you.”

"fine.” you mutter with a sense of nonchalance, though you were more than happy with his answer. “i’ll have a painting ready for you then.”

“you’ll finish it in time?”

“please, who do you take me for?” you swat his shoulder, but there isn’t an ounce of malicious intent as you do so.

the sun is setting, and you are both wrapped in the warmth of those moments, of those words, of that belief. it’s easy then, to believe in forever. you believe in him, in the future he paints with such certainty. 

you believe in the promises that hang between you, so heavy, so real.

ʚɞ

you used to believe that some things were unshakable. that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life rearranged itself, certain people—certain feelings—would always remain within reach, but lately, with jaemin, you’re beginning to wonder if that’s really true.

it’s not obvious at first. just little things, small enough to ignore.

the way your messages sit on delivered longer than they used to. the way his responses come slower, more detached, like you’re a conversation he’s having in the margins of his life rather than in the center of it.

the way he no longer texts first.

you tell yourself you’re overthinking it. after all, people get busy. life gets in the way. yet try as hard as you might, the thought lingers, gnawing at the quiet spaces in your mind.

when was the last time he reached out first?

it shouldn’t feel like a risk to send a message. it never used to. but now, as you hover over his name in your contacts, your fingers hesitate just slightly before typing.

you up?

the text sends. you exhale.

and then you wait.

a minute passes. then two.

when the typing bubbles finally appear, a flicker of hope stirs in your chest, a quiet relief that maybe you were just imagining things.

hey, sorry, got caught up with another project. how’s everything with you?

it’s normal, it’s fine. but as you stare at the message, something about it feels... off.

perhaps it’s the way it’s phrased, so polite, so surface-level, when jaemin has never been the kind of person to keep things so distant with you. or maybe it's the way his words don’t quite carry the warmth they used to, like they’ve been filtered through a screen that dulls them just enough to make you feel the difference.

you shake the thought away and type back quickly.

i’m good, just the usual!

his next message comes just as fast.

cool. i gotta go—let’s catch up later?

three words. no specifics. no real promise.

you hesitate before responding. it’s not like he’s brushing you off. he’s just busy.

yeah, sure.

and yet, even after you set your phone down, the feeling lingers—the quiet weight of something slipping, so slowly that you can’t quite tell if you’re imagining it or if it’s really happening.

a few days later, you do manage to meet jaemin at your neighborhood’s café. a part of you hopes—foolishly, maybe—that seeing him in person will make everything feel normal again, that whatever weird distance has been settling between you will dissolve the moment you’re face-to-face, but when he finally walks in, he barely looks up from his phone. no teasing grin, no easy warmth. just a quick glance in your direction before he slides into the seat across from you.

“sorry, i’m late,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “got caught up with the project i told you about a few days ago.”

he doesn’t say much else. it’s such a small thing, but it stings in a way you don’t fully understand.

you swallow down the discomfort and force a light tone. “you’ve been really busy lately,” you say, trying to tease, trying to bridge whatever this gap is. “what’s so important that you can’t even keep our plans?”

jaemin exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s just… a lot, you know? school, deadlines, all of it. i didn’t mean to—” he stops, shaking his head slightly. “i’m just trying to keep up.”

the words settle between you, leaving a space that neither of you knows how to fill.

there was a time when jaemin always had time for you, when he would’ve made jokes that’d counter yours, nudge you playfully with that bright smile of his, and reassure you without even trying.

now, the only thing written on his face is fatigue.

and maybe that’s the part that’s hardest to admit—that you can’t even be mad at him for this. that you know him well enough to understand that whatever is pulling him away isn’t intentional, but knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.

you nod, forcing a small smile. “yeah, i get it. we’ve all got a lot going on.” and maybe that’s where you leave it and start accepting that things don’t always hold the way you thought they would.

the boy glances at his phone again before looking back up. “anyway, i should go. got a meeting in a bit.”

you subconsciously nod once more, knowing it was the only thing you could do—pushing back your chair with slight force. “right.”

neither of you linger.

once, he would’ve waited. once, you would’ve stalled, finding excuses to stretch the moment just a little longer, but tonight, you walk in separate directions and for the first time, you don’t turn back.

ʚɞ

the last time you saw him, it was the winter of your last year of college. the sky hangs low, a dull gray that presses against the horizon, as if the world itself is holding its breath. the weight of unspoken things fills the space between you, making everything feel heavier than it should. you stand at the old playground, the one that once belonged to the two of you. snow falls in delicate flurries, each flake catching in his hair, softening the sharpness of his silhouette. he looks like the jaemin you once knew—his eyes still holding that spark, his posture still easy—but there’s something about him now, something subtle but undeniable, that tells you everything has indeed shifted.

his smile is still there, but it’s not the one you’re used to seeing anymore. it’s stretched thin, distant, pulled tight in a way that feels more like a memory than the real thing.

and it’s him who speaks first. his voice cuts through the silence, sharper than it should be. “i’m moving soon,” he says, and there’s a finality to his words that makes everything around you stop.

your heart drops into your stomach. the cold air feels like it’s suffocating you. “oh,” you manage to say, the word tasting like something you’ve swallowed too many times before.

he shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets, his stance rigid. his voice doesn’t soften. “the company’s expanding. i need to move closer to the headquarters.”

the words hang in the air, cold and empty, and you feel them sink between you like a stone dropped into still water. the weight of them cuts deeper than anything you’ve experienced in all the years leading up to this moment. it’s as if the ground beneath your feet is starting to crack, a fracture you didn’t even realize was there until now.

you want to be happy for him. you are happy for him, somewhere deep inside. this is the life he’s worked for, the he promised all those years ago, but there's a selfishness in the ache that rises in your chest, something broken and raw that you can’t quite name. it’s not just the news—it’s the quiet realization that, somehow, everything you once held close was slipping away.

“right,” you murmur, the word too small, too soft to bridge the gap inbetween. you hum, as if the soothing sound of it could convince both of you that this is okay. “that’s great.”

jaemin exhales, his breath a cloud in the sharp air. it lingers for a moment before dissipating into the gray sky. “what about you? still planning that residency in paris?”

you glance down at your hands, fingers trembling, cold from the winter chill. “yeah. got accepted,” you answer him, the words barely rising above a whisper.

his gaze flickers, something unreadable flashing in his eyes for the briefest of moments. “that’s amazing,” he says, but the tone is off, as though the words don’t quite reach you. “you’re really doing it.”

“yeah,” you reply softly, your voice small and quiet in the vast emptiness between you. “we both are, aren’t we?”

another silence stretches between you, thicker now, heavier than the snow that continues to fall. and in that silence, you both know. you know that whatever had been left of the promises made in the warmth of summer, whatever bond you once shared, was gone and that there’s nothing left to hold on to.

“we’ll still keep in touch,” he says, but even to his ears, the words sound like an afterthought, a feeble attempt at something neither of you believes anymore.

“i’ll still miss you,” you murmur, letting your guard slip—just a little. if this really was the last time you’d see him, then maybe it was worth the risk, even if you knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

jaemin glances at you one last time, his eyes glimmering with something you can’t name. maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s regret, or maybe it’s just the weight of something unfinished, something left unsaid. “i’ll miss you too,” he whispers, and for a moment, you’re reminded of the boy who once promised you forever.

you let the silence settle around you both, its weight pressing down like the cold that’s beginning to creep into your bones. even though he’s stood in place, you feel the distance between you both widen tenfold, or perhaps it's always been that way and you simply refused to acknowledge it.

ʚɞ

the months pass in a blur, one indistinguishable from the other. time moves on, relentless, indifferent to the weight it leaves behind. in the world outside, jaemin’s success blooms like a flower in full bloom—his name now a staple in every conversation, his face brightening billboards, magazines, and interviews. every time you open social media, there he is, living the life you both once envisioned together. 

and you? 

you paint. you finish exhibitions, your name is recognized, but the colors you use now feel muted, the canvases emptier than they used to be. the passion you once felt when you picked up your brush has faded, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

you remember the feeling—the exhilaration of creating, the joy of shaping something out of nothing. the way you used to stand in your workshop for hours, completely immersed in your work, with jaemin's words echoing in your head: "you’re going to make something amazing, i just know it." his belief in you, his unwavering confidence, was a light that made everything feel possible.

but now? the spark is gone. the excitement of making art has dimmed. it’s hard to even pinpoint when it started slipping away. maybe it was when he left—when he moved forward with his life, with his dreams, and you stayed behind, unable to catch up. maybe it was the quiet realization that you could never catch up, no matter how hard you tried.

and then, one day, as you scroll absentmindedly through your phone, a notification flashes on the screen. it’s a new interview with jaemin. his name, his face, as familiar as the air you breathe, yet foreign in a way you can’t explain. you pause, your finger hovering over the screen, an ache spreading through your chest before you even hear his voice.

you tap the notification.

the video begins, his voice smooth and controlled, but there’s something about it that strikes you—a coldness to his words, a calculated quality, as though every syllable is measured, rehearsed. as if he’s become someone else entirely.

“there was someone—someone who was my strength when everything was falling apart…” his words hang in the air like a ghost, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. it’s like hearing him speak from a distance, as if his voice no longer belongs to you, but to someone else, to the man he’s become.

you stop breathing. your hand hovers over the screen, your fingers trembling as you listen, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to hear more. his voice continues, talking about his company, his rise, his accomplishments—the things he promised, the things he’s achieved, the things you should be proud of him for.

but instead, all you feel is the sharp sting of distance. the space between you both has only grown, so vast that it feels like an ocean you could never cross. and then you remember—this is the man he’s become now. the man who’s built a life without you, whose name is no longer connected to yours. you should be happy for him. you should be thrilled to see him achieve his dreams.

but all you feel is this deep, aching void. the weight of all the things that never got said, all the things you once thought were promised between the two of you, now lost to time. you can almost hear the echoes of his laughter, see the way his eyes used to brighten when he talked about the future. that future, the one where you and jaemin would take on the world together, is gone.

you shouldn’t still be holding onto it, but you are. you can’t help it.

when the interview ends, the screen fades to black, leaving you in the silence of your own thoughts. you remain motionless, your phone still in your hand, but it feels like it weighs a ton. the words he spoke, the things he said about strength, about someone who was there for him when everything fell apart—it all cuts through you like glass. you realize then, in the quiet aftermath, that you never got to be the one who helped him pick up the pieces. you were never the one he turned to when the world got too heavy.

and the worst part? you knew. you knew that somewhere along the way, he had started moving without you.

the promise you made to him comes rushing back, unbidden—the painting. the one you swore you’d finish, the one you said would be the gift that captured all the things you couldn’t put into words. the one you started in a burst of inspiration, with the idea that it would be a way of showing him just how much he meant to you, how much you believed in him.

but now? that painting sits unfinished, collecting dust in the corner of your workshop. it’s become a relic of another time, a broken promise that you don’t know how to keep. and you realize, with a quiet ache in your chest, that you haven’t picked up that brush in months—not for him, not for anyone.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and with it comes the crushing weight of everything that’s changed. time has moved on, and so has jaemin. he’s not the person you once knew, and maybe you’re not either. you’re both successful now, but success has a way of making you feel smaller than you ever expected. it fills the spaces where dreams once lived, and it pushes you further apart.

you look at the unfinished painting again, then turn away, leaving it there—just like everything else. there are other things to chase, other goals to reach. but none of them will ever feel like what you once dreamed with him.

and that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? that no matter how far you’ve come, some things—some people—were just never meant to be part of the journey anymore.

ʚɞ

years later, you find yourself walking through the streets of your hometown, your footsteps tracing familiar paths, the cracks in the pavement as unchanged as the memories that flood your mind. you hadn't planned to come back, but here you are. the air is colder than you remembered, but the sharpness of it doesn’t seem to matter. you pass by the old playground, its rusted swings creaking in the breeze, the slides faded and worn. it looks smaller now, as if the world around it has grown while the playground itself has been stuck in time. it’s a place you thought you would leave behind, but it’s here, pulling you in, drawing you back to moments that felt like they happened in another lifetime.

you stop in front of the old oak tree where you and jaemin once carved your initials. the bark has thickened, the edges of your names smoothed over by time. you touch it softly, your fingers brushing the faded markings, and for a split second, it reminds you of the memories that you once cherished.

and then, you see him.

jaemin stands at the far end of the playground, leaning against the fence with the same casual ease that used to make your heart flutter. it’s like he’s always been here, like he never left. his hair is longer now, tousled in a way that makes him look even more like the boy you used to know. and then, when he sees you, his face softens, and that familiar warmth washes over him—his smile, the one that used to make everything feel right in the world, is there again, lighting up his features.

for a brief, fleeting moment, it’s as if time has folded back on itself, and the years that separated you two dissolve into nothing.

“hey,” jaemin says, his voice tentative, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a fragile thread between you both. it’s the first time you’ve seen him in what feels like forever, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest tighten—a mix of longing and regret, as though he’s unsure whether to close the distance between you or leave it untouched.

“hey,” you reply, mimicking his words, but your voice catches somewhere in the space between the past and the present. it’s hard to place exactly what has changed, but the distance between you feels palpable now, like something invisible has grown taller and thicker between you two, despite how much you wish it hadn’t.

you stand there, side by side, the silence settling in like an old, familiar weight. neither of you knows what to say. there are so many things you both left unsaid, words that were swallowed in the years that passed, left to wither in the spaces between your conversations. but now, in this quiet moment, it all feels too big to address—too overwhelming to pull to the surface.

“i—uh, you look good,” jaemin says after a long pause, his voice still unsure, but there’s a tenderness in the way he speaks. it’s like he’s searching for something—validation, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that you’re still the person he remembers.

you look at him for a moment, taking in the boy who used to be everything to you. he’s still beautiful in a way that pulls at your heartstrings, but everything has changed, and you know it. you feel it in the way your gaze lingers on him a little longer than it should, as if your mind is still trying to piece together who he is now, who you both have become.

“so do you,” you finally reply, but your words feel hollow, even though you mean them. you know he looks good. you know he’s still jaemin, still the boy you used to hold so close. but the things that used to make you feel like you belonged together, the unspoken bond you shared, they’re gone. you feel it in the pit of your stomach—the ache of time pulling you both in opposite directions, the weight of what once was slipping through your fingers.

the quiet stretches again, thick and heavy, and you both seem to be standing on the edge of something too fragile to touch. there’s so much you want to say, so many things left unresolved. but you realize, in that moment, that there’s no going back.

no amount of time, no amount of silence, will ever give you the answers you’re looking for. the past—your shared moments, your dreams, the friendship that once felt like home—is something that has already faded, even if it still lingers in the corners of your heart.

the chill in the air grows sharper, but it doesn’t matter. you want to step forward, to bridge the gap between you both, but you know better than to reopen a wound that had already been stitched up.

jaemin shifts slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes flickering toward the ground as if he’s lost in his own thoughts. you watch him for a moment, wondering if he feels the same ache in his chest, the same pull between wanting to move forward and holding on to what was.

“i should go,” you say finally, breaking the silence. the words are out before you even realize you’ve said them, but they feel necessary, like the only way to close this chapter.

jaemin nods, his smile faltering for just a second. “yeah, me too.”

and just like that, you turn away, the ache in your chest a quiet reminder that no matter how much you want to hold on to what was, some things are meant to fade, even if it hurts to let them go.

you walk away, and the footsteps behind you feel like the final acknowledgment of the future you both said goodbye to.

[scarasimping]

KINKTOBER #2

size kink - capitano

word count - 550

content: fem! anatomy on reader, size difference ofc cause capitano is huge, praise, little bit of belly buldge, begging, dacriphylia, ooc capitano cause ive never written him before

"That's my good girl…" Capitano's gruff voice sounded from above you, a hint of pride hidden in his tone as he watched you slowly take another inch of him in. His calloused hands were hooked under the back of your knees, practically folding you in half with little effort. As he hovered over you, he completely enveloped you with his body, his broad frame shielding you from looking at anything else but him.

Slowly, he slips into you a little more, his gaze fixed in between the two of you as your wet hole struggles to take in his thickness. It stretches to what must be its max, yet you're still not satisfied.

"Please…more," you slur out, head tossed back and fingers gripping onto the sheets beneath you. Already so far gone and he hasn't even properly fucked you yet.

Sure, he spent a good half hour prepping you with his thick fingers and his tongue, making you cum a few times already just so you could fit him in, but to be so far gone from just a few inches of him pushed into your tight hole is so amusing to him.

You're squeezing around him so nicely, it's taking all his will to not just bully into your cunt all at once. He doesn't want to hurt you, but, archons, nothing has ever felt as good as you do right now.

"You think you can take more? Think you can take all of me today, darlin'?" His voice drawls out, leaning down to place a lingering kiss to your cheek as some of the tears spill from your eyes. The salty taste is welcome on his lips, a smile tugging its way onto his face at the sight of you eagerly nodding foe more of him despite feeling so full already. His hands, big enough to fully wrap around your whole thigh if he used both of them, caress the back of your thighs and press you further into the mattress. He begins to push more of his length inside you, kissing away each and every tear that spills from your waterline, until he feels himself bottom out inside of you for the first time.

A low groan slips out from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your warm walls encasing his entire length, his heavy balls squished against the roundness of your ass just begging to be emptied in you. The tip of him feels like it's grazing your cervix.

Capitano sits and waits for you to adjust for a few agonizing minutes, his cock twitching eagerly inside you.

Heavy breaths mix as he leans in and kisses you, before finally pulling back and making the first thrust. It takes everything you have to hold back the loud moan that threatened to escape you, focusing on the feeling of his lips on yours instead.

"So good..taking me so good," he grunts out, his hand coming to rest on the bottom of your stomach when he feels it. Himself, moving around inside you, just barely showing through your tummy as he burrows into you once more.

"Gonna ruin you…" he promises, but he knows you can take it. When he's done with you, your insides will be molded into the shape of his cock.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, poorly written smut, mention of scars, allusions to child abuse

A/N: I feel like I say this about every chapter but I really struggled with this one. I even scrapped 3,800 words because I hated it so much. It still ended up being a long one but it feels like a lot of time skipping and nonsense. The beginning is nice though. ;) I hope it’s at least somewhat enjoyable. Thank you, my dears.💙

Your body was on fire; electric jolts sparking with pleasure each place where his skin was touching yours. It was never like this before. It was purely physical, without attachment. Now it felt like he had integrated himself into your very soul. You wanted him deeper than his cock dragging over your inner walls; you wanted him beneath your very skin. 

Each thrust was slow but deep, his back arching when he rolled his hips into you. His lips and hands felt like they were everywhere all at once. He wasn’t just fucking you. He was making love to you. Deliberate, delicate, yet no less exhilarating. 

Your hips raised of their own volition to meet his. You were desperate to snap that inner tension; the tightly coiled heat low in your belly. Daryl had other plans. He was drawing this out. He was savoring you. 

“Easy. I gotcha.” He purred against your ear just before his lips attached to the skin above where your pulse thrummed. “S’gonna feel real good. Hang on for me.” He ventured lower to draw a nipple into his mouth, the swirling of his tongue pulling a moan from you, your hands moving from his bare back to his hair and then returning. You urged him back to your mouth, whining against his smiling lips. 

“Please.” You weren’t sure what you were pleading for; there was so much sensation that you couldn’t even pinpoint where you needed him most. “Please, please, please.” He chuckled and made a slow journey with his fingertips, whispering down your torso to disappear between your bodies. A calloused thumb pressed against your clit and you nearly wailed. 

“That’s it. Let go for me.” His thrusts never wavered, leaving you to dimly wonder if this would be the first of many orgasms he would give you before he was chasing his own high. “Cum for me, Y/N.”

You could feel your cunt clamp around him and begin to pull him impossibly deeper, preparing for your orgasm to wash over you. You were right on the edge, teetering. His lips met yours and your hips angled upward, the knot ready to burst. Just as you felt the first wave of ecstasy—

You opened your eyes to the dim light of a small lamp on the bedside table. You still felt tired when somewhere in your mind, you could recall that something happened and you should feel better. In your sleepy haze, you couldn’t seem to summon the memories. Only the residual feel of Daryl’s body pressed against yours and the pleasure he was so eagerly offering you. 

“That must’ve been some dream.”

You lifted your head to find Carol sitting in a chair close to the bedside, a small smile on her face and her hands folded on her lap. 

“Carol.” Your lips curved upward ever so slightly. 

“So dehydrated but still able to drool so I’d say we’re making progress.” She chuckled while you dragged the back of your hand across your mouth with a curl of your lip. 

“The baby okay?” You scratched at your scalp, still trying to piece together what happened that ended with you in bed and hooked up to fluids. 

“Mhm. Hershel says the heartbeat is strong.” She smiled, the sadness behind her eyes more transparent than she probably realized. 

“What happened?” You inquired, slowly pushing yourself up to sit against the headboard without disturbing the IV tubing. Just as her mouth opened, the memories of your rescue mission came flooding back in a breathtaking onslaught. “Oh god, Daryl!” You grabbed the blanket and threw it back, aiming to get to your feet, only halting by a gentle touch to your ankle. 

“He’s in the next room. He’s gonna be fine.”

When the sudden rush evaporated, you sank back against the pillows. You had all three made it. 

“He was in shock by the time you made it back. Hershel gave him some IV fluids and is going to start some antibiotics. He’s all patched up. He’ll be back to his cheery self in no time.”

You chuckled. “Just a ball of sunshine, that one.” Your smile fell away, remembering just how horrible he had looked the last time you saw him; dragging his feet along behind you. Blood dampened his shirt, his pants. He was pale as milk, dark circles under his eyes. You held on to a fragile hope that he—if nothing else—looked better after stitches and fluids. “Is he awake?”

“He was stirring a little while ago.” You nodded, picking at your left thumbnail. “I’m gonna get you some water. Maybe we can take out that IV now that you’re awake.” The other woman stood gracefully, donning her usual smile except it wasn’t quite reaching her eyes. Your gaze followed her out the door, your heart aching for her. She was so intent on caring for you and your baby while her own child was still missing. It was a bleak reminder of how unfair life truly was. 

You inwardly sighed, your stomach beginning to feel ill at ease. How did you end up in this position? All of it. The dead rising to eat the living. Losing everyone you held dear. Making a baby with a complete stranger. And now so desperate to keep that man in your life that it frightened you. Just—how?

Everything had been so normal before. You had your routine with your father waiting at home for you everyday. You’d sit with him over a dinner that you prepared, listening to his lame jokes and laughing even harder when they weren’t funny. Your uncles and aunt would come over once every two weeks for a big supper. You’d usually save the larger kill for those occasions. 

God, you missed them. 

But they weren’t here now.

Daryl was. You’d be damned if you’d lose someone else. 

A soft knock on the door signaled Carol’s return. She had a tray of food. Eggs, apparently. The last time, when Daryl had brought them, you had been famished and paid no mind to the smell. It was different this time, and your stomach was not pleased. 

“The eggs.” You gagged, sitting up and covering your mouth and nose. Carol’s eyes widened and she swiftly put the tray outside the door and grabbed up the water glass before she shut the smell out. 

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I brought the pills that Maggie and Glenn were able to get. They found a few bottles so you should be set for now.” She handed you the medication and the water. Your stomach churned angrily. “I’ll see about getting Beth to make you another smoothie.”

“Thank you.” It was made clear by the expression on her face that she was worried. “I’ll be okay.” The pill had a grainy texture and left a horrible taste. You washed it down with a sip of water, but the unpleasant assault on your tastebuds continued. It would be worth it if it meant everything would stop trying to crawl out of your throat. 

“I’ll get Hershel to see about that IV. Then maybe you’d like to go see Daryl?”

You gave her a nod and a tight-lipped smile, watching her leave to fetch the vet. Ugh. You knew he would lecture you, but you couldn’t let it sway your desire to protect your little family. That’s exactly what it was: a family. Your relationship with Daryl didn’t alter the fact that you would share a child. Co-parent. Protect one another.

A rapid knock on the door before it opened revealed the vet. “Carol tells me you’re feeling okay. Maybe we can remove your IV if you can ensure you’ll continue to take in as much water as you can.” 

“I can do that.”

He studied you for a moment, as if searching for a hint that you may not follow through. Apparently satisfied that you’d heed his instructions, he rounded the bed and began working on removing the catheter from your arm. The grim expression was sign enough that you were about to be scolded. “Y/N, you understand the risks involved when you go out there.” And so it began. “This, I can’t stop you from doing but you should consider the safety of your child if nothing else.”

“No one else was going to try and find him. It was something I had to do.” You lowered your head, feeling not unlike a child who was in trouble for drawing on the walls and knowing better. 

There was nothing left to say. He continued to stare for a moment after instructing you to bend your arm and hold pressure on the square of gauze he’d placed there. Perhaps, he was attempting to understand. Maybe he was judging your decision. Maybe he was even praying for you. It didn’t matter. In the end, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave the room. 

As soon as the door closed, you tossed the gauze onto the bedside table, carefully lowering your feet to the floor. The mattress acted as support while you ensured dizziness wouldn’t bombard you. Your vision stayed clear, even if your stomach was still protesting. Hopefully it would settle soon enough. 

You knew Daryl would likely be across the hall. There was an anxiety at the thought of seeing him; one you couldn’t validate. You knew you wanted to go, to see with your own eyes that he was alive and healing. You chose to ignore the feeling and opened the door, pausing on the threshold when you heard his voice. 

“I didn’t do anythin’ Rick or Shane wouldn’t done.”

“I know.” You could see Carol step into the doorway of the adjacent room. You stepped back behind the frame of your own, feeling like an intruder. “You’re every bit as good as them. Every bit.” The door closed, her soft steps moving further away, most likely in route to get your smoothie. 

You could absolutely throttle the redneck after hearing him downplay what he had been nearly killing himself to achieve. He had worked just as hard as anyone else in the search for Sophia. If he wouldn’t acknowledge the effort he’d put in, he was likely giving himself hell over being placed on the sidelines after his injury. There was no way Hershel was going to clear him to go back out there anytime soon. 

Your bare feet barely made a sound when you crossed the space between rooms, leaning into the door with one hand on the knob while the other quietly knocked. 

“Jesus, can’t a guy get some sleep ‘round here. What is it now?”

Scrunching your nose in response to his grumpy attitude, you opened the door and peered inside. He most likely wasn’t expecting you. His back was to you, the sheet up to the curve of his hips, giving you a glimpse of the deep, dark puckered lines of several scars. His skin was still pale. They likely didn’t appear so harsh against his normally tan complexion. Still…

“Hey, dumbass. How’re you feeling?” The way he flinched and clumsily gripped the thin cover to drag it up higher made your chest tighten. The reason he didn’t want to remove his shirt when you fucked; he didn’t want you see. 

“Callin’ me a dumbass when you was the one came runnin’ after me all half cocked.” He mumbled, not turning to look at you. Deflecting. You decided to let it go. He was so ashamed of that part of himself. He needed to keep that secret. It wasn’t yours to know. Maybe one day. 

“I could make so many jokes out of what you just said and most would be at your expense.”

“Y’can go now, funny girl.”

You crawled up onto the mattress and maneuvered your way over to where he lay, resting your chin on the curve of his shoulder while carefully avoiding adding any pressure against his wounded side. 

“Don’t be such a sourpuss. You know you’re glad to see me.”

Daryl scoffed, shrugging his shoulder to jostle your head. “Pain in my ass.” You peered at his outstretched right arm, the taped tubing leading up to a bag of clear fluids, half empty. At least his skin was feeling warmer. “Y’okay?”

“I’m sure they already told you that I’m fine.” You answered softly. You resisted the urge to brush your fingers over the bandage on his head. 

“Don’t matter. Better to hear it outta ya own mouth.”

You smiled. “I’m fine, Daryl. A little nauseous but Maggie and Glenn found the medicine.”

He grunted, a moment passing before he asked “baby okay?” His voice had lowered, muscles tensing beneath your chin, as if he were bracing himself for your answer. 

“Mhm. Hershel checked and said the heartbeat was strong.” He relaxed almost immediately. You were once again reminded of his desire to not be touched. You had seen him flinch away from Rick and Carol. After a rare glimpse at his bare back, the fear made sense. But he saw you differently. He had chosen to accept you as safe for whatever reason. It had to be more than your willingness to spread your legs for him once upon a time not that long ago. 

“That’s good.” He muttered. He sounded a little groggy. 

“He give you something for the pain?” You tilted your head on his arm, your cheek lightly pressing against the muscle there. 

“Mhm. Didn’t want it. Shoulda saved it.” 

“Take the meds, you stubborn ass.” You nearly shoved at him, albeit playfully. It still would have caused him discomfort. His movements were stiff, the muscles rippling under your face as his hand came up to present a clear message in the form of one finger. “You’re so mature, Dixon.” You teased. “I’m so honored to be the birth giver of your spawn.” There was instant regret when you felt him flinch, tense up, and then deflate. 

“M’sorry.” His voice was raspy. Tired. You didn’t hesitate to caress the white bandage over his temple this time. 

“Don’t be.” You soothed, watching him battle to stay awake. “I’m not.” You glanced at the sheet covering his back, shielding his shame from you. You could see the very top of what appeared to be the aftermath of a burn. Daryl had definitely had the opposite of your childhood. Where you had love and tenderness and support, it was suggested Daryl had pain and cruelty and isolation. Somehow, you knew that he would want better for his own child. 

“I ain’t gonna be—like our daddy. My kid—ain’t gonna be like us.”

You brought your hand up to trace shapes onto his forearm, smiling as goosebumps rose from the gentle caress. “Daryl?”

You thought he might already be asleep, but then he drew in a breath and answered with a drawn out “hmm?” 

“I really am honored.” 

He went so still that he appeared to hold his breath, before he made a dismissive noise and shrugged you off of him. “Tryin’a sleep, woman.”

“Okay.” You had hit a nerve. It wasn’t like you didn’t consider the possibility he’d react negatively. “I’ll be across the hall.” You gracelessly scooted across the mattress, just having thrown your legs over the edge when there was a grip on your wrist, firm but gentle. You looked over your shoulder to find him awkwardly balanced on his right elbow while keeping the arm as straight as possible for the IV. He wasn’t looking at you but it had to hurt for him to have twisted into how he was to reach for you. 

The breath he took shuddered. “Stay.” 

“Alright.” Your free hand came to rest on the one that held your wrist, intending to provide comfort for a request he was obviously uncomfortable to make, but he pulled back his arm and settled against the pillow. Withholding your sigh, you settled behind him on your side, facing him but not touching. 

It wasn’t difficult for sleep to find you in the dimly lit room with Daryl’s deep, even breathing acting as your gentle lullaby. 

It was frightening how so many things could change so quickly. Hell, an entire world could end in a matter of days. 

You were up and about the day after you awoke with the IV in your arm. Hershel had instructed you to take it easy and, for once in your life, you had listened. You helped with cooking and hanging laundry. Anything that allowed you to sit often for water breaks and did not require you to lift. 

Daryl was also out of the house that following day. Not because Hershel had allowed it. But because he felt anxious, cooped up. He was stealthy, as per usual, and back in his tent with a book before anyone had noticed he was missing. To his credit, he did move slower and didn’t engage in anything strenuous. Well, for a few days anyway. 

Lori’s pregnancy had been a shocker to everyone. It was laughable to you how suddenly, you weren’t such a burden in the eyes of the second officer. It was also very revealing. You had suspected something all along, but watching him with Rick’s wife when he thought all heads were turned had just confirmed your suspicions. 

That same man was growing more and more volatile with each passing day. He was constantly challenging Rick, the sort of leader of your little group, and then going off on his own to do god knows what. Daryl had butted heads with him a few times over a variety of things. The most recent was just before Lori’s pregnancy was revealed. Shane made an off-handed comment—after you had once again stood your ground against him—about breeding with a redneck having an affect on your mentality. The archer had only conceded when you had stepped in front of him. 

Tensions only rose when Glenn had revealed that Hershel had been keeping walkers in the barn. The issue was debated and discussed repeatedly with no clear resolution. Shane had come stomping over to the porch where everyone was congregated, handing out guns and riling everyone up. He was determined to clear the barn. You stood with Lori, even as Daryl went in with Shane, guns blazing. The action was one that would change everything for everyone forever. 

When the lanky little girl stumbled out of the darkness beyond the barn doors, no one moved. No one made a sound. Except Carol. She had tried to run to Sophia, would have gladly allowed her daughter to rip into her throat at that moment if it meant she would get to hold her. Your fingers only brushed the woman’s arm as you attempted to stop her with a watery call of her name. Luckily, Daryl was successful. He held her until the last moment and even after the walker had fallen by Rick’s gun. 

The drama didn’t end there. 

A young man had been kept in the barn after Rick, Glenn, and Hershel had brought him back with an injury that required surgery. Randall ended up knowing of the Greene farm and thus, became a threat. Rather, the group that had left him was a threat, but—guilty by association and all that. Daryl had participated in the torture of the kid for information. That led to the collapse of already unsteady ground between the two of you. Dale had died still believing that the group was above taking a life. Randall was still in that barn, awaiting the decision on his fate. 

Daryl took the discovery of Sophia in the barn harder than anyone, the exception being Carol. He moved his tent away from the camp, hunted alone, and stayed away from everyone. 

Including you. 

The one time you had tried to talk with him, not even about the distance between you, he had reacted with anger. When you stomped away, you swore you wouldn’t go back. And you hadn’t. That had been more than two weeks ago. 

Inside the house, you were noticing even more changes but these were within your own body. It was as if, over night, your breasts had decided that your bra was just no longer suitable housing. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you studied them. They didn’t look bigger. Squeezing them in your palms, you hissed at the tender ache the gentle action left behind. You’d just have to wear a flannel over your cami so your nipples didn’t alert everyone that the evening was getting chilly. 

Your special condition had been particularly nasty the past two days, requiring fluids once again, leaving you weak and exhausted. You grabbed your jeans from the armchair and stepped into them. There was the slightest bit of resistance getting them over your hips, earning a crease in your brow. It wasn’t until the button and zipper wouldn’t meet that you realized something really had changed. 

Pushing the denim back to your knees, you turned sideways in front of the mirror. Sure enough, there was the slightest curve to your lower belly. How hadn’t you noticed? With a defeated slump to your shoulders, you let your head roll over to where your sleep pants laid at the foot of the bed. Those and your oversized t-shirt had been enough to keep you ignorant to the changes your body was making to accommodate your baby. 

“Ugh, I’m not ready, Thumper.” You whined with a cool palm over the small bump. Grumbling to yourself as you kicked off the jeans and grabbed the plaid cotton pants, you slipped them on and just pulled the t-shirt back on over your camisole. Your flannel would be enough against the autumn chill and with your boots adding to your already questionable attire, you trudged out the door and down the stairs. 

Your first stop was the kitchen. Lori was there with Carl, handing him a plate that contained a sandwich and probably stale potato chips. She smiled at you as you entered, eyeing your outfit with a barely concealed smile. 

“Hey there. Making a fashion statement?”

Drinking down a glass of water to swallow your pill, you turned sideways and hauled up your shirt and cami before lowering your pants slightly. The other woman gave you a nod. 

“Ah, I see.” Lori began putting away food that was not used for lunch. “How far along are you?”

The question caught you off guard. You honestly hadn’t thought about it in a while. You had been more concerned with Glenn being able to find enough vitamins, with keeping down enough food and water, with Daryl being a jerk, and just with surviving. The farm had brought about several weeks of safety and you wished for your little calendar that you had kept in the beginning. 

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“No, I got this.” You assured, beginning to count on your fingers. It was more difficult than you thought. The days seemed to blend, some more eventful than others, leaving you unable to recall the quiet days in between. “Maybe 17 weeks?”

Lori nodded. “Sounds about right. Everyone’s different but I’m finding myself more sick with this one than I ever was with Carl. When you have your second, it could be smooth sailing and you could have already popped,” she raised her hands in air quotes, “by the time you’re this far along.”

You tilted your head. “Popped?”

Lori chuckled and continued with her task. “Means that one day you just wake up to a very noticeable belly.”

You looked down at your stomach, still on display with your shirt tucked under your arms to keep it raised. You wouldn’t say that you have popped as Lori put it. It was hardly noticeable until you tried to fasten your jeans. However, it was there. You adjusted your clothes and pursed your lips with a hum. 

“Not sure there’ll ever be a second. I think one might be enough for the end of the world.”

You could see her expression shift, the smile and ease morphing into a questioning discomfort. Maybe it was time to table this conversation. 

“I think I’ll head outside for a while. Get some fresh air. Maybe see if someone will take me to get some different clothes. I definitely don’t want to run around in my pajamas when the weather turns.” The other woman nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

“I will, thanks.”

You dipped your head and ambled out the screen door. The sun’s glare, high in the sky, was a shock to your eyes after being tucked away inside. Your hand acted as a visor against your brow as you scanned the farm. Everyone was scurrying around in their day to day activities, a sort of normalcy settling since everyone had moved into the house.

Except Daryl, of course. 

You heaved a sigh at the thought of him out toward the edge of the farm alone. He could handle himself but the self isolation he was inflicting caused a heaviness in your heart that was beginning to fester. Carol had tried to bring him back and he had become irate. The things he had said to her were shared with you when the woman had finally let her tears fall against your shoulder. You wanted to throat punch him. 

Maybe you would. 

You saw Andrea perched on top of the RV with her rifle. You could almost picture Dale hovering behind her, as he often did. The vehicles had been moved closer to the house, providing much needed reassurance of a quick escape if it were deemed necessary. Chewing on your lip, you let your shoulders drop. It was time to bury that hatchet. 

The climb up the ladder wasn’t as difficult as you thought it’d be. You weren’t thrilled about the height with your sporadic bouts of dizziness but as long as you stayed near the middle, it’d be okay. 

Andrea glowered for a moment before turning back to keep watch over the fields. 

“Hey.” You greeted. She didn’t respond, her eyes looking you up and down before she turned around again. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve more than that. You pointed a gun at my head.” 

You had to close your eyes and take a deep breath. “You could have killed Daryl, Andrea.” You kept your tone level, holding up a hand when she spun around with no doubt a snarky retort on her tongue. “I didn’t come to argue with you. I came to apologize.”

“Yeah? Apology not accepted.”

Another deep breath. “That decision is yours to make. Nevertheless, I’m sorry. I was sick. I was exhausted. I wasn’t thinking clearly and you had just shot the man I lo—the father of my baby.” You blinked, stunned by what you’d almost said in the moment. The look that suddenly appeared on Andrea’s face conveyed she’d caught it too. You shook your head and continued, hoping both of you could just forget it. “None of those things are an excuse for what I did when it was truly a mistake. So, I’m sorry.” When you turned to climb down, you had nearly let yourself be suffocated by the weight of your near an admission. Was it an admission? Were you just emotional? Hormones? Insanity? The dream and then this?

“I won’t tell anyone.” 

You turned back, catching her eye and holding it. She could. She could spread it through the group and eventually it would make its way to Daryl and you were not ready to have that conversation. After a moment, you nodded in silent thanks. “Are we good?” Your voice was weaker than you intended. 

Andrea smiled, a surprising kindness in her gaze. “We’re good.”

You inexplicably wanted to cry, barely controlling the quiver of your chin. “Thanks.” Going down the ladder was a little more difficult in part to the blurred vision for which the tears were responsible. 

Once your feet were on the ground, you just started to walk, no destination in mind. When your heart screamed for Daryl, your rationality stomped it down. He was your friend. Alright, you’d been closer to him than anyone else in the group. It was never supposed to be something more. You didn’t want anything more. You didn’t want a baby with him. You didn’t want to feel trapped there. 

But you didn’t feel trapped, did you? The majority of that group was kind to you. They cared for you when you were ill, expecting nothing from you. Daryl, for all his tendency to an absolute asshat, had been tender with you at times. You were safe when you could have been alone, left to figure out the pregnancy and raise a baby on your own. No, you wouldn’t have made it on your own. The complications would have killed you. 

You let out a sob, walking faster and allowing the tears to flow without wiping them away. Your cheeks and neck were damp. Why were you even upset? Had the world finally broken you? You thought you’d last much longer than that, but you never could have predicted the events that had led you to where you were. 

And where you were was Daryl’s camp. 

The archer was perched on the ground, next to a dark patch of earth surrounded by rocks; a fire pit that was currently unutilized. He was scowling when he looked up at your approach, but his expression changed; a sudden conveyance of concern as he hauled himself to his feet. 

“S’wrong?” 

You didn’t know why you were there. The last thought of him before you spoke with Andrea was one of anger. Your body was crying out for a feeling of safety; for a shield from everything bad that could harm you or the little innocent life inside you. Somehow—for reasons you no longer had the energy to debunk—your feet took you straight to Daryl. 

“Y/N?” His gruff voice spoke into your hair after you walked directly into his space, your fisted hands tucked under your chin while your face pressed into the solid warmth of his chest. He didn’t move. You didn’t want him to, not really. It would only make everything more confusing. 

When he remained silent but his hand came to rest lightly against your back, you turned your hands and grabbed fistfuls of his vest. You pushed him away and hauled him right back, angry that he let you. You needed him to yell at you. You needed him to tell you that he didn’t care; that he’d only be around for you because of the baby. 

When you tried to shove him again, he stood firm, his other hand coming to cradle the back of your head. 

“Goddamnit, Daryl! Push me away! Shut me out!” You slapped a hand hard against his chest, fingers pulling at the leather again. 

“Why?”

You couldn’t answer him. You couldn’t answer because you didn’t know. You didn’t want him to send you away. And you were so scared of that revelation that you yearned to scream just to feel something other than scattered turmoil that was enveloping your heart in a deviant swaddle of barbed wire. 

Without a resolution to your emotional plight, you continued to cry until it drained everything out of you. Damn him, he just stood there with his arms around you; being the shield you so desperately needed. You wanted to hate him for it. 

You wanted to, but you couldn’t. 

Your sobs eventually dulled into sniffles and hiccups. After what felt like hours, your legs gave out, any strength you had when you left that bedroom was utterly spent. Daryl didn’t let you fall. You knew he wouldn’t. You weren’t tired enough to miss the way he held you up or the way he bent to sweep his arm under your knees. 

You didn’t look at him while he carried you; turned your back to him when he placed you on the cot inside his tent. The flinch when he draped the sleeping bag over you was unintentional. You hoped he’d leave. Maybe he’d go out to hunt, irritated that you invaded the space he’d built for himself. 

“Why’re ya here?”

Of course he didn’t. The universe hated you, that was abundantly clear now. “I—don’t know.”

“This cause’a hormones or whatever s’called?”

You snorted weakly, your hand working out from beneath the sleeping bag to wipe at your face. “What do you know about hormones, Daryl?”

“The book says—”

“Book?” You sat up on your forearm and twisted to look back at him. The archer looked annoyed, a decent flush spreading from his cheeks to the top of his ears. 

“Went into that town they go to for the meds an’ shit. Grabbed a, uh, book about baby stuff.” You blinked at him, earning a frown in return. “Don’t look at me like that. Yeah, I read, Y/N.”

You looked past his shoulder to where two books peeked from beneath some of his clothes. The one in question was closer, upside down and open beside the battery powered lamp. 

The Expectant Father: Facts, Tips, and Advice for Dads-to-be

The small upturn of one corner of your mouth had him shifting to shield the book from your sight. 

“How much have you read?” 

“‘Nough to know it ain’t much fun for ya some’a the time.” He wouldn’t look at you now, finding interest in a piece of grass that he’d tracked inside. You hummed, a stirring in your chest that directly correlated with the feelings that had guided you there in the first place. The difference now was that you felt oddly grounded, able to focus on a single thought or feeling. 

“Daryl?” He grunted without looking up. “Will you please move into the house?”

He sighed as though he’d been asked a thousand times. “Nah, too many people.”

“Then—can I stay out here with you?” It was your turn to find something to occupy your gaze. You settled on the sleeping bag zipper. 

“Ya need to be inside. Safer there.”

“I have a bedroom.” You weren’t sure how you felt about sharing a close space with the hunter, but you knew you needed him close. Tent or bedroom, you didn’t really care. “It’d just be me and you.” 

The subtle shift of his jaw indicated he was chewing the inside of his cheek. Maybe you could find him something like toothpicks or straws, anything to keep him from hurting himself when he was uncomfortable. 

“Why ya want me there? Ain’t like I’m miles away.”

“I feel safer with you.” Now it was you turning pink, your cheeks and neck flushing warm. 

Daryl snorted. “Ya got over half a dozen people in there.”

“They’re not you.” You countered before you could think of a better way to say it. “Look, you’re the first person I met from this group. You’ve never hurt me. I trust you to fight with me.” You ducked your head. “To fight for me. To protect me if I can’t protect myself. To protect our baby.” When you met his eyes, you realized he had never looked at you the way he was at that moment. He still had that unreadable expression that you sometimes wanted to slap off of his face, but his eyes. There was something in his eyes. 

“Lemme think ‘bout it.” He stated while rising to his feet. “Gotta meet ‘bout the kid later. Letcha know after.”

You didn’t want to drop the subject but at least he was going to consider it. Sitting up, you slumped on the cot, already feeling the need for a nap. Your energy levels had taken a major hit from your momentary lapse of sanity. Scratching at an itch on your belly, you were suddenly struck with the urge to share the progress note with Daryl. He was reading damn books on pregnancy. Surely he’d want to see. Right?

“Um, Daryl?”

“Yeah?” He’d stepped out to get his crossbow and bring it inside, continuing whatever he’d been doing. He still hadn’t asked you to leave. Maybe he was afraid you’d go batshit crazy a second time. 

“I thought you might—well, this morning—” You furrowed your brow, groaning at your inability to put it into words. Finally, you just stood and lifted your shirt, sliding your pants down to just above your pubic bone. “I, uh, can’t get into my jeans anymore thanks to Thumper.” 

Goddamn the man’s ability to maintain an expression of complete and utter stoicism. You suddenly felt self conscious, exposed. Maybe he couldn’t even see the difference. Fuck. 

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I think I should go.” You slipped your fingers beneath the waistband of the pants but that’s as far as you got before you felt Daryl’s fingertips on your knuckles. He didn’t say anything as he stepped closer, shining blue orbs zeroed in on your stomach. You tracked his movements, each step slow and deliberate until he was directly in front of you. Using the tip of his index finger, he drew a line from your sternum to just where your pants sat below the small curve of your belly. 

“Really in there, huh?” His voice was soft and raspy and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you at all. It seemed like a moment between father and child. His palm was warm when he placed it flat just below your navel. You watched his hand, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin. It tickled but you stifled the giggle that threatened. 

You opened your mouth to ask what the book said about how far along you were but when you lifted your gaze from your belly, he wasn’t looking at it at all. Deep blue pools were staring right back at you. 

You knew your breaths were coming faster and your heart was beating a tattoo against your ribs. “Daryl?” Did you imagine that or did he just glance at your lips? You brought your hand to his face, barely brushing his skin when he pulled away abruptly.

“Head on back to the house. Don’t think I’ll be movin’ in there. Better out here.” He grabbed up his weapon and turned his back to you. 

You were still standing frozen, belly exposed and hand just finally dropping to your side. “Daryl, I—”

“Go.” Daryl’s voice cracked on the word. 

You adjusted your clothing and stepped toward him. “Daryl—”

“GO!”

Eyes blown wide, you flinched back and stumbled from the tent. With energy you didn’t know you had, you ran and managed to make it to the house without falling though you stumbled on more than one occasion. You ignored the concerned calls of your name, nearly taking a tumble on the stairs, before finally disappearing into the bedroom and slamming the door. With your back against it, you tried and tried to catch your breath through the onslaught of tears. Your chest was tight, your stomach rolling. 

Trapped in your distress, you couldn’t hear the screen door slap against the wall, Daryl’s boots heading toward the stairs, or even Carol’s accusatory shout. 

“What did you do, Daryl?!”

[shokosmokes]

incubus

sukuna x reader

in which reader decides to play with a ouija board and accidentally summons an incubus sukuna (oopsies)

ヾ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ" -ive never written for sukuna before but this idea scratched an itch in my brain lol

—————————————————

TAGS: semi monster fucking ig?, kinktober, a little spooky, not proof read, honestly no idea how to tag this lol, smut, mdni (duh)

The house is quiet now. The last of the trick-or-treaters have come and gone, and you’re left alone with the faint smell of candy in the air and the dim flicker of Halloween decorations still glowing outside. You sink into the couch, staring out the window at the dark, empty street. A restless feeling tugs at you. There’s something about Halloween night that always makes you feel like you should be doing something… spooky.

Your eyes wander to the closet. You’ve been holding onto it for a while now—a Ouija board, something you found years ago at a thrift shop, tucked away in the back corner, half forgotten. You’ve always been curious about it. A little thrill dances up your spine as you think about it. Why not? It’s Halloween night, after all.

The floor creaks under your feet as you cross the room. You retrieve the board from its dusty resting place, hesitating for just a moment. The planchette rattles as you set it down on the table, the dim light from the jack-o-lanterns casting eerie shadows across the room. You sit cross-legged on the floor, fingers gently resting on the planchette, feeling the cold, smooth surface beneath your fingertips.

The silence in the room thickens. You take a deep breath, the tension in the air palpable, and whisper the words you’ve only seen in movies.

“Is anyone here?”

For a moment, there’s nothing but stillness. The candles flicker slightly, but maybe it’s just your imagination. Then—just the faintest shift—the planchette begins to move, ever so slowly.

Your breath catches. It’s not you. At least… you don’t think it’s you. Your fingers tremble slightly as the planchette glides to a letter.

It hovers over Y.

A chill washes over you as your heart beats faster. You swallow hard, eyes fixed on the board.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

The planchette moves again, slow and deliberate, spelling out something you never expected…

The planchette drifts slowly, deliberately, until it stops over the letter Y. You freeze, eyes wide, your pulse thudding in your ears. Your fingers, still trembling, stay glued to the board. You barely breathe as the planchette moves again, sliding to O, and then, with an agonizing pause, it settles on U.

You.

A cold sweat forms on your brow as the weight of the word sinks in. Your heart pounds harder, the air in the room suddenly feeling thick and oppressive. The candles flicker wildly now, casting frantic, dancing shadows across the walls, and for a moment, you swear one of them moves in a way it shouldn’t.

You pull your hands away from the board, almost too afraid to let go, but you have to. Your breathing comes in shallow, rapid bursts as you stare at the word, the letters glaring up at you like a warning. Your brain scrambles for logic, for an explanation, but the eerie stillness of the room has shifted. There’s a presence here now—something watching, something waiting.

You. It feels like a threat. Like a demand.

Suddenly, the soft creaking of a floorboard behind you breaks the silence. Your heart lurches in your chest as you whip your head around, eyes wide, searching the shadows.

There’s nothing there.

But you can’t shake the feeling that something… or someone… is in the room with you. Watching.

Your eyes dart nervously around the room, heart pounding in your chest. The silence has weight now, pressing down on you, and you swear you can feel eyes watching you from the shadows. You glance at the Ouija board, wondering if you should have never touched it. Maybe it was just a prank of the mind, you try to reassure yourself. Maybe…

But before you can finish the thought, the temperature drops. The air around you turns icy cold, and the candles flicker violently, threatening to go out. Your breath hitches, a mist forming as you exhale. You freeze as a soft, mocking chuckle echoes through the room, sending a chill straight down your spine. The voice is deep, dark, and eerily familiar, like a whisper in the back of your mind that you’ve always ignored.

“I see you’ve been calling for me,” the voice teases, low and dangerous.

You turn slowly, dread curling in your stomach, and you see him. His presence is undeniable, taking up the entire space with an overwhelming, predatory energy. His figure materializes out of the shadows, towering over you with ease, broad shoulders relaxed like he’s amused by your fear. His hair is wild, his skin pale, and those unmistakable red markings that trace his body gleam faintly in the dim light. His eyes—piercing and wickedly sharp—lock onto yours, a twisted grin stretching across his face.

The sharp edges of his grin soften slightly, but it only makes him look more sinister. His gaze trails over you, lingering in a way that makes your heart race for reasons you’re not sure you want to understand.

“You didn’t think you could play with something like that,” he nods toward the Ouija board, “without consequences, did you?”

You swallow hard, backing up instinctively as he steps closer, his presence magnetic, inescapable. He’s no ordinary spirit. There’s a sensuality in the way he moves, in the way his voice curls around you like a forbidden promise. It’s as if he can sense every thought you’re trying to hide, every shiver that courses through you.

“Humans,” Sukuna drawls, his voice laced with amusement, “so desperate to dabble in things they don’t understand. But you…” His grin widens, showing the barest hint of fangs. “You caught my attention.”

Your breath hitches as he closes the distance between you, his tall frame towering over yours. His eyes, dark and dangerous, seem to glow in the flickering candlelight, and for a moment, you’re frozen in place. His hand comes up to gently tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch is cool, but there’s a heat to it, too—a tingling, electric sensation that shoots through your body.

“You called,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your skin, “and now I’m here. What should I do with you, I wonder?”

Your pulse quickens as you try to find your voice, your mind racing, but the words are stuck in your throat. There’s something intoxicating about him, as if he’s drawing you in, coaxing you to let go of the fear and give in to something darker. Something dangerous.

Sukuna’s gaze flickers over your face, and his grin turns feral, the sharpness in his eyes growing more intense. “I can feel it, you know.” His voice drops lower, seductive, almost a purr. “That little thrill of fear. The excitement beneath it.” He leans in closer, his lips near your ear. “Tell me… are you afraid of me?”

Your heart pounds louder, and you can’t tell if the answer is yes… or no.

Your heart races, but it’s not just fear that pulses through your veins—it’s something deeper, something you can’t quite understand. The air between you and Sukuna feels charged, magnetic, pulling you closer despite every instinct screaming that you should run. But your feet stay rooted to the floor, and your body, traitorous as it is, leans into the energy radiating from him.

It’s as if your mind has slipped out of your control, like invisible strings pulling your thoughts toward him. You try to make sense of it, to shake off the strange compulsion, but it clings to you, wraps around your chest, squeezing tighter with each passing second. His voice, that low, dangerous purr, echoes in your mind, clouding your thoughts.

“You’re confused,” he says, his lips curving into a knowing smile as his eyes gleam with dark amusement. “I can see it. Feel it.”

You want to pull away from his touch, but at the same time, something in you craves the warmth of his hand still resting under your chin, the coolness of his fingers brushing against your skin. Your mind screams at you to resist, to think clearly, but it’s like being caught in a riptide, dragged deeper into his influence with every glance, every word he speaks.

“What… what are you doing to me?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible, almost a plea.

Sukuna chuckles softly, a low sound that vibrates through the room and straight into your chest. He tilts his head, his expression one of amusement and curiosity, as if watching a mouse realize it’s been caught in a trap. “Doing to you?” He smirks, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw lightly, sending another shiver down your spine. “This is all you, darling.”

You blink, trying to make sense of his words, but the way he says it makes your thoughts swirl even more. This is me? Your knees feel weak, and there’s a strange heat pooling in your chest, spreading slowly through your limbs like you’re melting under his gaze. But it doesn’t feel like something you can control. It’s as if he’s inside your head, pulling strings you didn’t know existed, coaxing feelings out of you that you can’t suppress.

“I don’t understand,” you breathe, shaking your head slightly, though even that movement feels sluggish, like you’re moving through water.

Sukuna’s grin widens, a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “Oh, you don’t need to understand,” he whispers, his voice dark and soothing, like a lullaby you can’t help but fall into. “You just need to give in. It’s simpler that way, isn’t it?”

There’s a tug in your chest at his words, an uncontrollable urge to surrender, to let go of the confusion, the fear, and let him guide you wherever he wants. You hate that you want it, but you do—something in you aches for it, for him. Your body betrays you, leaning closer, as if seeking his touch without your permission.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. “That pull? It’s what happens when you summon a demon, little one. Your soul already knows its place. You belong to me.”

Your mind reels, but it’s harder and harder to fight the fog that’s wrapped itself around your thoughts. It’s like he’s taking over, seeping into the cracks of your mind, his presence filling every corner, leaving you with nothing but the overwhelming need to be closer to him.

“Why… why can’t I resist?” you whisper, your voice shaking, as your body moves of its own accord, leaning into him.

Sukuna’s grin is all sharp edges, dangerous and wicked, and his hand slides from your chin down to your throat, his fingers curling lightly around your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, but the gesture makes you feel even more helpless, completely at his mercy. “Because,” he says softly, “you don’t want to resist.”

His words sink into you like a slow poison, and the worst part is, some part of you knows he’s right.

ukuna’s hand lingers at your throat, his fingers light but commanding, as if he’s testing how much you’ll allow, how much you’ll bend to his will. His eyes—sharp, predatory—glint with amusement as he watches you struggle with your emotions, torn between resisting him and the unexplainable pull that keeps dragging you closer. He leans in, so close now that you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips, the electricity of his presence crackling in the air.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, a wild mix of fear and something darker, something you can’t name. You feel it before it happens, the moment his lips brush yours—a sudden jolt, like a spark that sets your nerves alight. The kiss is soft at first, deceptively gentle, but beneath it lies a hunger, a dark intensity that pulls you in deeper.

For a heartbeat, you’re lost in the sensation, drowning in it. But then—something changes.

The moment his lips press fully against yours, a wave of weakness crashes through your body. It’s subtle at first, a lightness in your head, a tremble in your limbs. But then it intensifies. Your knees buckle as a cold, draining sensation floods through you, and you feel the warmth—the very life—being pulled from your body. It’s like he’s siphoning your energy, drawing it out of you with every second their lips are connected.

You try to pull back, but your body feels heavy, sluggish, as if all your strength is leaking away into him. His grip tightens slightly around your throat, holding you in place as your breath falters, the weakness spreading like ice through your veins. Panic surges in your chest, but even that feels muted, distant, as if you’re slowly slipping away from yourself.

Sukuna’s lips curve into a smirk against yours, and when he finally pulls back, you collapse against him, gasping for breath. His hand slides down to your waist, holding you upright with ease, his gaze burning into yours with a dark, satisfied glint. “Ah,” he murmurs, his voice silky, teasing, “feeling weak, are we?”

Your legs tremble beneath you, barely able to hold your own weight as the dizziness washes over you, leaving you lightheaded and weak. It’s like he’s drained something vital from you, something you didn’t even realize you had to lose.

“What… did you do?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible, breathless. Your body feels like it’s fading, a shadow of its former self.

Sukuna chuckles, a deep, rich sound that vibrates through the room. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch almost tender, though his eyes gleam with wicked satisfaction. “You gave me a taste,” he says, his thumb grazing your bottom lip, his voice laced with amusement. “A small part of you… belongs to me now.”

You shudder at his words, feeling the weight of them sink in. Whatever he’s taken from you, it wasn’t just physical. It’s deeper, more profound, as if he’s carved out a piece of your very essence and claimed it for himself. The realization sends a wave of fear through you, but at the same time, you can’t shake the lingering, horrible thrill of being bound to something so dark, so powerful.

“You’ll be fine,” Sukuna says, his tone almost mocking as he watches you struggle to catch your breath. “For now.”

Your knees nearly give out again, but he catches you effortlessly, pulling you close to him. His lips brush your ear as he whispers, “You can handle more can’t you?” His breath sends a shiver down your spine.

All common sense flying from your grasp as your body, your mind are feeding into him. Like you’re absolutely mesmerized by the proximity of him, craving, itching for more.

His eyes take in your dazed look, reveling in your limp form. The sight of his sharp eyes drinking you in forces a breathy involuntary moan past your lips.

“More…”

With that his eyes darken, his long fingers wrapping around the form of your jaw possessively, gripping you against him. His eyes flash a fire of lust, racking your dazed expression. The heat of him alone causes you to whimper.

A low deep rich chuckle vibrates from his chest. “So pliant, practically putty in my hands and I haven’t even had my way with you yet.” His hot breath fans across your sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His nose trailing up your neck, almost savoring your scent before you feel the sink of his teeth nipping at the responsive flesh.

Your mind spirals with bewildering desire at the feel of his tongue trailing over the bruised complexion of your neck. His hands find their way beneath the fabric of your top, digging, dragging his sharp nails across the skin of your back causing you to yelp in a mix of pain and pleasure.

His eyes glint with amusement as he watches you squirm. His calloused hands trail down the mounds of your hips, swiftly lifting you, holding you against his form.

His voice a low growl, he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "You wanted a taste, didn't you? Well, here it is..." His arms tighten around you possessively, as he continues to mark you with his touch. "You're so warm... so alive..."

His fingers trail up the soft flesh of your exposed thigh, dipping under your skirt his long nails hook under the fabric of your panties. With a sharp pull the fabric snaps, ripping them.

He lets out a feral chuckle at the feel of your arousal dripping down your thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he looks at the torn fabric. "Such a delicate little thing, aren't you?"

He inhales deeply, smelling your arousal. "You're so ready for me..." He growls possessively, his voice laced with dominance. "Wrap your legs around my waist..." He commands, his voice broking no room for argument. "And hold on tight..."

Your body as if not under your own will instinctively snakes yourself around his form. His grip on you almost painful as in one swift motion one of his hands trail down to pull at the hem of his pants, his length springing free, slapping hard against his toned torso.

He grips your ass with both hands, spreading you open as he lines himself up with your entrance. "Look at me..." He demands, his golden eyes filled with a primal intensity. "I want you to relish in the sight of who's claiming you..."

You look to him with wide eyes sparked with fear but he doesn’t miss the gloss of lust clouding them. He drinks in the sight of your expression, the way your face twists in pain when he plunges into you with a feral pace without warning.

He grunts with each powerful thrust, his hips slamming against yours. "That's it, take it all..." He growls, his claws digging into your soft flesh as he holds you in place. "Your tight little hole feels so good stretched around my cock..."

The stretch of it, the apathetic quilt of his thick length bruising your cervix sends a screech pervading your throat. The sound of it a dulcet melody to his ears.

As painful as it is, as petrifying of the circumstance, as blood curdling screams pass your lips your body seems to further betray you as arousal drips down his thighs.

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming shallower and faster, bouncing you on his length. "Oh, you like this, don't you?" He grins, his fangs glinting in the dim light.

He leans down and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, muffling his primal growls as he continues to bounce you on his lap. The pain only heightens your pleasure, your fingers clawing at his back as your body convulses with each wave of sensation. “Give it to me, give into me…”

“So close…”

He snarls against your skin, his thrusts becoming erratic as he nears his own peak. "Beg for it then..." He demands, his voice strained with barely contained lust. "Beg me to fill you up with my seed..."

A string of light, airy pleads escape you.

“God… please…”

It’s too much, too fast, and yet, you crave it, letting it consume you, surrendering to the dizzying rush. The edges of your body blur, boundaries dissolving as you feel yourself drifting, weightless, pulled into a space where sensation is everything and nothing all at once.

You feel his thickness twitch, spurting your walls with thick warm load. Each breath is shallow, hitched, and trembling as the warmth digs deeper, until even the air feels thick, charged, laced with this pleasure that saturates every corner of your being. He’s pumping into you deep, like he doesn’t want a single drop to spill.

With his nails digging into the flesh of your hips it only takes a few more languish bounces on his cock for you to gush your essence all onto his toned torso. He eyes you with a shit eating grin. The way your face contorts in pleasure, the sounds of your overstimulated cries, the way your juices shine on his skin, draws a deep velvety chuckle that vibrates through his chest.

Curse marks, ones that match his, bloom from the skin encasing your womb. Your eyes widen with a gasp escaping you, when your high finally dissolves and reality hits you. But it’s all too late as your body drains. It’s as if your life source is being siphoned out of you.

The sensation begins as a slow, velvet tug, like he’s pulling on the very essence of you. It’s dizzying, and a strange tingling warmth spreads through you, sinking low, anchoring you in place. You feel a languid heaviness, limbs sinking, body growing weak. A strange, hollow ache starts in your chest, a deep, insatiable yearning that grows. His touch harsh, possessive, like he’s claiming something more than just your body.

Your breaths grow shallow, each exhale coming out softer, weaker, as though he’s taking pieces of you with every breath. Your heart flutters, then slows, each beat feeling more distant, as though it’s echoing from far away. A shiver rolls down your spine, leaving you both cold and somehow intensely warm at the same time.

The warmth leaves slowly, like a candle fading out, and a chill begins to creep in. Your body feels light, empty, almost weightless, as if parts of you are drifting away. He watches you with a faint smile, a knowing, dark glint in his eyes that promises he won’t take everything. But you can feel the darkness now, slipping in where your strength used to be, filling the space he leaves hollow. And as you slip, deeper and deeper, you can’t help but wonder what he’ll leave behind when he finally lets you go.

—————————————————

(*^▽^*) -oh and happy halloween btw

[theyluvivi]

OKAY BET! (I'm a bit sub!sturniolo obsessed, so bare with me) Reader forcing sub!Matt to look at them while they j3rk him off <3

dw girl ive written like 60 sub fics I GOTCHU

eye contact. sub!matt.

"C'mon..." You coo, "It'll be just for a second baby, wanna see those pretty eyes." He shakes his head into his arm. "N-no." He moans out, you jut your lip out. "Please, Matty?" You plea, teasing his tip. "Mh— n-no— s embarrassing—"He gasps.

"Mama just wants to see her pretty boy.." He shakes his head into his arm again, "N-no—!" His words quickly turn into a mewl as you fasten your pace. You use his reaction of throwing his head into the pillows to pull his arm off his face.

"Mama—" He whines, immediately trying to cover his face with his hands. You grab his chin, "You wanna cum? You gotta look at me." He whimpers, eyes beginning to stray away from you. "Matt." You order, he whines but your eyes lock again. He's so pretty, face all red and pouty lips. You notice how he's trying to hold back his moans.

"Why are you being so difficult today, Matty?" You tease, squeezing his length. "I—" His eyes roll back briefly, "Cause' it's embarrassing.." You smile down at him, using the pre-cum from his tip to slick up his cock. "It's jus' me and you, Baby. It's not embarrassing."

"Mh-m— m so close—" He lets out a broken moan. "C-can I cum— Mama? Please?" He doesn't break eye contact. Learned his lesson. "Of course, baby."

His back arches off the bed, grasping at the sheets as he spills into your fist and on his stomach. "See how easy that was?"

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine.

notes: GUYS THIS IS MY FAV CHAPTER IVE WRITTEN SO FAR HDFISHDFSUAFDSDF

THE TIES THAT BIND

It was him. Distantly, his words resounded through your head but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t understand what he had asked you—his words sounded garbled and clear at the same time, as if he was speaking in an ancient language you couldn’t decipher. 

It was him, your soulmate, the man you had been waiting your whole life to finally meet, the man that the gods had tied you with.

The man that ignored you all of these years no matter how hard you tried. 

The man that attacked you at the inn. 

Any elation you might have felt whittled away the longer you stared at him, anger and anxiety beginning to take hold instead. What had he said? The Second Harbinger? You felt unnerved, you had a feeling that you would somehow run into your soulmate while trying to find the evidence to condemn your stepfather but you had no idea he would be… this. 

This is good, the more logical part of you tried to push through the turmoil of emotions you felt, you can use his position, this is your in. 

But nothing about you was logical right now—part of you wanted to pull away, part of you wanted to slap him, and part of you wanted to throw yourself in his arms and grant yourself the warmth you’d been denied for so long. The divide in what you wanted to do had you frozen in place, unable to do anything. 

Dance with me, he had said—phrased as a question but somehow you knew it wasn’t one. 

Thin fingers wrapped around your other arm, Artem forcing your attention back to him, a worried expression directed toward you. “You don’t have to,” he said, and you swore the temperature in the room dropped at his words—maybe it was just a figment of your imagination due to the eerily cold feeling that swept through you, something that was clearly his and not yours, but from the way Artem and his cousins tensed, you thought it might not be. 

He was angry, you couldn’t see it on his face—you could barely see his face, his mask hiding it from view, but you could feel it in your gut, an emotion that wasn’t yours pushing to the surface and threatening to break through. But it was more than just anger: if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought it was jealousy… a part of you wanted to feed into it to test the theory but you had a distinct feeling that would end with Artem being killed and he had been nothing but kind and helpful to you and you didn’t want to risk him like that. 

“It’s okay,” you said tightly, a thin and unkind smile edging at your lips as you pulled your arm from his grasp and let Dottore lead you out to the large, empty floor in the center of the room, all eyes on the two of you. 

Your chest constricted as the Doctor pulled you just a bit closer than the acceptable dancing distance as the two of you found a place on the tiled floor—one hand sliding behind you, fingers dipping low to the small of your back, while the fingers of his other hand intertwined with yours, a more intimate version of the palm-to-palm expected in the Snezhnayan Waltz. 

You thought you should feel different. You thought that your chest should be light and you thought your heart should be skipping beats, adoring and enthralled, lost in the moment of finally meeting him… but all you could muster was a sense of dread. This man had never cared for you before—not to meet you, not to get to know you, not even to give into your childish desire to play the tugging game with him. In his eyes, you had probably forced his hand by coming here, even if it hadn’t been your intention.

“What game are you playing?” he asked, voice cold and unfriendly, but you were barely paying attention to him now, gaze wandering as other pairs began to make their way to the floor at the sight of you and Dottore, the necessary signal they needed to know it was now acceptable to dance. “Dance with me.”

“I am,” you replied, your surroundings blurring again as you focused back on him. “I’m not playing games.”

You were sure that the smile on his lips would not have met his eyes were they visible. “Yet you are here,” Dottore replied, the ensemble getting louder and the chatter across the floor masking your conversation from unwanted ears. “Somehow managing to track me down so you can force me into acknowledging you.”

You couldn’t bite back the scoff that rose to your chest. “How self important,” you said coolly. “Do you really think I have any interest in meeting you after all the years you spent ignoring me?”

You did, you corrected yourself silently, but he didn’t have to know that. It was humiliating enough to admit to yourself that even after all of the blatant neglect and lack of interest, you still had longed for meeting him, no matter how far down you might’ve pushed that desire. 

His lip twitched—the only physical reaction you managed to draw from him thus far but even then, you couldn’t tell if he was irritated or surprised. “Then why are you here?” he asked and for a moment, you regretted your quick tongue. You should have gone along with the lovesick soulmate act so that you would have an excuse as to why you had come to Snezhnaya but you were more focused on your pride than your mission. 

Now, you fumbled—a damning mistake—as you said: “None of your business.”

“Ah, but alas it is my business,” Dottore did not fumble like you did, an empty smile painted on his lips as he watched you from beneath the mask. You felt uncomfortable, you didn’t like not being able to see people’s eyes when you spoke to them. “You see, I was sent to figure out why you are here and if your answer is not to my liking, I am meant to… dispose of you. Now, if you would like me to help you, I suggest you answer my question.”

You took in a sharp breath—one that you couldn’t quite hide from him as you realized that you had been wrong. You had hoped that the eyes you had felt on you earlier were just him, that he had been the one to recognize you, but this confirmed that was not the case. The other Harbingers knew who you were and suddenly, the room felt all the more suffocating. 

Dottore leaned down, lips brushing your ear and breath warm against your skin. “Don’t you feel their eyes on you?” he murmured. “They’re waiting for my decision, I do implore you to start speaking.”

He leaned back just a bit but now you couldn’t keep your eyes trained on his face, too aware of all of the gazes set on you. You could feel Artem’s eyes heavy on you from the other side of the room, they hadn’t left your body once since Dottore had led you to the dancefloor, following the two of you as you spun across the floor in step with the other partners, but he wasn’t the only one. 

Your eyes flickered behind Dottore to where the dark haired girl dressed in white was sitting at the piano, fingers flying across the keys as she played an eerie tune that didn’t quite match the tempo or energy of the Snezhnayan Waltz—the lace over her eyes blocked them from sight but her head was turned in the direction of the two of you. A taller woman with silvery hair leaned on the instrument next to her, blatantly watching the two of you. 

There were too many eyes on you—even who you could assume were newly promoted Fatui captains were glancing your way, the other pairs on the dancefloor kept sparing looks in your direction, giving you a wide berth. You thought you were used to the feeling of being watched, after all in Fontaine, you couldn’t even step outside your quarters without the eyes of justice bearing down on you.

Dottore suddenly cleared his throat, forcing your attention back to him. “Is it not common courtesy to give your dancing partner your full attention?” he drawled. 

“Clearly you’re undeserving of my attention considering you can’t even hold it,” your tongue lashed before you could think. Instead of regretting your words, you doubled down. “It appears you’re not fond of being ignored, how fascinating.” 

How hypocritical, you didn’t have to speak what you meant for him to understand. Dottore let out a huff of amusement but you knew very well that he was not amused if the way his hand tensed on the small of your back had anything to say about it. 

“How ungrateful,” Dottore said quietly, the empty smile on his lips not faltering for even a second, “even when I’m going out of my way to try to make sure you stay alive.”

“We both know that you only want me alive for your own sake,” you countered, taking a small leap in speculation. You knew he didn’t care for you but the consequences of losing a soulmate could range from dire to lethal, if you knew anything about him, you knew that was not something he would want to risk. 

“Clearly I did not ignore you well enough.” 

The smile finally fell—he didn’t like that you could read him the way that you were, although you would argue that you weren’t reading him at all, just placing together the few puzzle pieces he had left for you to complete a small section, the majority of the puzzle was still empty. 

“You-” you began, but you were forced to cut yourself off, eyes darting down as you realized that Dottore had purposefully taken a wrong step in the waltz—subtle enough so that others wouldn’t notice his fault, but just enough so that if you took the correct step, you would twist your ankle over his foot. 

He’s trying to make a fool out of you, fury flooded you at the realization, shifting your foot just to the right so that you could avoid his. The next step of the dance, a half-spin of a turn, was jerky and sharp because of it, veering off track and into the path of a nearby woman and her partner, who were forced to scramble out of your way or risk drawing the Doctor’s ire.

Dottore’s lip twitched up when he realized that you hadn’t fallen for his trick and the waltz continued smoothly, returning to the graceful spins and turns and steps that the two of you had been dancing in tune with before his attempt at making you humiliate yourself. 

“I’ve been patient enough,” he said. “It’s time for you to answer my question.”

Your lip curled in annoyance, searching for an answer to give him before your silence became prolonged and suspicious.

“I’m looking for something,” you said simply. This time, you didn’t have to look down to know he had taken another false step—instead of having to shift at the last second and fall into another jarring turn, you altered the direction of the turn, spinning out just a bit further than was expected of the dance and forcing him to follow. 

“For what?” Dottore didn’t give you a second to recuperate or think and you forced yourself not to bite the inside of your cheek, irritated at the game he was playing no matter how much he might deny playing one should you ask. He was forcing you to focus more on the dance with his purposefully wrong steps so you couldn’t concentrate on coming up with coherent lies. 

For what? That was the question. What should you tell him? The truth? What would he do with it? Could you trust him? You doubted it, but you could trust in his self-preservation at least—you didn’t think he would do anything to damn you because that would mean damning himself. But would he get in your way? Maybe, if only to see you stumble. 

Finally, you spoke, and the words felt weighted on your tongue, mouth dry: “The Fatui killed my father.”

“And you’ve come for evidence. How noble,” Dottore mocked you—if he hated how you could deduce that he didn’t care for your survival beyond for his own sake, you hated even more that he had put together your whole reason for being in Snezhnaya just from the one sentence. “The Hydro Archon is so arrogant that she fails to see foreign threats within her own walls, forcing you to venture into a den of wolves to acquire the proof yourself. What a magnificent god.”

Again, you found sharp words leaving your lips in defense of your nation and Archon: “Perhaps the Hydro Archon is not the only god blind to threats,” you noted off-handedly at the hypocrisy, dancing around another targeted step and forcing another pair of dancers to dodge the two of you—the Hydro Archon might be blind the Snezhnayan spy that was your stepfather, but at least there wasn’t an entire organization working beneath her nose and in her court. 

“What exactly does that mean?” Dottore asked—was that confirmation that the Harbingers were unaware of the masked group that had approached you and the aristocrats? Or was it just Dottore trying to figure out how much you knew? Or maybe it was both. 

“Take it as you will,” you answered, eyes narrowing as instead of continuing the dance, he came to a stop in the middle of the floor.

His hand was still pressed to your lower back, holding your body close to his even as you tried to step away. You hated how you had to turn your head up to look at him and you hated the smirk that spread across his face as he looked down at you. Distantly, you noticed that the music had come to an end as the ensemble prepared for another dance. 

“You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment of silence, releasing your hand only to bring his to your face when you looked away. He used two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your head up in his direction, forcing you to look at him. “I’ll find you again.”

A promise or a threat? You couldn’t tell, throat thick and swollen as he stood straight again, stepping away from you and looking behind you. You looked over your shoulder, eyes falling upon Artem as he walked up to the two of you. 

“Your second dance?” he asked quietly, holding his hand out toward you. You took the escape gratefully and yet somehow, a part of you felt empty as soon as you stepped away from Dottore, a primal and fundamental part of you knew you were meant to be with him and was unhappy with your decision.

You wondered if he felt it too. 

“Are you okay?” Artem questioned as soon as your hand was in his and you stood in position for the next dance—an acceptable distance, unlike how close Dottore had drawn you in. 

You glanced back to look at him as you murmured out a ‘yes’ to Artem, but he was already gone.

His hands were tingling. 

This wasn't right, he wanted to spit out in protest of the way his body was reacting to you—itching to walk back over and rip you away from the Snezhnayan aristocrat who had the audacity to lay hands on what was his. 

His. The word echoed through his head, condemning—he was already beginning thinking like them, like a mortal, an irrational beast that cared for naught but personal pleasure, latching onto someone with the barest interaction. But no matter how much he tried to deny the attachment, his body was betraying him, begging him to turn back for another dance so he could feel your skin against his again.

He thought it might be different, he had abandoned his original body for an artificial one. He thought it could lessen the effects of the bond but he should’ve known better—having an artificial body did not change the fact that his mark had appeared on him, it didn’t change the fact that there was a thread connecting him to you. 

He should’ve known this would only make it worse. 

Dottore didn’t dare look back, no matter how much his body ached for one last look, he needed to retain some semblance of control over himself and he knew that if he looked back now, he would not like what he saw. His teeth ground together at the thought, scraping against his tongue. He imagined the aristocrat’s hand inching down your back, his fingers intertwined with yours. He imagined your body pressed close to his—a slower song was playing, a more intimate one, one that he should be dancing with you to.

As soon as the final thought crossed his mind, he nearly rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he made his way toward the other Harbingers.

“You looked like you enjoyed yourself,” one said, voice cold and mocking, Dottore’s eyes lifted to Arlecchino.

“Thoroughly,” Dottore replied, dry and sarcastic to mask the fact that yes, he had enjoyed his dance with you.

You were not what he expected. Your tongue was sharp and violent whereas he had thought you to be a docile noble girl, sheltered in the palace of Fontaine City. He could still see that part of you, thinly veiled behind the anger in your eyes; the part of you that longed for the sanctity of the bond between a fated pair, the part of you that still had hope things could work out. He wondered if that was the part of you that you showed to everyone else, the gentleness and the kindness. He thought so, if the way you looked at Artem Melnyk had anything to say about it. 

Then, he wondered if your violence was reserved only for him—for some reason, the thought left him pleased, smothering the way the corner of his lips twitched up. 

“Well?” Sandrone said sharply, garnering the attention of the Harbingers in the area. To Dottore’s absolute displeasure, he noticed that both the Balladeer and the Friar had come closer to listen in, two wolves drawn in by the scent of blood. 

You could keep up with him too, every attempt he had made to make you stumble, you caught and readjusted. He had never met anyone that could keep up with him the way you were able to—most didn’t even dare to try, backing down at the mere sight of him, and those that did tended to not be able to hold their bravado for long—even if it was just boldness because you knew that as your soulmate, it’d be unlikely he would do anything to put you at risk.

“A fawn,” Dottore told her coolly, “just as I said. You wasted my time, and my patience. You can explain to the Jester why I decided to leave the event early.”

Dottore thought you were closer to a wolf pup than a fawn, bearing your teeth against greater predators instead of fleeing because you thought yourself more dangerous than you really were—he wasn’t going to tell them that though.

Sandrone did not look convinced at his words. “Perhaps I should go talk to her,” she said doubtfully. 

Unamused, Dottore turned his full attention onto her. “You doubt me?” he asked, an edge to his tone that he dared her to push further. Sandrone looked at him but didn’t respond, he continued: “All she cared for was her first dance with her fiancé being interrupted. Air-headed and dimwitted—whatever you think that girl is, she is not.”

Dottore studied Sandrone from beneath his mask, wondering if she would push even further, but she only shook her head and walked away in the direction of the Captain, clearly unhappy but dropping it, for now at least. 

Perhaps the Hydro Archon is not the only god blind to threats, your words ran through his head again as Sandrone pushed past him. What did you mean? It was a dig at the Tsaritsa, that much was certain but what threat was the Fatui missing that was within their own walls? Could it be the aristocrats? If so, you were a fool to think that they weren’t addressing the more hostile families already… but somehow, Dottore knew that you were talking about something else, something far more worrisome. 

… and that begged the question of how you even knew of it when they, clearly, did not.  

Finally, Dottore’s gaze drew back to the dance floor where you were dancing slowly with the dark-haired aristocrat, arms draped around his shoulders as you swayed to the slow music. You were talking quietly to him, hushed, heads leaned into each other so no one could overhear the two of you. You looked far more at ease with him than you had been with Dottore, your shoulders lax instead of tense, your body loose instead of stiff. That feeling from before—ugly and green—resurfaced. 

“Sandrone,” Dottore finally said, stopping the lower-ranked Harbinger in her tracks, “if you’re so suspicious of her, then why don’t we keep her in the palace for a few days under observation? That way, we can figure out whether or not Fontaine is declaring war or not and handle it duly.”

A risk, Dottore noted, they’re going to wonder why he cares so much, but he thought it was a worthy one. He could knock two birds with one stone: separate his soulmate from her apparent fiancé and try to figure out what the cryptic comment meant. He couldn’t help but notice the long look exchanged by Arlecchino and Brighella, as if they knew something that he did not.

Sandrone hesitated, eyes narrowing for a moment before she nodded, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“And who, exactly, is going to care for this girl?” Brighella, voice high and reedy, interjected himself into the conversation. “Heh… if you’d like-”

“I’ll do it,” another voice interrupted as fury knotted Dottore’s insides so intensely that he thought he might lash out at the vulture. Pantalone was the one to step forward, eyes turned upward and a thin smile pulled tight across his lips, “I’d like to pick at her brains for her thoughts on the aristocrats anyway. I’m sure she’ll have some sort of insight.”

Dottore watched Pantalone carefully, trying to figure out what sort of game he was playing. He made sure that she wasn’t killed on the spot before—not that Dottore would have let that happen, but he would’ve been forced to reveal who exactly you were to him and he didn’t want to open up that weakness. He wanted something and from the way his smile fell and his violet eyes went cold, looking at Dottore as the Harbingers began talking amongst each other, he knew it was nothing good. 

Irritated, Dottore cast a cold look in your direction—one way or another, he was constantly being backed into a corner because of you. But looking at you was a mistake, evidently, because the annoyance swelled as he watched the aristocrat smile at you as you swooped under his arm in a dramatic spin.

Dottore shook his head as he looked away, rolling his eyes beneath his mask as he stifled the vile emotions rearing their head at the sight. As he turned his attention back to the discussion at hand, listening to them talk about the approaching missions, Dottore wondered if he should try to make his exit now, leave Pantalone to deal with her now that he had kindly offered to—the less interaction with her, the better, he thought, even though his body shrieked in protest—and he wanted to get back to the lab anyway. The Theta segment was down there alone and quite frankly, he didn’t trust him around his stuff. 

Alas, he did not get the chance to slip away. As he moved to turn, he noticed that Pantalone was nodding for him to follow.

Dottore bit back a sigh—you, Pantalone, the other Harbingers—this was all going to cut into his research, he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to get anything done for quite a bit. 

“What was that all about?” Artem asked you quietly as the music began to pick up again, masking your voices—it was a slower dance, one that was far less demanding than the waltz with the Doctor, who had you struggling to keep up mentally and physically. 

You were lucky that Miss Elyna had been so strict with your dancing lessons, not only did she prepare you by teaching you all of the popular dances amongst aristocrats across the seven nations but she also forced you to know how to dance with an incompetent partner so that the you were not made to look like a fool in public. 

Dottore was not an incompetent partner by any means, but he surely was a malicious one. 

“They’re suspicious of me,” you said softly, watching his expression twist into one that bordered between shocked and horrified, confirming what you already knew—you were not in a good place. 

But he didn’t know that you weren’t in the worst place, you couldn’t tell him about your relationship to Dottore. You didn’t know how he would react and you needed him on your side for the duration of this event. You figured that Dottore wouldn’t let them kill you, at least for his own sake, but there were fates worse than death and the thought of that made your skin crawl.

“After this song, we’ll head over to my father, I’ll ask him what to do,” Artem said, nodding to himself. “They can’t do anything, not without risking our support and our support is the only support they have amongst all of the Snezhnayan nobles. So unless they want every single aristocratic family against them…”

Your eyes drew across the room briefly, at the captains and the elite members of the Fatui lingering around the floor and dancing with their partners, at the Harbingers still lurking on the outskirts of the room, some still looking in your direction. There were so many of them and you didn’t have to face them in combat to know that they were all strong, the Harbingers alone reeked of power.

“... if you tell your father, he’ll be upset,” you finally said, voice low—you hadn’t phrased it as a question but you supposed it was one.

“He’ll be livid,” Artem confirmed, jaw tightening. “They… they all think that I’m going to propose to you soon—they were upset that I hadn’t introduced you sooner but they’ve been waiting for me to get married for three years now. If the Fatui try to do something to you…”

Maybe you shouldn’t say anything then, you wanted to say, but the words were stuck in your mouth. The Fatui were strong, you thought again. Artem had claimed that they host these events as a show of power, to force the aristocrats to understand just who they were dealing with, and even from this glimpse you knew that the threat the Fatui posed was beyond anything that the elites of the Fontaine court and the Hydro Archon imagined. 

You wondered, then, why did they not take control of Snezhnaya through sheer force alone? They could do it, surely, the Harbingers themselves could probably handle it on their own. You figured that the aristocrats held a lot of sway amongst the common people—if it was anything like the structure of the Fontaine countryside where each town was centered around one of the aristocrats' estates—and from there, you could assume that the Fatui did not want to rule their own people through fear. 

But you feared that if push came to shove, the Fatui would have no issue slamming their iron fist down upon the people of Snezhnaya and if that was the case, you didn’t want that blood on your hands because Artem had rushed to the defense of a girl he barely knows… especially because you thought if he knew who exactly your soulmate was, he wouldn’t be so quick to help you. 

“Don’t tell them,” you finally said, mouth dry, glancing away as you continued, “whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. Don’t risk pissing the Fatui off even more.”

Artem’s brows knit together. “What?” he asked, voice hushed. “You have no idea what they’re capable of, what they’ll do to you and if the Doctor of all Harbingers is interested in you then-”

“I’m not a helpless girl, Artem,” you said sharply, careful to keep your voice low. “I will do what I must to survive, you need to focus on…”

Your family, the other nobles, this organization that’s pulling all of the strings. Let me deal with this, it’s my mission.

Artem didn’t look happy, shaking his head again. “I didn’t say you were helpless,” he said, lowering his voice even more as he leaned his head down to you. To all others, you thought it probably looked romantic, but you could feel his arms tense around you, “but you can’t do this alone. They’ll find you out and-and you don’t want to know what they’ll do when they do.”

There was a haunted expression on his face, as if he had personal experience with the Fatui and what they would do to the people that actively worked against them. There was a pit in your stomach as you looked away—guilt, anxiety, maybe something else or a combination of both, knowing who your soulmate was and how even though Artem was terrified of him, he still was trying to defend you against him. 

“I need to use the restroom to freshen up,” you said, changing the subject abruptly—you didn’t want to talk about this anymore, if the Fatui were already onto you, you were running out of time to do what you needed to do. 

You didn’t want to rely on Dottore, not if you didn’t have to. 

Artem stared at you for a long moment before sighing, arm slipping around your waist as he guided you back to the front of the room toward the wide double doors that led to the entrance hall, “There’s only two ways in and out of here, the only other way…”

You glanced backward to another door on the opposite side of the room—the only way to get to it would be to walk past several Harbingers and that was simply not going to happen, not when a few of them were clearly suspicious of you already. You could only hope that they missed you slipping out of the hall but somehow, you doubted they would. 

Reaching the doors, you raised your eyebrows when neither of the Fatui subordinates moved out of your way. Artem stepped forward, slightly in front of you.

“Is there an issue?” Artem asked coldly, motioning to the door. “Are the hinges not working properly? They seemed just fine before. My lady needs to freshen up.”

The two men exchanged a long look with one another before shifting out of the way, albeit a bit reluctantly. You looked back at Artem, squeezing his arm, “I’ll be right back.”

And if I’m not, don’t come looking. 

“They’re a lovely couple, hm?” Pantalone smiled as the two of them walked the length of the ballroom. Dottore’s jaw clenched, irritation skyrocketing when he continued, “They look very happy together, don’t they?”

“Very,” Dottore agreed dryly, not letting the man get a rise out of him like he wanted, but unlike Pantalone, he did not look in your direction. 

Instead, he kept his gaze trained forward, mind-racing as he tried to figure out what Pantalone might want from him. If he had to guess, it was going to be something with the residue research and creating a stronger delusion for him but the man was as unpredictable as the wind—there was no telling what demands would spew from his mouth. 

“Do you think that’s why she was ignoring you?” Pantalone asked, trying to gossip like a pair of old wives as if they weren’t talking about his soulmate. “She finally found someone better and doesn’t want anything to do with you?” 

Dottore didn’t think that was the case. He finally looked back over to where you were dancing with the aristocrat. You looked comfortable with him, but not happy, and you looked safe with him, but not hopeful—not the way you had been with him, at least. You had been tense and stressed but there was no denying that lingering hope that swam behind your eyes, as much as you tried to hide it with your sharp tongue and harsh jabs. 

Dottore had never been able to read people well—he compensated with intimidation—but it came naturally when looking at you, probably because of the bond. He didn’t know whether or not to be appreciative of it or to resent it because you could clearly read him as well as he could read you and the thought of that left him uncomfortable.

“No,” Dottore finally said after a few moments of silence. “I think she was ignoring me to be petty.”

It appears you’re not fond of being ignored. How fascinating. 

He had recognized the underlying message, calling him a hypocrite—he wouldn’t put it past you to have spent the past two weeks ignoring him after he finally reached out to you just to be spiteful.

“Not quite the air-headed and dimwitted fawn you described to the others then,” Pantalone drawled, smile widening as he finally looked at Dottore. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t say anything… but there’s no way the others will fall for the facade once they realize who she is to you. Anyone fated to you is bound to be closer to monster than man.”

That was unacceptable. His chest tightened at his words, a foul feeling swirling his insides. It was not about the implied insult to him, nor was it about the subtle threat of the other Harbingers finding out who you were to him—it was the insult to you, the mocking comment Pantalone made calling you closer to monster than man. That was not acceptable.

And then he realized what he was doing, getting defensive over you for no reason at all. Careful, he told himself, this was what he hadn’t wanted. 

He pushed it away, again, focusing on the issue at hand. 

“Was she everything you hoped?” Pantalone pressed, a sardonic smile twisting his lips as he watched you.

More, Dottore answered silently. You were beyond anything he had imagined, but he kept his answer to himself, “What do you want, Regrator?”

“Fair exchange,” Pantalone spoke of the policy he had lived by since the day Dottore met him and Dottore knew that he wasn’t going to like this. Pantalone’s eyes gleamed at the prospect of it, that thin thread of control waning as it always did when he got the upperhand on someone. “I am owed. Our previous exchange has been fulfilled—you brought me into the Fatui and helped me obtain my position, I gave you better funding and support in meetings. This is the start of a new exchange. Twice now, I’ve protected her and now, I’ve brought her in so that you weren’t exposed. I am owed.”

“What do you want?” Dottore repeated again, unperturbed by Pantalone’s demeanor, wanting to get this conversation over with. “The residue research? One of my segments to help with your missions?”

“The prototype for the new delusion,” Pantalone said. Dottore raised his eyebrows—it’s a prototype for a reason, on his lips but he decided against it. If the Regrator wanted to use the prototype, all the better for Dottore: he would be able to study how he reacts to it, and how it reacts to him. “And a branch of the Northland Bank in Fontaine City.”

Dottore tilted his head, “How exactly do you expect me to help with that? Just take one of the segments and tell them what to do.”

Pantalone smiled again but this time, it was colder—the same smile he directed at the other Harbingers when they pissed him off. His head turned in the direction of where you were dancing with the aristocrat and then he asked, voice amused: “You didn’t think I was helping her for your sake, did you?”

There it is. 

Dottore stared at Pantalone emptily from beneath his mask. He had expected this from the moment he had initially offered his help in finding you, he knew there would be a catch but he did not think it would have to do with you. 

A branch of the Northland Bank set up in Fontaine City. What would that entail from you? Information on the court that only the upper echelon of aristocrats would know? Weaknesses and holes in their defenses? Either way, it would entail betraying your nation and he had a feeling you wouldn’t do that… which meant he would somehow have to get the information from you to pass it on to Pantalone, which meant he would have to betray you. For some reason, the thought left him feeling uneasy. 

“Very well,” he agreed. “Consider it done.”

Pleased, Pantalone looked back out to the ballroom floor.

“Oh?” he noted. “She’s on the move.”

Dottore’s head snapped to the side, eyes searching the floor until they landed on where the aristocrat was leading you through the hall and to the entrance of the room.

What were you doing? He had a bad feeling, exhaling as he waited. Were you really going to go out and try to find the evidence you wanted now? Right after he had told you that the Harbingers have their eye on you? You couldn’t be that stupid… unless you were trying to rush to do it before he could get involved but that would be ridiculous.

Dottore’s eyes followed you until the doors of the ballroom shut behind you and you were gone from sight. He didn’t bother explaining to Pantalone where he was going, turning on his heel and made his way to the door on the opposite side of the room, closer to where he and Pantalone were standing.

The Fatui subordinates scattered at his approach, allowing an easy exit for him. Pantalone followed, much to his distaste, but he supposed this way it didn’t look as suspicious. As soon as he pushed the door open, a rush of cold air met him—a welcome escape from the stuffiness of the ballroom and the endless chatter of the aristocrats and the music and all of the overwhelming noise.

The hall was dimly lit by candles mounted on the walls, there was no one in the hall besides them—Dottore assumed that you had turned down the hall on the right instead, heading to the washroom. 

Was that what you were doing? Faking going to the washroom so you could slip away and search? Why weren’t their subordinates lining the halls to make sure people couldn’t do that? 

“Are you going after her?” Pantalone asked, amused, slinking up beside him. Dottore gave him a cold look from the corner of his eye. “Relax, I won’t interfere.”

Dottore wasn’t sure how much he believed that but he didn’t have time to call him out for it. He wanted to get to you before you did something stupid. He gave Pantalone one last look before making his way down the hall in the direction of the washroom, turning left down two different halls until he was on the opposite side of the ballroom—just as he came to a stop outside of the door, it opened.

“There you are.”

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

[urprettylittlething]

Stuffed Full

Yandere - Gojo Satoru x CursedKitty! Reader x Geto Suguru

A/N - Again another part of CursedKitty universe! This is basically a smut series at this point but im not complaining lmao, this was partly requested by a lovely anon, which i also mixed with a request from someone on AO3 <333 Ty my lovess, ive been so busy recently and ive been getting little sleep but ive finally got another part for you all, they seem to get longer and longer lmao, And thank you all so much for all the love on my CursedKitty Universe <3333 It means a lot to me that you all enjoy it so much, i love to read any comments you guys leave it really makes my day :,) <333333 Ily all so much i hope you enjoy my second written smut ever </3 If you want to request anything feel free! <3

summary - You beg them for cock so don't be surprised when you get two.

warnings - she kinda begs for it so ig consensual? But Dubcon to be safe, female anatomy, smut, two cocks in one hole, double stuffed, clit play, squirting, a lot of cum, lots of praise, dumbification? i think so, very vague yandere vibes but theres something there, crying during sex, overstimulation? probably, shes desperate lol, heat vibes, (let me know if i need to add more please)

genre - Oneshot

wc - 2.3k

-not edited yet, will be soon-

It’s the end of the day when Geto and Gojo come back to see Kitty. They arrive at the high end apartment complex and start making their way up to the top. It’s paid for by Gojo who has the most money amongst the two of them, but Geto pitches in with the bills every now and then and food stock when they want to stay here instead.

It wasn’t often that they’d use Gojos apartment, but it was nice for some privacy every now and then. True privacy. It was also good during their vacation times. It’s especially come in handy now that they have a cute little kitty to look after. 

They only keep things stocked really for them since Kitty doesn't need to eat any human food, but every now and then she gets curious about the snacks they eat. Being able to smell the scent of the chicken broth, or Gojo’s sweets looking particularly alluring with bright colors and fluffy insides. 

So they’d feed her every now and then while she has fun enjoying the new tastes and textures in her mouth. Besides, they have fun too, pulling her into their laps and squeezing her hips and flesh while she nibbles on the soft sweets in their hands and licks the remaining scraps off of their fingers. 

When they get to the door Gojo begins unlocking it and they make their way inside. Runes decorate the door on the inside, as well as every window in the apartment. Just a precaution they’re taking to ensure she doesn't accidentally escape, to keep her contained.

Gojo lets his bag slump to the floor while he stretches obnoxiously, looking forward to the entire week off they have with Kitty. Geto trails in behind him and actually hangs his bag up, closing the door behind him he calls out, “Kitty cat, where are you?” 

A shuffle and thump could be heard down the hallway before the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor could be heard coming towards them. When Kitty rounds the corner she practically pounces on the first person she can see.

Her hands immediately gravitate towards Getos trousers, where she tries tugging and pulling on them in an attempt to get to what's inside. 

A startled sound escapes Geto as he instinctively grabs onto her wrists and pulls her hands away from his dick. Now holding her squirming arms in the air his brows furrow as he looks to Gojo. 

“Don’t look at me!” he says, holding his own hands up in the air in a mocking act of surrender. He’s leaned up against the back of the couch, one leg hooked over the other as he watches on in amusement from behind his glasses. “What’s got her so riled up?”

Geto huffs and looks back down at the squirming curse in his arms. She’s resorted to crying, large drops of tears trickling down her cheeks and dripping off of her chin. Her bottom lip is wobbling and she's looking up at Geto almost pleadingly. 

The more the two men take in the curse the more they notice and the more curious they get. They notice the light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, the way her thighs try and rub themselves together and the sticky wet sounds they make when they do. 

Geto seems to clock it a second before Gojo does. Cooing down at the Kitty caught in his arms he practically purrs, “Awh, such a good kitty, were you trying to ask for my cock? Is that it? Need my cock to make yourself feel better?”  

She's blubbering, pretty tears still falling down her cheeks as her hands still try and squirm away from his hold. She seemed to register his words at least somewhat as she looked down to his trousers again before looking back up at him with those begging eyes.

God, he can already feel himself hardening in his boxers. 

“Oh? Kitty is asking to be stuffed, is she? This is a first.” Gojo says, already standing up and making his way to the bedroom. 

Geto follows shortly behind him, lightly dragging Kitty along with him as she fumbles over her steps, his strides being bigger than hers. He hums in response to Gojo. Gently sitting Kitty down onto the ruffled sheets. It's clear she was in them before they got home. 

Gojo grabs onto Kitty and pulls her further up the bed, pushing her onto her front when she tries to grab at his trousers as well. He keeps his hand on her head and pulls her hips up with the other, flipping the loose shirt over her ass and hips to rest on her arched back. 

Her hips wiggle and Gojo groans. He brings one hand up to massage her ass, fondling and gripping the flesh. “She’s dripping Sugu.” He murmurs, voice dropping a few octaves and becoming husky. 

Her tail had been curled around one of her thighs the entire time, some of the fur wet with slick as it uncurled itself and rested against her back, the tip flicking back and forth every now and then.

His hand pushing her head into the sheets briefly massages her scalp when she starts whining, becoming restless. A gentle purr starts up in her chest while her ears flatten against her head but she still continues to squirm. 

“Okay Kitty, don't worry you’ll get your milk soon.” He brings the hand that was groping her flesh to his zipper, pulling down his trousers just past his hips, his boxers following shortly after. He spits in his hand and takes his already hard cock, giving himself a few quick pumps before lining himself up to her pulsing hole and pushing his way in. 

He leans over her, one hand still keeping her head down while the other goes back to gripping onto her hip, no doubt bruising the flesh beneath his fingers. His glasses slide down his nose as he finishes sheathing himself inside of her.

Her little hands are resting either side of her head while gripping the sheets beneath. Her eyes are half lidded and small pants leave her open mouth, leftover tears dribble over her water line and soak into the sheets below her.

Gojo groans squeezing his eyes shut tight while his chest heaves, her tight walls still trying to suck him in further while they pulsate and flutter around his hard cock. 

When his eyes open again he catches Geto’s gaze from where he's standing at the edge of the bed in front of Kitty’s head. “You didn’t waste any time, huh?” he says while raising an eyebrow. 

“I was already hard and besides, she was begging for it.” Gojo responds after catching his breath. 

“You didn’t even prep her.”

“She can take it.” 

“Can she?”

“Are you jealous I got here first Sugu?”

Geto goes quiet for a second at that while they stare each other down. It’s only when Kitty starts trying to move her hips and whine again that he speaks up. “So what if I am?” 

It’s Gojos turn to go quiet for a second until he blurts out, “I’m sure she can take two.”

Geto stares at him in shock as a small smirk graces Gojos face, his glasses slid down far enough that his eyes are exposed. A glint of mischief and lust present in the irises.

Geto sighs before smirking himself, “I guess we’ll find out.” 

Gojo huffs out a laugh before reaching under Kitty and pulling her up with him so they're both kneeling on the sheets. She yelps when he pulls her up, his cock moving inside of her, before leaning against his chest. He rests his head between her fluffy ears while watching Geto climb onto the bed and kneel in front of Kitty. 

Geto unzips his trousers and pulls them just below his hips exactly like Gojo did. The impatience getting to him as he eyes her dripping pussy being stuffed full with Gojos cock. He brings one hand between her legs to swirl loose circles around her engorged clit while he pulls his cock out. 

Kitty squeals and her hips jolt at the sudden contact of his cold fingers to her hot flesh. She begins mewling at the consistent pleasure to her nub while Gojos cock presses against all her sensitive spots from inside. Her ears are pressed flat to her head while she twitches and gasps in his arms. Her hands grasping on tightly to the arm wrapped around her middle holding her up.

“Can feel her squeezing me.” Gojo murmurs into her hair, head tilted slightly so he can watch Getos fingers pleasure the cursed kitty in his arms. 

Geto shuffles forward a bit more so he's pressed against Kittys front, her perky breasts squished between them while he stops circling her clit to rest the hand on her hip. The hand still gripping tight on his cock guids it to her already stuffed hole. 

“It’s going to be a tight fit.” Is all he says before trying to squeeze his way inside the desperate Kitty they caught. 

She wails at the extra intrusion, Gojo trying to calm her down with hushes and coos, using his hands to caress her flesh. When Geto is about half way in he stops for a second to groan and pant, murmuring about how tight she is before pushing the rest of the way in.

Kitty squeals at the feeling, being stuffed full with two cocks overwhelming her senses. She's mewling and blubbering, the pretty tears from before had returned to caress her cheeks. Geto joins Gojo in rubbing and whispering to Kitty, giving her a second to get used to them together. They weren’t that cruel. 

Gojo brings his hands up to fondle and massage her Kitty ears, helping her relax faster as a small purr tries building in her chest, Geto continuing his caresses over her hips, sides of her breasts, shoulders and back. 

It’s Gojo that starts moving first, beginning to thrust in her tight walls the smallest amount. Geto’s breath catches at the feeling before he begins to do the same. 

They’re alternating between thrusts, whenever Gojo pulls out a bit, Geto pushes in. They’ve resorted to resting their hands on parts of her flesh to give them something to hold onto as they pick up the pace. 

Gojo has one hand on her hip and the other arm wrapped around her middle. Geto has one hand on the other hip and the other hand holding the back of her head, pressing her into him more.

The more their pace picks up, the louder Kitty gets, sputtering and gurgling between the two of them, gasping and mewling as well. Her little pussy was stretched to its limit, pulsing and gushing at the unrelenting pleasure. It was getting easier and easier for the two to move inside her from all the slick she was producing.

When they’re finally at a consistent pace they both lean down to whisper and murmur in her ears, barely making out words of, “Such a good girl.”, “Such a pretty little Kitty, taking us so well.”, “Letting us fuck you at the same time, naughty Kitty.”, “ You’re my perfect little curse aren’t you?”, “God, listen to your pussy taking us so well.”

Neverending praises being fed to her while they pounded her with their cocks.

She's almost sobbing by the time they’re about to cum, her chest heaving, cheeks and chest flushed, eyes lidded while the tip of her tongue pokes out of her mouth, droplets of tears still fresh in her eyes.

When the two of them start panting and groaning, their rhythm starts to get sloppy, one of them reaching down with two fingers to rub and flick over the exposed nub. The juices that have dripped onto the sheets below provide more than enough lube to smoothly glide over the flesh. 

They can both feel her tense up around them, an inhuman shriek leaving her as her whole body shakes. Gojo throws his head back and starts fucking into her with a rabid pace, chasing his orgasm with Geto. Her walls suddenly tense up further, almost making it impossible for them to move as her walls pulse and gush fluid, squirting out juices onto both of their cocks and soaking the sheets below them.

Kitty goes limp between the two of them. Holding her up while they finish groaning and moaning, fucking their orgasm up into her.

None of them move or say anything for a few minutes after they finish cumming. Leaning against each other while they try and catch their breath. 

Eventually Gojo pulls out, bringing a whine out of the overstimulated Kitty in his arms. More of her juices, now mixed with their cum, drip from her hole, onto the ruined sheets below and down the length of Getos cock which was still inside of her. 

No one says anything as Geto shuffles the both of them up the bed a little before collapsing onto his back, Kitty tucked into his chest with an arm going around her back and the other burying itself into her hair to massage the base of her ears. 

A few light mewls escape her as another gentle purr begins building up in her chest, content now after being stuffed to the max. 

Gojo comes back a few minutes later, collapsing into a pile on the sheets next to the pair after having run a bath for them all to relax in.

He looks over at the two, making eye contact with Kitty as she gazes at him with half lidded eyes. The small purr audible if you listen in closely. Gojo reaches over with one hand to caress her cheek. Dancing the tips of his fingers under her eyes and down the sides of her face. 

“We really picked a cutie, didn't we Sugu?” Gojo murmurs. 

Geto hums in response, voice husky, “Never letting her go.”

Gojo huffs a laugh as he brings his hand back to join the other tucked behind his head. “Wouldn't dream of it. Our pretty little curse.” 

[tastywormfood]

Ive tried to get my feelings about Moominvalley s4 into words, but im having a really hard time even accepting them. But ill try!

So here's my thoughts in Moominvalley s4.

Im 23 now and i remember being 12 - 15 figuring out my identity, and the only "representation" in mrdia being basically either "Bury your gays" trope or just queerbaiting. I grew up on a base level thinking i wasnt allowed to exist, and if i still dared to, tragedy would be my only birth right.

I believed i wasnt allowed to live a happy, soft AND queer life, cause no media i had seen had ever showed me that, that was a possibility.

Both the 90's Moomin series and Moominvalley 2019 are my comfort shows. I fall asleep to them at night, i listen to them like a podcast while im working or outside, they even calm my panic attacks. I collect cups, plushies, i collect the Comics and even some of the books.

I have 3 Moomin tattoos. This universe means a damn lot to me, and to thousands of ppl world wide.

As a queer person i find incredible comfort in Tove Janssons work, and you have to be a fool to be unable to see the way Snufkin and Moomintroll are written together.

I have been following this show since early 2020 and have watched interview to interview, ive listened to the podcast more times than i can count, and they knew what they were doing.

From the beginning of the show they deliberately wrote Snufkin and Moomin to be something more, they even confess In a BTS that their Moomin might like Snufkin more than Snorkmaiden. Even the podcast talked about it!! We are not crazy!!!

I feel incredibly gaslit by the entire situation, and suddenly im 14 again being told im reading too much into it.

Idk what happened inbetween S3 and 4, but it felt like all the love and care that came from the show, just disappeared?

Ignoring Snufmin for a second, every episode this season felt like a filler. It has no plot, followed up on nothing from the last seasons, and had an extreme amount of loose ends.

The former seasons, especially s1 and 2 has such amazing writting, character development and just a feeling of patience and of softness, i would watch it and think everything would be okay... But this season felt stripped of every inch of the care Tove Jansson put into her universe.

I want to talk a little about Moomintroll.

One of Moomins character Arcs is his want to grow up, its his need to be taken seriously and his need for independence and adventure. His need to step out of his dads shadow, and to be his own moomin! The character development he had built up through out the seasons, completely and utterly disappeared. There is no trace of anything in s4.

He is right back to where he started in s1, not being able to stand up for himself and say no, not having the confidence to go on adventures and right back to idealizing his dad. If anything this entire season felt like a prequal! Cause at least s1 Moomintroll wanted to learn, and was activily trying to change.

Moomintroll truly felt like a side character this season, i dont even think he has any important moments. Unless you count Comet in Moominvalley (which i dont), where all his independence has disappeared. Moominpapa literally has to push him out. He made one decision that eps, which was to float down the river instead of walking, which ended up being the wrong and slower way.

The regression Moomintroll went threw this season is heartbreaking, and thats not my Moomin.

Focusing for a bit on Snufkin, this season felt like a slap to the face.

They know that Snufkin is one of their most popular characters right? If not the most popular. If anything he is at least in the top 3, not only in Moominvalley but in the rest of the moominverse.

So why did this season feel like Snufkin erasure?

He was barely in it, and when he was all of that glow that normally radiats from him was all gone. He felt like the husk of a character.

This version of Snufkin was on of my favs, cause you could actually see his flaws and disagree with his actions. He had room to grow, and he did, he truly did.

He learned from Moomin just like Moomin learned from him. Their characters Arcs co align witch each other, their relationship and interactions are the pillars of the entire show. Snufkin and Moomintroll are what make the show proceed.

Finding the 2019 show for the first time as an 18 year old gave me confirmation and trust, that i was allowed to live a soft and slow life as a queer person. If Moomintroll and Snufkin could have that kind of beautiful queer slow burn romance, then i had a chance to as well.

They knew that a big part of their viewers are queer, and they knew how popular Snufmin was. They knew what kind of ppl they attracted, or they wouldnt have made it like that.

All the soft moments, the longing, the zoom in on eye contact, the zoom in on hand holding. They said trust us, they said be patient, and then they threw everything they had been building up out and set fire to it.

We got Queerbaited, and i truly havnt felt this feeling for a while. We got actual queer shows now, ofc they all end up being cancelled! But they exist!

This show felt like it was crafted with so much love and care, that i completely let my guard down. The entire queer Moomin community did a 5 year long trustfall, just to hit the floor the last second.

Season 4 of Moominvalley felt empty. It felt lost of all care and love. The first 3 seasons felt handcrafted by warm hands, season 4 felt machine made. Easy to digest, with no real soul.

Season 4 of Moominvalley feels souless.

I have chosen to live in a world where Comet in Moominvalley is a prequal to s4 and that s4 is a prequal to s1. The true last season was S3 and Moominvalley ended with Snufkin and Moomin walking arm in arm. Thats the only way i can Rationalize everything.

I have so much more to say, but ill stop here for now. Hope all of you are doing okay<3

[ohdeerfully]

Hello

I live

Well, barely

OMG ISTG I JUST REREAD LIKE ALL OF YOUR FICS I'M GOING SGSJDGDJHFJDY

Your writing. I swear. It's so good. Like when I read any other alastor x reader fic I have this nasty voice in the back of my head going 'He wouldn't do this'. THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN HERE

You are a genius. (Thabk you for speepy Alastor coming from an insomniac is good praise, no?)

My personal favourites are

a. Either of the sleepy Alastoe fics (obviously)

b. Dry bed. Istg the writing in that.. Augh

Could you do a part two to Dry bed? Maybe they just wake up (Together!!!) and awkwardly get their way down to breakfast. Then they simply avoid each other all day, not talking, but still stealing glances at each other when the other isn't looking. Then reader finds Alastor chilling on the hotel roof the following night and they TALK about it. And figure things out.

Omg thabk you for listening to my rant I hope you are doing well byeeee

~❤✨

P. S. You and your fics are my new hyperfixation

hello!!!!! in general sorry yall for my absence, finals are literally next week so it Will happen again

im so glad u like my depiction of alastor hes literally so annoying to write... a dry bed is honestly probably one of if not THE fave fic ive written (though might be a tie with mourning dove) so i hope part ii does it a bit of justice (,: i kind of deviated from ur request at the beginning (they dont wake up together >_<) but otherwise i hope u enjoy! hopefully its not too obvious i kind of rushed it

mwah! <3

A Warm Bed

(sequel to A Dry Bed)

Alastor x Reader (hurt/comfort, fluff) TW: none really, alastor is probs ooc but who cares

join my discord!

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It felt a little bit too cold when you woke up, but you couldn’t immediately find a reason why. Your eyes squinted open, facing the curtains that were drawn just enough to where a peek of the morning light rudely shone against your face. You turned over with a dissatisfied groan.

Peering at the empty bed beside you, you stared blankly as wheels began to turn in your mind. It only took a few seconds to remember the previous night, and your face quickly warned as you hissed in a breath through clenched teeth, wrists coming up and rubbing your eyes with a sense of dismay.

Man, what were you thinking. You felt a strong mixture of regret and embarrassment but also… you felt lonely. The strong, strange affection from Alastor the previous night directly compared to him disappearing and leaving you alone in the morning made you feel all the more cold. The room also had an uncomfortable silence to it, but at the same time too loud with the hum of your ceiling fan.

Whatever, you feigned indifference to yourself and lifted yourself from your mattress, legs dangling over the side of your bed for a few moments, allowing yourself to get a quick stretch in before sliding on some comfortable slippers while you went to your restroom, protecting your feet against the cold tile.

You quickly freshened up, pulling on some comfortable loungewear before leaving your hotel room and walking down the long corridor that led to the steps. Maybe it was just your current mood, but the ambience was too quiet and uncomfortable.

Your spirits slowly lifted as you made your way down the steps, and you could hear the faint clashing of kitchen tools being dropped and thrown, alongside unintelligible and arguing voices, one doubtlessly being Vaggie trying to tame—or, no, threaten—the chaos.

The air, at the very least, smelled good despite the racquet. Though you were in Hell, the food was still appetizing—even if you weren’t exactly sure what it was half the time.

You must’ve made it just in time, as right when you turned the corner you nearly hit your head against Charlie’s shoulder as she rounded the same corner. You tripped over each other for a moment before she ultimately steadied you with a hand and a breezy laugh.

"Good morning! I was just about to tell everyone breakfast was ready…” You smiled at her gesture. Every morning she tried to host some sort of typical continental style breakfast that was standard for most hotels—that is if Niffty’s behavior permitted a successful morning—and the quality was usually higher than what you remembered in your time alive. Of course, you were dealing with the Princess of Hell, who obviously wouldn’t want anything mediocre for her treasured guests.

“Thank you,” was all you could offer in return before she passed you, doubtlessly to gently announce the food to the other guests. There had been an increase in residents lately, so you weren’t shocked at the piles of delicious looking food that met your eyes when you stepped into the kitchen. You could practically imagine sparkles dancing around the fluffy pancakes and still sizzling pans of various breakfast meats.

You helped yourself to a meal, carefully stepping around the growing crowd of other guests, who all, for the most part, seemed a little aggravated at being woken up but nonetheless pleased at the free meal.

A brief hush filled the room as the air seemed to get just a bit heavier, more ominous, alongside the new presence of a prickling against your skin. You didn’t have to look up, nor did you even want to look up, to know who the culprit of such a suffocated atmosphere was; you knew him well enough.

The kitchen slowly came back to life, albeit a bit stiffer and with quieter conversation. You kept your eyes glued to your plate of food as you made your way towards the dining area. As you passed through the entrance, out of your peripheral you saw the large, looming figure of the demon you had become unnaturally attached to. You didn’t look up or even acknowledge him, pretending to just not notice, but you could swear you felt his red gaze burning a hole in your skin.

A few minutes passed after you sat down before Alastor joined you, sitting in his unofficial assigned seat. The only difference was he didn’t scoot his chair nearly as close as usual, as well as the way his body was turned just slightly so that his back was facing you. Not enough to be noticed by other people, but just enough for you—though, maybe you were just overanalyzing things?—to notice how he was pointedly uninviting you from any interactions with him.

Why even bother coming to breakfast, you thought coldly to yourself, deciding to just feel mad about it instead of stewing in your own self-hate and regret. You had already spent all morning feeling stupid for the night before. It’s not like you even eat this shit. Go eat a dead deer or something.

Your fork poked aggressively against the food on your plate, head propped up against a fist as you mindlessly scooted the food around in a pool of syrup. You hoped to convey some sense of hatred to the demon next to you as you jammed a fluffy bite of pancake into your mouth—oh, that’s so good, your spirits were lifted just a bit as the slightly sweet and buttery pancake touched your tongue.

A hand touched your back, and you jolted in surprise. Naturally your eyes first went to Alastor next to you, thinking maybe he was finally over himself, but he had his hands folded on the table in front of him as he watched another table argue over something probably meaningless. Maybe you’re crazy, but did you see his eyes flick to your just as you looked away? You shook off the idea.

Vaggie sat to your right, and was currently eyeing you with a hint of concern in her eye. You shrugged off her hand as politely as possible before smiling at her with a raised eyebrow, trying to play it off with an ‘I’m alright.’

“People that are ‘alright’ don’t usually have some personal vendetta against a plate of breakfast food,” She said in a low voice, trying to keep your conversation private, particularly from a certain set of prying, fluffy red ears. “You know you have friends here. Especially Charlie.”

“Really, I’m all good, just… long morning,” You did your best to wave away her worries again, suddenly feeling a little childish. From the way she spoke, you would think she was talking to someone going through something serious—you were just having some guy problems.

It seemed to work well enough, because after looking at you for a few more beats she raised her hand and turned away, picking up a conversation with her girlfriend. You sat in your spot for a few more minutes, but the growing anxiety from silently and awkwardly sitting next to Alastor, sifting through so many racing thoughts and doubts, gnawed at your stomach. You finally stood up and excused yourself with a thank you and left the room.

You had no specific place to be, so you just wandered into the lobby and slumped against a couch. You briefly wondered where Angel was; he was surprisingly good at listening to romantic troubles, though honestly you probably wouldn’t divulge your whole “thing” with Alastor. That would probably meet no welcomed response.

You must have dozed off, because the sudden sound of raised voices startled your eyes open. Arguments and general anger were commonplace here, so you weren’t particularly shocked to find Vaggie and Angel Dust going at it about something regarding his behavior and the Hotel—a recurring theme in their conversations. Vaggie’s words fell on deaf ears as Angel tutted at her words with a waving and dismissive hand.

“I’m sure ninety percent of these guests would love to have a piece’a me!” He said, taking long strides across the room as he fixed up his chest fluff with two hands. He leaned his hip against the large chair that, much to your dismay, sat Alastor, his grin tightening as Angel approached. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as the spider laid his torso across the head of the chair.

“Even this one…” Angel said with a pouty lilt in his voice, finger dragging up the embellishments as he tried to play flirty. Alastor clicked his tongue distastefully in response before he stood up, hands folding neatly across the top of his cane.

“Not quite to my taste, thank you!” He said, looking down at Angel with an ugly curl in his lip. Angel only huffed in response before slinking down the back of the chair and taking up the space where Alastor previously sat, leaving said demon just standing there.

Alastor’s eyes glanced at you, so brief that you honestly may have imagined it, before he simply hummed with closed eyes and melted into the ground, the shadow where he once stood inking across the carpet before finally coming to a rest… behind the couch where you were laying. You grimaced as you felt his presence manifest again, sending a ripple of that familiar prickle down your bare arms.

Was this going to be your eternity now? Playing some game of cat and mouse where you have to leave every room you’re in just because Alastor gets too close for comfort? You turned your head to try to get a look at him from the corner of your eye, but immediately looked away again when you saw he was already looking at you. You couldn’t read his expression.

You sat up and thought for a few moments. Honestly, it was probably best to just go spend a depression day alone in your room. As pushy as Alastor could be, he wasn’t typically the type to barge into rooms without invitation.

Slowly standing, you managed to avoid the attention of the couple of others in the room—though, realistically, none would care if they happened to see you leave; you were just on edge to everyone and everything. You quickly made your way up the stairs, frowning down at your feet as you walked. You shot a sideways glance at Alastor as you rounded a turn in the steps, finally meeting his gaze for a few seconds before your view was blocked by the wall.

You sighed as you found yourself in front of your hotel room, a heavy feeling making you suddenly choke up. You ushered yourself into the room before you embarrassed yourself by crying openly in the hallway, but the comforting solitude of your room as you leaned your back against the door to close it made it a bit easier to breathe.

After ensuring the door was locked, you went to stand at the edge of the bed, frowning down at the still unmade sheets. Thoughts of that tender night came to the front of your mind at full force, and you bit your lip anxiously. The warmth of his body against yours, the tangle of legs and soft touches of lips… was it all actually, in a cruel turn of reality, a fake expression of care from him? When you had finally begun to think you could read the affection on his face…

You settled into the soft mattress, uncomfortably aware of how big and cold it was. You were no stranger to sleeping alone by any means, but after finally experiencing the shared space with someone you loved, the contrast was stark and unwelcomed. You did your best to ignore it as you tucked yourself in, letting your eyes fall shut in a poor attempt to sleep away your worries.

Your attempts were unsuccessful, and an empty feeling of longing and despair in your stomach grew stronger with each hour that passed as you watched the red hue of the daylight sky turn darker. You felt both restless and tired at the same time, lacking any energy to actually do anything to pass the time. 

It all proved to be counterintuitive to the whole “sleep your worries away” as the hours you spent just lying down only gave you ample opportunity to melt in your own thoughts as the memories of last night kept returning. Man, why did you have to kiss him? You unwittingly ignored the fact that he had also played a part in closing that gap between you; you were honestly just pinning the blame fully on yourself.

Finally sick of stewing in misery, you kicked off the heavy blanket and stood up. You needed some fresh air. 

You tried to walk quickly with a fake sense of purpose so, in the odd chance you passed someone, they hopefully wouldn’t ask about your absence all day—you were typically more present and friendly with everybody as you would often help Charlie with event organization. Lucky enough for you, you passed nobody on your way to the door that opened to some stairs up to the roof of the Hotel.

After a quick pace up the echoey, metal steps, you pushed open the large doors and greeted with a pleasantly cool rush of wind. It was still warm, of course, being Hell and all, but cooler than usual. You quietly closed the heavy doors behind you.

There was a spot on the roof you typically sat at during long, restless nights, and you turned the corner of the door before promptly backtracking and pressing yourself up against the metal door once again, jaw clenched in a mix of shock and anger.

Why the Hell was Alastor on the roof at your spot with your blanket that you had left up here on some previous night? Was he doing all this on purpose? Constantly getting all too close to you while simultaneously acting cool and indifferent towards your existence? Was this all just some sick game to him? Well… it is Alastor.

You peeked over the edge from where you hid to get a better look at him. He sat serenely with his back towards you, legs hanging over the edge of the roof. You couldn’t see his expression, but his body waved just slightly, most likely to the tune of some song in his head. Despite all the frustration you felt in your soul towards him, looking at him under the blanket of a dark red sky with a sprinkling of stars… he still endeared you. Especially when he looked so harmless and relaxed.

Just as you were about to turn away again and find somewhere else to relax, he cleared his throat, stopping you before you could even move.

“It’s rude to stare,” He stated, projecting his voice just enough for you to hear the light humor in his voice. “You seem like a stalker, darling!”

You straightened your shoulders before walking out from behind the wall, a frown on your face. You didn’t walk any closer—God forbid you accidentally do anything to hurt your relationship anymore, if that was even possible.

“I didn’t mean to, I was just… surprised, that’s all,” You reasoned, tapping your foot impatiently. “You are kind of in my spot.”

He hummed, absently pointing at the surface around him. “I didn’t see your name on it.” 

You couldn’t really think of a response quickly, so you just stayed quiet, continuing to just stand in place a few meters away from Alastor.

He briefly put his hand down on the space next to him, patting twice in a vague invitation for you to join him. You thought for a brief moment before cautiously walking towards him, steps growing slower with each foot you got closer. He made no move to send you away—in fact, he even started moving the blanket in a way to make the concrete just a bit more comfortable to sit on. He still didn’t look at you.

Embarrassingly your hands had started to shake, which you realized when you reached your hand down to support your body as you lowered it to sit. You just hoped Alastor didn’t notice. You let your legs fall over the ledge, swinging slightly next to Alastor’s. You didn’t notice how he shifted his knee a bit closer to yours.

The two of you sat in silence under the still-darkening sky, and you couldn’t decide if it was a comfortable or awkward silence. Alastor didn’t seem to mind, so you tried to convince yourself it was comfortable despite the itching anxiety in your chest.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” You blurted out, unable to contain it anymore. Was it a bad idea to even bring it up? Maybe. But you felt that your relationship was already irreparably damaged so it couldn’t hurt to at least apologize. You saw his eyes turn towards you out of your peripheral, and you were too ashamed to meet his look, instead opting to fiddle with a fray of the blanket edge.

“Whatever for?” He responded after an uncomfortably long pause—this stunned you. Fuck you mean ‘whatever for?’ Your head whipped up to look at him, brows furrowed.

You had spent all die scared that you ruined everything between you and Alastor, regretting everything that led up to last night’s events—it didn’t help that Alastor himself was also blatantly avoiding you. What the fuck is he acting so confused for?

Apparently you said that all out loud, as Alastor’s smile was growing more and more strained with each loud word that tumbled from your lips. You didn’t even realize until you were done and catching your breath, but at this point you couldn’t care less to apologize or feel bad about it. You folded your arms and fixated your eyes on some random pedestrian below as another long stretch of silence filled the air.

“You confuse me,” He finally said, with a voice that lacked its usual radio tone. You didn’t respond, so he continued. “I feel these alien emotions when I’m near you—you bewitch me. And I don’t like it. I hate you for it.”

You couldn’t control the slight slump in your shoulders and the sharp pang in your stomach that his words brought you. Hate. 

“But… I kill the demons I hate,” He said, looking away from you and up at the sky. “And I can’t find myself wanting to kill you. That has to mean something, though I’m really no man to figure it out myself.”

You cautiously returned your eyes back to him, shoulders curled forward as if to protect yourself against the blow of any harsh words. But, as he spoke, you felt that anxiety slowly lighten as you pieced together what he was trying to convey in his own strange way. Although, you weren’t really sure what to say in response, filled with too many swarming emotions—both new and old. 

Suddenly you looked at the space between the two of you—was Alastor’s hand there just a minute ago? You looked up to try to get any hint of his goals; but, unsurprisingly, he remained unreadable. It was definitely safer to just ignore it.

Well, that got a lot harder when his pinkie finger stretched towards you just a bit, practically inviting you. You looked at his face one more time, swallowed your fear, and tenderly laid your hand down next to his. You moved it cautiously closer, just enough so that your pinkie touched his own. His lifted up and curled over yours, tightening in a way to bring the rest of your hand closer and enveloping it with his own. Your gaze was fixated on this exchange and you felt heat warm your cheeks and ears.

You both said nothing, but you thought the pounding in your ears would drown out any attempt.

Your attention finally broke from the hands that now clasped together between the two of you, turning up towards Alastor. You found that he had been looking at you with such an intensity it made you feel like an open book before him. His eyes had a slight glow to them now that the sky had fully darkened—eyes that were usually so malicious and secretive seemed to now burn with what you could only assume was affection.

“I can’t promise I’ll be a good man,” He finally broke the silence. His smile was small but strained, and his voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

In response you shook your head with a breathless laugh, tightening your hand just slightly around his as you focused on the street below, watching the scattered presence of night owl demons.

“I probably couldn’t promise the same, either,” You admitted, leaning back and stretching out your legs in the open air over the ledge of the roof. You froze momentarily when Alastor shifted a bit closer, his knee now barely knocking against yours.

He reached his hand out, fingers curling gingerly but firm over your chin and pulling your face closer to his. He examined your face for a moment, red eyes trailing over every curve of your features before settling back to look into your eyes.

“But I can promise, cher,” The new name he referred to you as made the already present flush in your cheeks only intensify. “That as long as you own what’s left of my heart, no demon in Hell can keep you away from me. Not even you.”

His words were spoken almost like a threat in an ominously low tone, that heavy radio affliction dripping from his words. In his eyes was a sudden look of sinister intensity and devotion, something you had never even dreamed of seeing, especially from him and especially towards you. As menacing as the words seemed, you couldn’t stop the wry smirk that inched up your lips, slightly smushed between his fingers that still firmly held your head in place.

“I’d like to see anyone try,” You responded in an attempt to match his energy. This seemed good enough for him, as his smile lifted for a moment as he released you from his grasp and faced forward again.

You yawned and stretched out your arms above your head, popping a few bones in your back before you stood. He followed suit, deftly touching his clothes with one hand to smooth any wrinkles or crooked buttons—his other was still holding your own.

He stepped closer, nearly pressed against you, when suddenly the atmosphere around you seemed to melt in a swirl of black before being replaced with the familiar decor of your hotel room. He gave you a light nudge and you fell back onto the bed.

After recuperating and settling, you watched him from your spot on the bed as he draped off his coat and slacks before joining you in the sheets. His body language was tense and unsure, but to your own pleasure the stiffness in his shoulders lightened just a bit when your hands tenderly rubbed against his skin.

The bed that was only hours before too big and too cold was now inviting with the warmth of Alastor’s body against your own, his scent filling your nose with every inhale as his hair brushed against your cheek. Every movement was a shaky blur as you were still filled with a sense of disbelief and maybe a little bit of adrenaline from the unexpected switch-up from him. The mattress dipped and creaked as he tried to make himself comfortable, which took an awkward few seconds, but after finally settling in you found yourself laid against his chest, fingers trailing down his skin.

Alastor’s own clawed fingers trailed through your hair and he hummed the quietest tune, lulling you further into an exhaustion that you didn’t realize had been creeping up on you. You fell asleep to a comfort that you hoped you wouldn’t have to spend another day in eternity without.

[livingproofoftbd]

days and nights always change (you and i stay the same)

rated t | current wc 3.7k | 1/3 chapters

tags: bodyswap, introspection, sexuality crisis, internalized homophobia, feelings realization, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, mutual pining, getting together, tooth-rotting fluff, [tags will be updated as i go]

2020dream lives two lives—himself and a version of him from the future—in order to learn a lesson about himself and the people around him

chapter one summary:

His mind swirls, caught in a web he can't even begin to decipher. Something makes his fingertips tingle and his back shiver, incurable even under all three of the blankets he has in the room. His palms sweat as he closes his eyes, meaning only to rest for a moment. Heat clings to his body, but he ignores it in favour of the lull that comes with this kind of peace. He’s always adored it. Sleep finds him easily, albeit by accident. As it usually does. He wakes not long after, so he thinks. It feels like only minutes, though based on the light leaking onto his face, it’s clear it's been hours. He hums and blinks his eyes groggily, shifting in unfamiliarly soft sheets. He stretches his arms upwards and notes his bare chest—how the hell did he pull his shirt off in his sleep?—before letting them fall back to his side. He doesn’t think he knows where he is, which is a sure sign of a good sleep, before realizing he genuinely doesn’t know where he is.

or, dream wakes up in the wrong place

--

MERRY CHRISTMAS @cubeiicubes !!!!

a secret santa gift i hope will be acceptable considering ive never read or written bodyswap 😭 but i have high hopes for myself :) i hope you like it tho <3

[stellar-skyy]

WITH YOU— Wanderer x reader.

i. SUMMARY: Wanderer wakes up by his lover's side. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: References to Wanderer's backstory. iii. NOTES: Fluff, established relationship, gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, 1.1k words. iv. A/N: Written for @ecrin-de-litterature's Kiss (don't tell) event! My matchup was @iceunhie!! Mhie!!! I hope you enjoy!! I'm sorry if this is ooc I am so unused to writing Wanderer ;-;

Every morning Wanderer wakes, he stares.

He can���t help it, truly. He’s always been an early riser, ever since he was a youth. Back then, when he rose from the pile of blankets on the floor he called a bed, it was always well before the other person occupying the house. The young boy—his brother, his family—was the opposite, and would rest until the sun slipped through the cracks under the door and right into his eyes. By then, Wanderer would have returned with a heaping of Lavender melons for breakfast, and they'd enjoy the morning together.

Even with the Fatui, who all woke before the crack of dawn to begin their duties, he was the first to get up. He was lucky enough to witness the horrors of the Knave before she’d drunk a cup of coffee, and the amusement of seeing sleep-deprived new recruits who hadn’t adjusted to the early schedule quite yet.

And now, when the place he lived was no longer empty, and he no longer needed to sleep lightly for fear of a knife to his throat, he still found himself waking with the sun.

The moment dawn began to break, he was already stirring. Within moments of blinking himself awake, he moves to seek out the warm presence by his side, pausing for a moment to watch them as they slept.

His eyes trace every inch of their face, until it was burned into his mind. Every detail; the slope of their nose, the delicate curl of their lashes, each mark on their skin. It would never fail to astound him, just how irrevocably human they were: from the veins tracing spiderwebs across their wrists to the slow thrum of their heartbeat.

He observes carefully, as each inhale of their breath brought their chest up and down. Their lips were just barely parted to let air through. He imagines them curling into that delightfully familiar smile, the one that sent shivers down his spine even after dozens upon dozens of times he’s witnessed it.

That smile could melt him, in a way no other human could. They were the exception to so many rules in his life, breaking past his resentment towards humanity and worming their way into where his heart would be, if he had one.

They were just so undeniably, disgustingly kind.

How else could he describe them, when they were the one to see him with all his sharp edges and still have enough patience to fall in love with him? What other words could he say, when they look upon him every day, knowing the horrors of his past and still having enough faith to believe he can become something good?

Kindness was a stranger to him. Cruel words, and ugly sneers were far more commonly thrown his way. They were a familiarity; a comfortable sort of pain, something easy to swallow.

That’s what no one tells you about being hated: eventually, it feels safe. Eventually there comes a point where you crave their fear, their disgust, like it’s the only thing keeping yourself whole. That’s when they say your name like it’s a curse, and you feel lucky to hear it at all.

‘Love’ is something else entirely. For the longest, love was a burden; love was what left you abandoned on the steps of the Shakkei Pavilion, or exiled from the only place you've ever called home.

But… he loved them. Gods, he loved them. And they loved him too, if the words they told him sleepily before they fell asleep were true. Love was terrifying; it was a feeling so human that he couldn’t possibly know how to handle it.

They began to shift in their sleep, face scrunching up minutely, before their eyes cracked open.

“You staring?” They say, their words slightly slurred with sleep.

Of course. “Of course not. I was just watching how you drool in your sleep. It looked so pathetic that I found myself in awe.”

“Mhm,” They yawn. “Tell me again how much you hate me.”

He hesitated, letting his mask crack for just a moment. “I don’t hate you.”

In terms of love confessions, it was pretty pathetic.

“Ever the romantic, aren’t you? I—” Another yawn cuts through whatever more they were going to say. They hum gently, shuffling closer to rest a head against his shoulder.

If he had a heart, it would be pounding. “Tch. Clingy, aren’t you?”

“I don’t see you pulling away.” They weren’t wrong. Absently, he moved to make himself more comfortable, sliding an arm around their waist and resting his chin on top of their head.

“I could hardly leave you alone, could I? Humans must truly be pitiful creatures, craving affection like they’d starve without it. What would you be without me?”

“Well, if I’m so pitiful, I might as well leave,” They huff, moving to detangle from the mess of sheets and limbs.  

“No! Don’t go,” He blurts out, jolting forward to catch their wrist before they could move away. They blink at his sudden reaction, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” they say easily, settling back into the bed. This time, Wanderer foregoes the aloofness and moves straight to lay his head on their chest with one ear pressed to where their heart beats.

“Okay. I won’t leave yet.”

That was what he was told, so many times. Every time in the past he heard it—from his mother, his friend, his brother—it was always a lie, but somehow, somehow he believed them when they said it.

“Don’t go…” He murmurs lowly, soft enough that they can barely catch it.

“I won’t,” they say into his hair, soft as a whisper. “I love you.”

I love you. The words were on the edge of his tongue, so close he could taste their sweetness. They were always there, lingering in the back of his throat like something he could never quite swallow down. They were the background of every moment he spent with them, day and night. They were the aftertaste of the dinner he cooked for them, they were the shape of the stitches he used when he mended their clothing; in every action he takes, three words he can’t bring himself to say.

“You don’t have to tell me you love me back,” They kiss the crown of his head. “I already know.”

But one day he’s going to say it back to them.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[panlight]

speaking of bella's selflessness vs selfishness and the relative morality surrounding it, the idea of informed traits and the possiblity of unreliable narrators made me look up tropes like it and see how many hits the books have.

Sure enough, it hits the "Informed kindness" trope with Bella's selflessness and kindness, speculating that Edward's POV in MS could be rose-tinted due to her being the only person who's mind he can't fully read, (plus the way he looks down on the other humans to begin with doesn't help) and Bella's whole deal with the Cullens being "good to the core" despite them seemingly unbothered by their past slip-ups of having killed people, and the obvious witness gathering in BD. (It even acknowledges the rebuttal SMeyer had with a fan who expressed concerns with the Cullens being unbothered about their victims, so. that's wild.)

BUt the "Informed wrongness" trope was where it got interesting. Obviously Charlie is listed here (rightfully so), with this gem of an entry:

Her father Charlie Swan gets a particularly heavy dose of this. He's repeatedly portrayed as being wrong and in the way of Edward and Bella's true love by grounding her, suggesting that she live with her mother or seek help when she needs it. Given that Charlie wanted to ground her after she disappeared on him with barely any mention on where she was going and why while he was at a friend's funeral, the fact that he suggested she live with her mother in Phoenix after she becomes catatonic after Edward leaves her and to seek professional help from a therapist over her depression because of the same thing... it's difficult to not see that Charlie is merely acting as a well-reasoned, decent parent who is being blatantly ignored and belittled by his daughter.

also a podcast (can't remember the episode :'( ) addresses this, but bella's early grievances with Charlie/Forks comes off as her hating the town and not getting why Charlie sticks around when (the podcast mentions this) one of the main reasons Charlie even stays in the town is to care for his ailing parents. So Bella kicking tantrums to have Charlie come over instead of her visiting and then in Eclipse? (or the ending half of New Moon?) Charlie proceeding to say how Bella's "non whiny" is funny to me

But Leah was someone i didnt expect to have as much entries as she did. 😮But i can also agree. Reading the entries for her, I do find it unfair that Leah is shown by the narrative as the unreasonable one for still having hangups from her breakup (while Jacob is allowed to still pine for Bella?? yet Leah telling him that is out of line apparently.... 🤦‍♂️). .

It also lists how Leah was written to be in the wrong for confronting Bella for her same bullshit, but Edward "I don't care how justified she thinks she is, I'll throw her across the river" Cullen (big yikes !!) get's on Jacob for this, with Jacob agreeing, it's really obvious the book wants us to think Leah was wrong for it. 🙄🙄 She was the only real person in that middle portion of the book the way I'm seeing it tbh

All the second half of this barely disguised rant disguised as an "ask" is to say: I can see why Leah became the unintentional fandom favorite, and why at least the few Twilight revisit videos of recent years ive seen all list Charlie as their favorite character. XD

Exactly. It's all centered around Bella and whether a character is supportive of her and/or her relationship with Edward. Everything else doesn't really matter, even when it's much higher stakes. All those visiting vampires coming and killing people just across state lines? "Well, they'd be hunting somewhere in the world regardless and we need them to witness for Renesmee." Charlie and Billy and Rosalie not being on board with E/B (for different reasons, but all of them reasonable!), they are WRONG because TRUE LOVE. But it always seemed totally fair, based on what Billy knew, that he'd try to stop this. It's not 'standing in the way of true love' it's 'saving your best friend's kid from an ACTUAL VAMPIRE.' And Rosalie was uh not wrong about Edward being involved with a human bringing a whole host of problems down on the family.

And yeah that scene where Leah calls Bella out was so weird because I was like FINALLY someone said it, but the narrative made it seem like I was supposed to think "omg how could she say that to poor Bella's she's PREGNANT!" or whatever.

Bella's also just more interesting as a character when she's allowed to be more complicated. The whole premise that she's the Best Person and that's why she's the first person Edward falls for in 100 years ("a selfless soul to earn my awe") is sweet from Edward's perspective, but it's boring if EVERYONE sees her that way and also doesn't really jibe with Bella's own narration, where she whines and complains and judges. WHICH IS ALL FINE. It's human! It's just not, 'most exceptionally selfless and amazing person in 100 years.' She seems that way to Edward because he can't read her mind and he's in love, but Rosalie and Leah aren't "wrong" for seeing it differently. They're all right.