#and how he cushioned her head with his hand and steadied himself with the other yeaaa

[be4chywritez]

sweet like honey | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

"you're to sweet for me."

Max doesn't like how nice you are towards him.

beachy’s masterlist🐚

prompt list

Max isn't sure why he doesn’t like you. You’ve never wronged him, never talked bad about him, or been rude in any way. But for some odd reason, Max hates you.

Maybe it’s the Verstappen genes kicking in, that innate tendency to be an asshole. Or maybe it’s bred into him to keep sweet things like you at a distance. So, you can imagine his shock and horror when he sees you perched on the couch, flipping through a book in his friend’s Italian villa.

Your eyes meet his, and a smile graces your lips. You place the book in your lap, and he watches as your eyes brighten at the sight of him, the same way they might light up at the sight of a pretty flower.

Your small yellow sundress barely covers your upper thighs, and Max can’t help but stare before quickly looking down at his phone, not wanting to be too obvious about his boyish gawking.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice warm and rich like honey, drawing his attention whether he wants it or not.

He hears you, of course, but pretends to focus on his phone. His thumb moves slowly over the screen, though nothing he sees holds his interest. It’s the way you say his name that sticks in his mind, making it impossible to ignore.

“It’s nice to see you,” you continue, your tone sincere as if you mean it more than you should. You settle back into the cushions, your dress slipping a little higher on your thighs, and he catches himself glancing before looking away again.

Max lets out a quiet huff, his eyes still fixed on his phone, but his attention is all on you now. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, almost guarded.

You shift, crossing your legs under you, the air feeling warmer, closer. “A surprise, I guess,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips, the kind that lingers, soft and effortless.

Max clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look back at his phone. Still, he’s hyper-aware of your presence, of the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the room. He swallows hard, trying to steady himself, even as his chest tightens.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath, like he’s afraid to say anything else, and you let the moment settle, content with the quiet between you.

Just then, his best friend Jamie stumbles in, holding a glass of chardonnay. “Maxie,” he coos, squishing Max’s cheeks together, making his lips pucker. Close behind comes your best friend, Mila—Jamie’s girlfriend.

A few others join the group, a mix of Jamie and Mila’s friends, and Max’s brow furrows as he realizes that they’re all couples. He internally groans, watching your eyes flit around like a lost puppy.

“Alright, everyone,” Mila announces with a clap of her hands, “time to head up. We’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow.”

One by one, the group starts dispersing, grabbing their things and heading upstairs. Max lingers, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, but he’s acutely aware of you standing up from the couch, smoothing down the hem of your dress.

You move with an easy grace, slipping past him with a soft, “Goodnight, Max.” There’s no sarcasm, no bite—just genuine kindness that he doesn’t understand. You flash him a small smile before heading toward the stairs.

Max’s jaw tightens as he watches you go. You’re far too calm, far too kind for his liking. It makes him uncomfortable, like you’re holding a mirror up to the way he behaves, forcing him to see the stark contrast between you.

He takes a deep breath, tucking his phone into his pocket, and follows behind the group. The villa is beautiful, the soft glow of the lights casting long shadows across the walls as everyone makes their way to their respective rooms. His room is at the far end of the hall, and as he reaches it, he notices you standing just outside the door next to his.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” you say lightly, your voice warm and soft. You hold your toothbrush and a towel, your yellow sundress replaced by pale pink silky pajamas, and there’s something almost disarming about how comfortable you seem.

Max nods, his expression neutral. “Yeah.”

You don’t push the conversation, only smile again as you step into your room. “Sleep well, Max,” you say over your shoulder, as if you mean it.

He huffs quietly, more out of habit than frustration, and slips into his own room. The door closes with a soft click, and he leans back against it, rubbing a hand over his face.

For a moment, he stands there, in the silence of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He doesn’t know why your kindness unsettles him so much. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but that’s exactly the problem. You’re too nice. Too understanding. And for some reason, it gets under his skin.

Max changes into a T-shirt and shorts, moving about the room on autopilot. He keeps hearing your voice, soft and sweet, lingering in his thoughts.

Finally, he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, trying to shut everything out. But it’s quiet now—too quiet. And even though you’re just on the other side of the wall, he can’t stop thinking about you.

In the middle of the night, he’s still awake, tossing and turning, when there’s a soft knock on his door. Max sits up, frowning slightly, wondering who it could be at this hour.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pads across the room, opening the door just a crack. It’s you, standing there, a little sheepish, your arms crossed lightly over your chest.

“Sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… my room's really hot. I think the AC is broken.”

Max blinks, unsure of what to say at first. Part of him wants to tell you to deal with it yourself, but another part of him can’t ignore it.

His eyes linger on you more than he’d admit—your hair sticking to your neck from sweat, your cheeks flushed, and you nibble your lip nervously. Your tank top has ridden up, a sliver of your hip exposed, and Max does everything in his power to push those thoughts away.

“Uh… you could just crack open a window,” he suggests, his voice a bit rough from sleep. He knows the words sound hollow even to him. He doesn’t want you in his space, yet part of him doesn’t want you sweating alone either.

You fidget slightly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I tried, but it didn’t help. I just thought… maybe I could crash in here?” The words hang in the air, hopeful yet tentative.

Max’s heart races at the idea. The prospect of sharing the bed makes his palms sweat. It’s one thing to be in the same room, but sharing a bed? He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek as he weighs his options.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but there’s a hint of something deeper in his tone. The image of you curled up beside him—too close for comfort—sends a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” you offer a nervous smile, clearly not wanting to invade his space, so you back away, ducking into your room. He watches you until the door is shut behind you.

Max stands in the doorway, his heart racing as he processes the moment. He’s not sure why he feels such a strong urge to call you back, to insist that it’s okay, but the words remain stuck in his throat. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of irritation and something else—something he’s not ready to name.

As he paces back to his bed, he tries to shake off the lingering image of you standing there, your flushed cheeks and nervous smile. He lies down again, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you’re just a wall away.

A few moments pass before he hears a soft, muffled noise from your room—a sniffle, maybe? It makes his chest tighten at the thought of you crying because you're uncomfortable.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself, tossing an arm over his eyes. He’s not going to sleep if he keeps thinking about you like this.

After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, he finally sits up, his decision made. He stands up, his heart pounding in his chest, and makes his way to your door. He raises his hand to knock but hesitates, uncertainty flooding in.

“Why the hell am I doing this?” he mutters, his self-doubt creeping back in. But the thought of you feeling uncomfortable alone is enough to push him through. He knocks softly, the sound barely more than a tap.

“Hey,” you call from inside, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, his voice worse than he intended. “I… just thought maybe you could come back. It’s probably not that hot here.”

There’s a brief silence, and he can imagine the look on your face—surprised and perhaps a little hopeful. “Really?” you ask, and he can’t help the slight smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

The door swings open, revealing you still in your silk-clad pajamas. He rips his gaze away, feeling a tightness in his throat. He doesn't utter a word, just turns around, walking to his room. He can hear your feet padding behind him, and you close the door behind the both of you.

Max keeps his back to you as you quietly follow him into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The air feels heavier now, thick with unspoken tension as you stand there in the dim light, waiting for him to say something. But Max doesn’t. Instead, he heads straight for the bed, pulling back the covers on one side, his movements stiff and a little too deliberate.

“You can take the right side,” he mutters, not looking at you, as he slides under the covers on the left. His heart is pounding, though he tries to act like everything is fine.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to thank him or just keep quiet. Deciding not to push it, you simply nod, even though he isn’t looking at you. You cross the room and slip into the bed beside him, careful not to make any sudden movements.

The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he can feel the same tension thrumming between you that you do. The bed feels impossibly small now, the space between you a thin sliver of air that crackles with awkwardness.

You lie still, facing away from him, but you can feel his presence—so close and yet so distant. The sound of his steady breathing fills the room, and you wonder if he’s doing the same as you, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep.

Minutes stretch on, and the silence between you is deafening. Every creak of the bed, every shift in the sheets seems louder in the stillness of the night. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice so soft it barely breaks the silence. You don’t expect a reply, and for a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your own breathing.

Then, finally, Max shifts slightly beside you. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, his voice low and rough, but there’s something different in it now. Something that isn’t as cold as before.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Maybe he isn’t as indifferent as he wants you to think. You curl up a little more, trying to make yourself comfortable, even as the tension lingers in the air between you.

As the night drags on, you begin to drift in and out of sleep. The heat from the earlier part of the night is gone now, replaced by a cooler breeze that drifts in through the open window. The sheets are soft, and for the first time since you entered Max’s room, you start to relax.

Just as you’re on the edge of sleep, you feel something shift again. Max turns slightly, the mattress dipping as he moves closer—just barely, but enough for you to notice. His arm brushes against yours, and the warmth of his skin sends a small jolt through you.

You stay perfectly still, wondering if he did it on purpose or if he’s just restless. Either way, you don’t move, afraid to disturb the delicate balance between you.

Your mind races—what if you roll over onto him in your sleep? What if you start snoring?—and the nerves bubble up, spilling out before you can stop yourself.

“So… I haven’t slept in a guy’s bed in ages,” you blurt out, staring at the ceiling. Max barely reacts, his only acknowledgment a low, noncommittal “Mhm,” but it doesn’t stop you from talking.

“Yeah, it’s been, like… a long time. I’m more of a 'sleep with a thousand pillows' kind of person, you know? Gotta have the right setup.” You laugh a little, mostly to yourself, feeling the need to fill the quiet. Max doesn’t respond, but you keep going, too nervous to stop. “Oh, and I’m really bad with directions, like, I get lost in grocery stores. Once, I ended up in the freezer aisle for thirty minutes just trying to find the cereal.”

“Mhm.”

His replies are half-hearted at best, but you don’t mind. If anything, the sound of his quiet indifference weirdly helps soothe your nerves.

“Oh! And I can’t swim,” you say with a laugh, thinking it’s just another random fact to throw out there. But this time, Max’s head snaps toward you.

“You came to the amalfi coast, and you can’t swim?” he asks, his voice sharper than before, with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow slightly, and you can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Figured I’d just, you know… stay on the shore.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” you say, laughing softly, your nerves easing a bit. “But I’m good at other things. Like… did you know I can recite the entire script of Finding Nemo? Well, mostly.”

Max rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Great skill.”

You keep talking, the words flowing easier now. Your voice fills the room, soft and rhythmic, and even though Max doesn’t say much, you can feel the tension in the air start to shift. His body relaxes slightly, the space between you feeling a little less awkward.

“And another thing, I’m a terrible cook. Burnt spaghetti once. Didn’t even think that was possible. It’s water and noodles, right?” You laugh again, and this time Max lets out a quiet huff—almost like a chuckle, though he’d never admit it.

Your voice is like a steady hum, lulling the room into a gentle calm. You talk about everything and nothing, the words spilling out in a quiet stream. Max listens, his responses becoming softer, almost inaudible, but it doesn’t matter. His breathing slows, his eyes fluttering shut as your voice washes over him.

You don’t notice when he finally drifts off, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. But somehow, you feel it—the way the energy in the room has shifted, his earlier sharpness melted away into something softer, more relaxed.

The next morning, sunlight spills through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You stir first, the warmth of the bed enveloping you, your body reluctant to wake. For a moment, you forget where you are, and then it hits you—Max’s bed, Max’s room. You blink your eyes open slowly, turning your head slightly to see him still there, asleep.

He’s lying on his back now, the sheets tangled around his waist, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. His face is serene, the harsh lines you’ve come to associate with him softened by sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, giving him an almost boyish look, something so different from the hard-edged man who usually glares at you.

You feel a strange flutter in your chest as you look at him, this version of Max—unguarded, vulnerable. It’s a side of him you never thought you’d see, and it’s almost too intimate, too close. You shift a little, trying not to make any noise, but the bed creaks softly under your weight.

Max stirs, his brows furrowing slightly as he slowly wakes up. His eyes open halfway, still hazy with sleep, and for a brief moment, he looks at you without the usual edge in his gaze. It’s like he’s forgotten for a second who you are, where he is.

Then, reality seems to settle back in, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly, though there’s no real malice there. Just a kind of gruff annoyance.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice rough and low, thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.

He shifts, pushing himself up on his elbows, the sheet falling further down his waist, revealing more of his toned torso. You can’t help but glance, quickly averting your eyes when you realize you’re staring.

Max runs a hand through his messy hair, yawning as he glances at you. “You talk a lot in your sleep too, or is that just when you’re awake?” he asks, a hint of that familiar sarcasm creeping back into his tone, though there’s no real bite behind it.

You chuckle lightly, relaxing a little. “Only when I’m awake, I promise.”

He grunts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence between you less awkward than you would’ve expected. It’s almost… comfortable.

Max stretches, his muscles flexing slightly as he does, and you try not to let your eyes linger too long. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t seem to notice.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “how’d you sleep?”

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Fine, I guess.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, almost begrudgingly, “Didn’t mind all the talking.”

Your heart skips a beat at that, the small admission catching you off guard. You smile, warmth spreading through you. “Glad to know I didn’t annoy you too much.”

Max doesn’t respond, just grabs his phone from the nightstand and checks the time. But you catch the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips before he turns away.

He stands, pulling on a shirt and running a hand through his hair again before heading toward the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast soon,” he mutters. “Don’t take too long.”

He steps out before poking his head back in his face serious, “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says gesturing a finger around towards you and him, right asshole Max is alive and well.

“Right.” you deflate, but none the less walk to your room. You notice the AC now works. 

The warmth of the Italian sun is already starting to filter in through your window as you slip into your pale yellow babydoll dress. The soft fabric feels light against your skin, perfect for the warm weather and the laid-back vibes of the villa.

When you finally make your way downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries fills the air, and you can hear the familiar hum of laughter and chatter. The villa’s terrace is bathed in sunlight, with everyone seated around the large outdoor table, enjoying breakfast. 

Max is already seated, of course, his usual stoic expression in place. He’s leaning back in his chair, sunglasses on, making it impossible to tell if he’s even noticed you. 

An array of colorful fruits and pastries litters the table, couples chatting and laughing as you offer everyone a warm smile while taking a seat next to Mila, who returns the gesture. “How was the room, darling?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea. You can feel a pair of laser beams on your face, as if Max is staring into your soul.

“Oh, it was truly nice,” you reply, feeling the tips of your ears heat up with nerves. Mila seems to buy it and turns to address the entire group.

“So, guys, today we’re going to take the yacht around,” she announces, eliciting a few excited hoots from your friends. Your stomach tightens at the thought of being stuck on a yacht, but you brush the anxiety aside.

As the chatter around the breakfast table grows, the knot in your stomach tightens at the mention of the yacht. You toy with the edge of your napkin, trying to suppress the wave of nerves that accompanies the idea of being out on the water, especially since you can’t swim.

Max, still leaning back in his chair, tilts his head slightly in your direction, as if he senses the unease radiating off you. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but you swear you can feel his gaze tracing over you. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can almost hear his voice echoing in your mind: “You came to the Amalfi Coast, and you can’t swim?”

You swallow hard, forcing a smile as you join in on the group's excitement, even though the thought of being surrounded by water sends a shiver down your spine. Mila stands, gathering everyone’s attention, and starts guiding the group toward the dock.

The villa’s outdoor space spills into a sprawling garden, leading to a private path that takes you to where the yacht is docked. The sunlight glints off the water, almost blinding in its brightness, as you walk with the others toward the sleek, luxurious yacht. Everyone seems thrilled—laughing and talking about the views they’ll see—while you stay quieter than usual, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized polo, the fabric bunching slightly in your grip as you focus on steadying your breath. The path to the dock feels longer than it actually is, the sounds of the group’s lively chatter fading into the background. You glance at the shimmering blue water ahead and bite the inside of your cheek.

Max lingers just a few steps behind, and you can feel the weight of his presence even without looking. His footsteps are slow and deliberate, as if he’s watching you closely, waiting for any sign of weakness. You try not to dwell on it, though the image of him smirking at your fear lingers in the back of your mind.

As the group finally boards the yacht, you become hyper-aware of the water surrounding you. The boat rocks gently as everyone gets settled, and you grip the railing tightly, trying to hide your discomfort. Max watches you for a moment before walking past you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“Relax,” he mutters under his breath, not even looking at you, but there’s something almost reassuring in his tone. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to take a seat with the others, letting the warmth of the sun and the sound of conversation distract you from the vast ocean around you.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you try to focus on the scenery. The Amalfi Coast is breathtaking—cliffs draped in greenery, colorful villas dotting the shoreline, and the ocean sparkling beneath the golden sunlight. Everyone around you laughs and soaks up the beauty of the day, but your hands remain clenched in your lap, your mind preoccupied with the endless expanse of water.

Despite your nervousness, you find yourself stealing glances at Max. He’s sitting at the back of the yacht, one arm draped casually over the side, sunglasses shielding his eyes as he stares out at the water. He looks so at ease, completely unaffected by the swaying of the boat or the openness of the sea.

The breeze picks up, ruffling your hair, and as you turn your attention back to the group, you feel the yacht slow down. Mila claps her hands, announcing that they’ve anchored near a beautiful cove, perfect for swimming.

Your stomach drops.

Everyone begins shedding layers, excitement buzzing through the group as they prepare to jump into the water. You stay seated, gripping the edge of your chair as they leap overboard, laughter echoing around you.

Max stands, pulling off his shirt and revealing the defined muscles of his back and shoulders. Your eyes linger for a moment longer than you intend. He catches your gaze just before he moves toward the edge of the yacht, that same smirk playing on his lips.

“You coming in?” he asks, his voice low, almost challenging.

You shake your head quickly, offering a small laugh. “No, I think I’ll just… stay here and enjoy the sun.”

Max arches an eyebrow, clearly not buying your excuse, but he doesn’t push it. He gives you one last look, his smirk still in place, before diving effortlessly into the water.

You watch as your friends giggle and enjoy themselves. Mila waves up at you, and you give her a fake salute. She giggles and goes back to swimming. A few minutes later, several members of the group come up to take a break, Max among them. You hate to admit it, but you watch the water droplets roll off him, his cheeks flushed from the sun, and a tight feeling blooms in your core as you force yourself to look away.

The group is lively, and at one point, Jamie, always the instigator, starts playfully shoving friends toward the edge of the boat, teasing and laughing. You stand at the back, watching, hoping to stay out of the chaos.

But in a moment of playful exuberance, Jamie swings his arm and accidentally nudges you forward. Time seems to slow as you lose your balance, and before you can even process what’s happening, you tumble over the side of the yacht. The water crashes around you, and as you hit the surface, the cold rush envelops you, sending panic gripping your chest. Instinctively, you kick your legs, but the water pulls you under, and you flail in confusion. The world above disappears, and the muffled sounds of laughter and splashing fade into silence.

Just as you start to lose hope, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back to the surface. You gasp for air, blinking the water from your eyes, and find yourself face-to-face with Max. His expression is intense, irritation etched on his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, though his grip is steady and reassuring as he keeps you afloat.

You can’t help but laugh nervously, trying to shake off the fear. “I didn’t want to go in!” you manage to sputter, still clinging to him for dear life.

Max rolls his eyes, the frown returning, though it’s softer this time. “You need to stop thrashing around,” he says, his voice lower now.

As he helps you back onto the yacht, the warmth of the sun hits your damp skin once more. Laughter and cheers erupt from the group as they realize you’re okay, but Max’s presence is the only thing that matters to you in this moment. He doesn’t say anything; his expression remains unreadable as he sets you down.

You catch your breath, water dripping from your hair and running down your arms. “Thanks, Max,” you say, trying to brush off the embarrassment. His usual smirk is absent, and for a split second, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he cares.

But as soon as you’re on the boat, he steps back, leaving you with the others. “Try not to drown next time,” he says, his tone flat as he pulls his shirt back on, the fabric clinging to his damp skin. It feels more like a reflex than a genuine jab, but you let it slide, laughing it off. “I’ll try my best.”

He turns away, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You shake your head, trying to focus on the laughter around you as Jamie and Mila check to make sure you’re okay. “Really, I’m fine,” you assure them, even as your heart races from the close call.

Just like that, everyone goes back to normal. Lunch is served, and as the yacht heads back to the dock under the fading light, you’re the first one off, eager to touch solid ground once more. You don’t bid anyone goodnight; you’re all too tired for that. You head upstairs to your room, closing the door behind you and shrugging off your damp polo and swimsuit. You hop in the shower, rinsing the salt water off your skin.

After your shower, the soft sound of knocking pulls you from your thoughts. You wrap yourself in a towel and open the door to find Mila standing there, concern etched across her features.

“Hey, just wanted to check on you,” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scan your face, searching for any signs of distress. “That fall looked pretty rough.”

You chuckle softly, waving it off. “I’m fine, really. Just a little embarrassed.”

Mila raises an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “You sure it’s not because of Max? I saw the way he pulled you out of the water. It looked pretty… intimate.”

The mention of Max sends a warmth flooding through you, one that you quickly dismiss. “Oh, please. He was just being a jerk, as usual.”

She smirks, crossing her arms. “Or maybe he just likes the attention.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, but a small part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. “He’s just… Max. You know how he is.”

Mila studies you for a moment, trying to read between the lines. “Well, just think about it. He’s not always the way he acts, you know?”

With that, she leaves, and you find yourself lost in thought, her words echoing in your mind. What if Max really did care?

Later that night, curiosity gets the better of you. You stand in front of Max’s door, your heart racing as you knock softly.

“Come in,” he calls, and you push the door open cautiously. He’s lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone, and for a moment, you’re struck by how at home he looks.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft. “I just wanted to thank you… for earlier.”

Max looks up, a flicker of something in his gaze before he masks it with indifference. “You mean for saving your ass?” he quips, his smirk returning. “Don’t mention it.”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

His expression shifts, annoyance flickering across his features. “What do you want me to do? Throw you a parade for not drowning?”

“Maybe just a little acknowledgment would be nice,” you counter, crossing your arms defensively.

He stands, taking a step closer, and the air between you crackles with tension. “I don’t like how sweet you are,” he says, his tone sharp. “It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” you challenge, feeling a rush of defiance. “Is that really all you’ve got? Because it sounds like you’re just scared of someone actually caring.”

Max’s eyes darken, and for a moment, you think he might snap back. But instead, he steps even closer, invading your personal space. “You think you’re so great, don’t you? All sunshine and rainbows, but it doesn’t work with me.”

Before you can respond, he closes the distance, and suddenly, his lips are on yours—fervent and demanding. His warmth envelops you, slightly chapped against your own, igniting a spark that sends a thrill coursing through your entire body. You’re caught off guard at first, but your instincts take over, and you melt into the kiss, feeling his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

As the kiss deepens, you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He presses you against the door, his body firm and solid against yours, radiating heat that makes your pulse quicken. The kiss is intoxicating; every second stretches into eternity—his lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both wild and tender.

When you finally pull away, breathless, your heart races as you search his eyes. “Wait… Max—”

He leans in again, his breath mingling with yours, heavy with longing. “You taste sweet,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, a smirk tugging at his lips.

A rush of warmth floods your cheeks at his words. “Is that all you have to say?” you tease, a smile breaking through your fluster.

Max steps back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he watches you intently. “What do you want me to say? That I’m an asshole who can’t help but want you?”

The air between you buzzes with unspoken tension—a mix of frustration and attraction. You feel exhilarated yet confused, unable to ignore the thrill of being this close to him, the chemistry crackling like electricity.

“Maybe you could start by admitting you actually care,” you challenge softly, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Maybe,” he replies, a hint of seriousness in his tone before leaning in again, capturing your lips with his. This time, it’s even more intense; his hands grip your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he can’t get enough of you.

But as the moment stretches on, you pull back slightly, breathless. “Max—”

He leans in again, and you find yourself needing to physically stop him, your hands resting on his chest. “Wait, we can’t just—”

“Why not?” he presses, his voice low and needy, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You’re both panting, caught in an electric moment. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” you say, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the chaos swirling around you.

Max smirks, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, but you like it.” He crashes his lips against yours once more, and as he pulls away, he runs his tongue along his lower lip, a boyish smirk breaking through. “Sweet like honey,” he teases, prompting you to laugh and tilt your head back. Without thinking, you pull him down by his shirt collar, kissing him again, lost in the moment.

[daryltwdixon]

Teach You IV

Summary: Daryl can’t seem to get ahold of himself after the night you spent together. For days, you're all he can think about—your voice, your touch, the way you've unleashed a part of him he never knew existed. Nothing else matters, nothing else feels right, and when he sees you now, he knows he’s coming back for more. Always.

warnings: smut, MDNI, dirty talk, Daryl is a man possessed, pinv, oral, fingering, Daryl's POV

a/n: the amount of messages I've gotten about this fills my little heart with so much joy, you guys!!! thank you for loving what I do :')

not super proofread! sorry! will check later

The late afternoon bathes the room in golden light, casting soft shadows as Daryl watches her. She’s standing there, completely absorbed in some meaningless task—folding laundry, shifting supplies, something so mundane he can’t understand how she’s focused on it when he’s right here. She’s been taking up all the space in his mind, all the air in his lungs, and she has no idea.

Well, maybe she does. She’s the one who did this to him. The one who made him feel insatiable, so utterly out of control over his own thoughts and body.

Daryl leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s just to steady himself. His blood is running too hot, his heart pounding too fast, and it’s all because of her. His gaze drags over her, over the way her shirt clings to her back, the soft curve of her hips, the little furrow in her brow as she concentrates. She’s so calm, so collected, like she hasn’t absolutely ruined him.

Ever since that first night—hell, every night since—she’s been all he can think about. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her. Feels her. The way she looked at him, the way she touched him, the way she felt under him—warm and soft and his. His cock has never been this hard, not at midnight, not first thing in the morning, and definitely not all goddamn day. And it’s all because of her.

His jaw clenches as the memories flood back: her taste, sweet and heady on his tongue. The way she whispered his name, gasping and desperate, like he was the only man in the world who could make her feel that way. Taking her for the first time, the way her body shifted and shivered beneath him as he rocked into her. It was like a switch he didn’t even know existed had flipped inside him, and now he’s nothing but want, need—fucking hunger.

His hands twitch at his sides. He tries to rein it in, to give her space, but it’s useless. His thoughts are wild and untamed, like he’s been starved his whole damn life and she’s the only thing that can satisfy him. He wants to feel her again, taste her again, bury himself so deep inside her that neither of them knows where one ends and the other begins.

And she’s just standing there, so calm, so unbothered. How can she not feel it? Doesn’t she know what she’s done to him?

“Alright,” he growls, the sound low and guttural as he finally pushes off the doorframe, done with just standing by and watching her as he unravels.

Her head snaps up, her hands pausing mid-motion. “Daryl?” she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion at the intensity in his voice.

But he doesn’t answer. He can’t. Words won’t do it, won’t scratch the itch clawing at him, the fire burning through his veins. He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his movements rough and purposeful. His hands grip her waist before she can react, lifting her clean off the floor and tossing her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.

“Daryl!” she squeals, her fists playfully tapping at his back, though there’s laughter in her voice. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

He doesn’t bother answering, doesn’t stop. He’s already heading for the nearest surface—the couch, the bed, the table, he doesn’t fucking care. All that matters is her, laid out for him, ready for him to take her apart.

When he reaches the couch, he lowers her just enough to drop her onto the cushions, her legs still dangling over the edge as he looms over her. She looks up at him, her chest rising and falling as she takes him in, her eyes widening slightly at the look on his face.

“You’ve ruined me,” he growls, his voice like gravel as his hands cage her in on either side. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About how you feel. About how you taste. I can’t think straight, can’t sleep. You’ve fucked me up, woman.”

Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she looks up at him, her breath catching in her throat. She’s not used to this—him talking so much, his words spilling out in a frantic, unfiltered rush. He knows it too. Knows he can be a little aloof, a bit of a dick when it comes to talking about what’s on his mind. But she’d broken him, shattered whatever walls he’d kept so carefully constructed, and now he couldn’t stop the rambling, couldn’t stop the truth from pouring out of him.

His hands travel up her body, sliding over her sides, his rough fingertips grazing her skin, skimming over her stomach. He slots his hips between her legs, pressing her further into the couch as her thighs fall open for him.

“I—” she starts, but he cuts her off, his hands finding her waist, his touch rough but trembling.

“Please,” he mutters, his voice low and desperate, almost trembling with the weight of his need. His hands glide over her sides, brushing against her ribs, feeling the heat of her skin through her thin shirt. “I need you. Every inch of you. Right fuckin’ now. Tell me yes. Please, say yes.”

Her cheeks flush even deeper, the red blooming across her neck and chest as she stares up at him. And then, slowly, her hands lift, sliding up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice a soft, breathless sigh. “Yes, Daryl. Always yes.”

It’s all he needs. An inhuman noise rumbles deep in his chest, primal and desperate, as his lips crash against hers, needy and unrelenting. His hands grip her thighs, pulling her flush against him as he kisses her like a man possessed, all teeth and tongue and sheer, insatiable hunger.

"Goddamn," he mutters against her lips, his voice shaking as he pulls back just enough to look at her. His hands slide further up her legs, gripping her ass, his thumbs imprinting into the soft curves of her skin. "You've got me so fucked up. I can't think about anything else. Just you. Just this.'

His lips trail down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point as his fingers hook into her shorts. He doesn't wait for permission this time; he knows she's all in, knows she's just as wanton as he is. He tugs them down in one rough motion, taking her panties with them, leaving her bare and spread out before him.

His gaze drops to her center, and he groans, his head tipping back for a moment as he fights to keep himself together. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and reverent,"So fuckin' beautiful. So goddamn perfect." His hands grip her knees then, spreading her wider as he lowers himself between her legs.

His breath is hot against her skin, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses along the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer to where she wants him most. Her sex glistens for him already, the sheen of slick luring him in.

"Daryl," she whines breathlessly, her fingers tangling in his hair as her hips lift off the couch.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he dives in, his tongue pressing flat against her slick heat, dragging up to circle her clit with slow, deliberate precision. The taste of her hits him like a drug, and he groans, his hands tightening on her thighs as he pulls her closer, needing more. 

"You taste so fuckin' sweet," he mutters against her, his voice muffled but filled with awe.

Her cries spur him on, her thighs trembling against his shoulders as he works her over, his mouth relentless and hungry. He licks and sucks and nips at her, devouring her like she's the only thing keeping him alive, like her pussy is the last source of water in a barren desert. He still didn’t know how to do this right, not really, but he knew what her gasps meant, knew what the shiver in her thighs told him. And God, he just wanted to keep making her feel that way. His tongue falters for a moment, unsure if he’s going too fast or too slow, but then her hips roll against him, and he takes that as a sign to keep going.

"Daryl," she whimpers, her voice trembling as her fingers tug harder at his hair. "Oh, fuck-don't stop. Please, don't stop."

Her pleading only fuels him, his tongue moving faster, his lips sealing around her clit as he slides two fingers inside her. Her body arches off the couch, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries as he curls his fingers, stroking her exactly where she needs him. Her body responds instinctively, her words no longer coherent as her hips buck against him, riding the wave of her climax as it crashes over her.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. His mouth and fingers work her through every shudder, every breathless gasp, coaxing every ounce of pleasure out of her until she’s trembling beneath him, her chest heaving as she collapses back onto the cushions.

But he’s far from done.

She’s still shaking when his pace begins to slow, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to her slick heat as if to soothe her overstimulated body. Her breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts, her fingers gripping the cushions beneath her, but before she can catch her breath, his fingers curl again, pressing against that spongy spot inside her.

A sharp cry tears from her throat, her hips jerking involuntarily as the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through her.

“Daryl—” she starts, her voice trembling, but he just hums against her, his tongue dragging over her clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“Want another,” he mutters, his voice muffled against her skin, his words punctuated by the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers working her over. “Want more. Gotta see you like this again.”

Her head tips back, her body arching as overstimulation teeters dangerously close to overwhelming. “I—Daryl, it’s too much—” she gasps, but the words are lost in another moan as his fingers curl deeper, stroking that spot inside her with an almost maddening precision. If there was anything Daryl learned from their first time together, it was that he needed to know every single nook and crevice of her that made her come undone. Either with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. He was determined to learn her body inside and out. 

“You can take it,” he growls as his lips seal around her clit again. His tongue flicks against her, faster now, relentless, as if her pleasure is the only thing that matters. “You’re so good for me, baby.”

Her body tightens beneath him, her nails clawing at the cushions as her thighs tremble around his head. She’s teetering on the edge again, the line between pleasure and too much blurring as his words and his touch send her spiraling. The second always comes so much faster than the first, it’s like a domino falling inside her lower belly.

She was falling apart because of him. He couldn’t believe it—still didn’t really know what he was doing—but her gasps, her moans, they told him he was doing something right.

“Cum for me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse but commanding. “Wanna feel you again. Wanna hear you,”

Her body responds before her mind can catch up, her hips bucking against his mouth as another wave crashes over her. She cries out, her voice raw and broken, her walls clenching around his fingers as she tumbles over the edge for the second time.

He groans against her, his tongue slowing as he works her through it, coaxing every last shudder and gasp from her trembling frame. When she finally collapses fully against the couch, her body spent and trembling, he presses one last kiss to her inner thigh, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

As he moves to kneel between her legs again, her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as her legs wrap around his waist, anchoring him to her. She’s still trembling from her release, her body pliant and warm beneath him, but she reaches up to capture his lips in hers, tasting herself on his now swollen, wet lips.

“Please, Daryl,” she says against his lips–now it was her begging him, and God if it didn’t take every last drop of restraint to wait for him to hear what she wanted next. How the hell did she look like that, sound like that, just because of him? He didn’t understand it, didn’t feel like he deserved it, but he was desperate to be worthy of her. He’d give her anything. Anything. 

“What is it, baby? What do you want? Tell me,” he groans against her, his hips rutting into her, the wetness of her center staining his jeans where his bugle meets her clit. “Need you,” she whines, gasping when he drags his hips against her harder, “Please. Fuck me, Daryl.”

That’s all he needs. His hands fumble at his waistband, his urgency making his movements clumsy as he shoves his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself. His cock is already hard, throbbing and aching with need as he grips the base, positioning himself at her entrance.

He pauses, his breath ragged as he meets her gaze again, his forehead pressing against hers. “Tell me if I’m hurtin’ you,” he murmurs, his voice low and shaky.

“You won’t,” she reassures him, her hands sliding down to rest on his arms, her touch grounding him. “I trust you.”

The words send a wave of warmth through him, his chest tightening as he pushes forward, the tip of him sliding into her with an agonizing slowness. He groans, low and guttural, as the heat of her surrounds him, and her gasp mirrors his, her nails digging lightly into his skin. 

This is all he’s thought about for days—taking her on the nearest surface, spreading her open, and burying himself deep inside her. The way she’d feel wrapped around him, her body clenching tight, pulling him in. But no amount of imagination, no desperate strokes of his own hand, could have prepared him for the way the real thing feels.

“God,” he mutters, his voice breaking as he sinks deeper, his hands trembling against her hips. “You’re so—fuck, you’re so tight.”

Her walls flutter around him, pulling a low groan from his throat. He can barely hold himself together, the heat and wetness of her stealing every coherent thought from his mind.

She moans softly, her hips tilting to take him in further, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “It’s too—too much, too big—” she breathes, her voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and something he can’t quite place.

His movements falter, his body stiffening as a rush of panic washes over him. He freezes, afraid of hurting her, afraid of pushing too far. His hips still as her words echo in his head, his hands trembling where they grip her hips. “Am I hurtin’ ya?” he asks, his voice tight with worry, his brow furrowing as he looks down at her.

Her hands slide up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his scruff. Her breath is shaky, her cheeks flushed, but there’s no fear in her eyes—only heat, only need.

“No,” she breathes, her voice trembling but steady. “It’s not that. I just—” She pauses, her lips parting as her head tilts back slightly. “I’ve never—never had someone so goddamn big.” Her voice breaks, her hands tightening on his arms as her hips shift beneath him. “You stretch me so good, Daryl. It’s just… overwhelming. In the best way.”

Her words send a bolt of heat straight through him, his cock twitching inside her as a low groan escapes his lips. “Jesus,” he mutters, his forehead pressing against hers. “You can’t say shit like that, woman. Gonna make me lose my mind,”

She laughs softly, the sound breathy and full of affection, and leans up to kiss him, her lips warm and teasing. “Then let me take over,” she whispers against his mouth, her fingers sliding down to his chest. “Let me show you how good you make me feel.”

He hesitates for a moment, his hands flexing against her hips. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low and rough, his gaze searching hers.

She nods, her smile widening as she cups his face again. “I’m sure,” she murmurs.

Reluctantly, he pulls back, his arms steadying her as she shifts beneath him. When his cock slips out of her, both of them hiss at the sudden loss of warmth, but she gently pushes at his chest to move up. And he moves with her, settling back against the cushions as she straddles his hips.

The sight of her above him, her body glowing in the soft afternoon light, takes his breath away. Her hands rest on his chest for balance, her legs bracketing his sides as she sinks down slowly, taking him back inside her inch by inch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands finding her thighs, his fingers pressing into her soft skin as his head tips back. 

Her moans match his, her body adjusting to the stretch, the fullness of him. “You feel so good,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she begins to move, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. “So good, Daryl.”

His hands slide to her waist under the hem of her shirt, steadying her as she sets the pace, her movements growing bolder with every passing second. The rhythm she creates is intoxicating, her body rising and falling above him, her warmth enveloping him completely.

“Let me see you,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent as his hands slide up her sides, his thumbs brushing over her ribs, his touch deliberate and worshipful. “Let me see these incredible tits, hunny.”

Her smile widens, her lips parting as her hands slide up her body, grazing over where his own rest on her waist. She takes her time, teasing, before finally gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head. The discarded fabric lands somewhere behind the couch, forgotten, as her bare skin is revealed to him.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate. His head leans forward like he’s being pulled by some gravitational force he could never—would never—ignore. His lips find her breast, his mouth latching onto a nipple with a low, guttural groan.

His tongue flicks over the hardened peak before drawing it into his mouth, sucking softly. Hands tightening on her waist, his thumbs brush over the curve of her ribs as he holds her steady while her hips continue to rock over him. 

She gasps, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as her hips grind against his. “Daryl,” she breathes, her voice trembling with pleasure. “God, yes, yes, yes,”

Her words spur him on, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his mouth moves to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. His tongue swirls, his lips pressing kisses along the soft swell of her skin, as though he’s worshipping every inch of her.

“You’re incredible,” he mutters between kisses, his voice hoarse and thick with awe. “Fuckin’ incredible.”

Her head tips back, her moans spilling from her lips as her hips roll against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through them both. “You’re the one making me feel this good,” she whispers, her voice thick and breathy. Her hands slide down to his shoulders, her nails grazing his skin as she pulls him closer. “This is all you, Daryl.”

Her words ignite something primal in him, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, guiding her movements as she rides him. The pace quickens, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, their breaths mingling as the tension builds between them.

“You’re all I want,” he mutters, his voice breaking as he looks up at her, his gaze dark and full of need. “All I fuckin’ think about.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she sighs, kissing him between breaths, “You’re all I ever think about, Daryl,” you shift your hips and panting, add: “Only man I want, that I need.”

And then it happens. The control he’s been clinging to, the restraint he’s forced himself to maintain, snaps like a taut string stretched too far. Something wild and unhinged breaks free inside him, the monster he’s tried to keep buried roaring to the surface.

Before she can even register the shift, his arms are wrapping around her, pulling her down against him so her stomach is flush to his chest, her breasts pressed into his face. She lets out a surprised yelp, her hands scrambling for purchase against his shoulders, but it’s quickly overtaken by a sharp, guttural moan as he buries himself deeper inside her.

“Daryl!” she gasps, her voice trembling as her hands cling to him, the couch, anything she can grab to stay steady.

He holds her tight, his muscles flexing as his arms cage her in, his body taking over completely. His hips snap up into her, relentless and unyielding, each thrust harder and faster than the last. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with her cries and his ragged groans, creating a symphony of raw, primal need.

Her head falls back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she screams his name, her voice hoarse and broken with pleasure. And if she wasn’t moaning loud enough to disturb the neighborhood before, she sure as shit was now. The sheer force of his movements has her teetering on the edge of oblivion, her body trembling and she takes everything he’s giving, not able to form words or coherent thoughts anymore.

“That’s right, baby.” he growls, his voice raw and unrecognizable, his hands gripping her hips so tightly he knows he’ll leave marks. “Take that fucking cock, you’re so good, so perfect for it. Like your sweet pussy was made for me,”

The words pour out of him without thought, his mouth brushing against her chest, her neck, her collarbone, anywhere he can reach. He’s barely aware of what he’s saying, barely aware of anything except the overwhelming need to take her, to claim her, to lose himself completely in the heat and softness of her. He’s never known anything like this, where the words are even coming from, where this monster in his chest has escaped from.

Her body arches against him, her moans turning into desperate, breathless cries as she clings to him, her nails digging into his scalp, pulling his hair, “Daryl—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it,” he growls, his hips driving up into her harder, deeper, his cock swelling as his own release builds. “Wanna feel you. Wanna hear you scream my fuckin’ name.”

And she does. Her body tenses, her thighs trembling as her release slams into her like a tidal wave. She cries out, her voice raw and ragged as her walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, her pleasure washing over her in uncontrollable waves.

The way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes and shudders in his arms, is enough to send him spiraling after her. He groans, his head tipping back as his hips jerk erratically, his cock pulsing as he spills into her, filling her completely.

His chest heaves as he holds her against him, his body trembling from the force of his release. They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, their breaths mingling as the intensity of what just happened sinks in.

When he finally loosens his grip, his hands slide to her back, stroking her soothingly as her head rests against his shoulder. “You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against her ear.

She nods, a breathless laugh escaping her as she lifts her head to meet his gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair sticking to her damp skin, but her smile is soft and curious, a hint of awe in her expression.

“I’m more than okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of lingering pleasure and surprise. Her fingers trail lightly over his chest, and her lips curve into a teasing grin. “But… I feel like I unleashed something in you I didn’t know was there.”

His brows furrow slightly, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he looks away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…” he mutters, his voice rough with embarrassment. “Ain’t never felt like this before. Never had—never been like this with anyone.” His gaze flickers back to hers, unsure but steady. “Guess you… bring somethin’ out in me.”

Her eyes soften, her fingers tracing along his jaw as she tilts his face back toward her. “Something incredible,” she says softly, her smile widening. “I like it. A lot.”

His lips twitch into a small, lopsided grin, his hand coming up to cup her face as his thumb brushes over her cheek. “You… you’re somethin’ else,” he mutters, his voice low and full of affection. “Don’t even feel like the same person I was before you.”

Her heart swells at his words, her chest tightening as she leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulls back, her smile is full of warmth. “Guess I ruined you in the best way, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, his forehead pressing against hers as his arms tighten around her. “Yeah,” he says, his voice soft but sure. “Guess you did.”

“S’okay,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing lightly over his shoulder. “Think you’ve ruined me too.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest, his breath stuttering as his grip on her tightens. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice rough and low, like he doesn’t quite believe her but wants to more than anything.

“Yeah,” she whispers back, her lips curving into a soft smile as she breathes in, her forehead still against his, “Never thought I could feel like this—this full, this… complete. It’s all you, Daryl. You’ve changed everything.”

For a moment, he can’t speak, his throat too tight, his chest too full. Instead, he presses his lips to hers again, the kiss deep and slow, filled with everything he can’t quite say.

[imissnanami]

Breeding His Housewife w/ Aizawa S.

KINK!tober w/ Nana Oct. 1 | m.list

MDNI | breeding, talk of pregnancy, p in v, doggy a/n: for that one anon (●3<)

Aizawa Shouta was a simple man who loved to take care of his adorable housewife. Taking care of his wife often meant eating her out till her adorable legs were shaking and his face was dripping with her cum. But recently, a new fantasy has been worming its way into his brain. He can’t get the idea of his wife’s soft tummy all round and her plump breasts full and swollen with milk for his little baby. Bottom line was that Aizawa Shouta wanted to breed his cute little housewife. 

Which lead to now. Lucky for him, the only other thing covering your body was a thin pair of panties. Crouching down so he was eye level with your ass, his gaze focused on the flash of yellow that was your panties. The sliver of fabric was disappearing between your puffy lips. Feeling himself twitch in his pants and start to get hard, he reaches down to give himself a squeeze. 

Shuffling closer, Aizawa kneels in front of your cheeks before reaching out and gently massaging your thighs. A content sigh escapes you as he begins to speak;

“Feel good, love?”

Smiling your nod your head and hum out a yes. 

“Good” his deep voice comes from behind you. 

Pressing his thumbs closer into the crease of your ass, he peels them back to expose his favourite pair of panties. The yellow fabric has gotten significantly darker near your entrance. Leaning in, he places an open mouthed kiss on top, his lips quickly finding your clit through the material. A soft moan falls from your lips and you press your hips back. Aizawa hooks his finger around the panties, pulling it to the side. His tongue immediately dips into your core, licking into you and collecting your juices. 

Moaning against you as you squirm and whimper for more, Aizawa becomes flooded with an intense need for you. Wanting to hear more of your sweet sounds, he continues to lap at your clit, massaging your entrance and tongue fucking you. He thinks he’s starting to feel lightheaded with the amount of blood flowing to fill out his length. His dick twitching and leaking precum in his pants. The strain becoming uncomfortable and maddening. With a final suck on your clit, he lets you go and sits back on his heels. You hear clothes rustling but feel nothing more. 

“Where did you gooo” Whining you begin to turn before a strong hand places itself in between your shoulder blades, pinning you down.

“I got you, don’t move love” Came his raspy voice. Humming and settling in, you shake your hips, teasing him. 

He chuckles before placing his other hand on your hip. Pressing down, he tilts your body so your thighs spread and present him a gorgeous view of your cunt. Letting go for a moment, he strokes himself once, twice, before lining up and pushing in. 

The second his fat tip popped past your tight ring of muscle, the both of you moan in synch. As each inch presses further in, Aizawa felt hot pleasure climb up his spine. Your wet walls moulding to his shape, caressing and squeezing each dip and vein. When finally he bottoms out, he’s panting because he can feel how snug your cervix is caressing his weeping head and slit. You’re not doing much better, mouth hung open in a silent moan, drooling on the couch cushion. 

Bending over your body so his front is pressed to your back, Aizawa begins to pull out, moaning at the feeling, hands gripping your hips. Already pussydrunk, he starts to babble against your neck as he sets a steady pace; 

“Fuck, you feel so good...wanna give you my baby”

“Yeah?” You whine, turning your head, trying to get a glimpse of him. 

“Yeah...wanna fill you up and watch you-... Fuck...watch you get all roun-hnggg-d” Aizawa presses hot kisses at the top of your spine before gently but firmly biting down. Feeling you immediately clench around him his hips stutter as he groans. 

“Fuck, gonna fuck a baby into your cute womb,” His hips pick up speed as he thrusts deeper, jostling your body and making the whole couch move. You start to slip forwards. Suddenly you let out a loud moan. The new angle has him drilling your g spot over and over again. His slit kissing the spongy spot, bullying it into the shape of him. He speaks again,

“Wanna... fuck, wanna make-” His words dissolve into a moan as he feels himself get closer and closer to cuming. His strong hand wedges itself between your thighs and the armrest of the couch. His long fingers worming themselves closer to your clit. 

“need you, need you to -fuck- cum so it takes better.” 

The pads of his fingers slide against your clit, sending shocks of electricity up your spine. Each swipe of his fingers bring your closer and closer until you’re falling apart, face shoved into the seat cushion. He sinks his teeth further into your skin as your clamp down around him.

But he doesn’t stop there. Ignoring your squirming and weak sounds of protest, his finger contine to abuse your clit. Your cum making them slide all the better. He mumbles from behind you,

“‘Nother”

“Gotta make sure it takes.”

“One more, please, please, please” 

Phrase after phrase fall from his lips as his hips drive his length in and out of your tight heat. He could feel your walls flittering and twitching around him. The way your thighs began to close again, he knew you were close to cuming again. 

Your mouth hung open in a cute “o” shape, a constant stream of “ah, ah, ah, ah” falling from your lips as he fucked the air out of your lungs. At your sudden keen and the way your pussy began rhythmically milking his cock, Aizawa finally let go. Long ropes of sticky cum coated your womb. His hips stuttered as he moaned your name. His hips bucked weakly as he overstimulated himself, making you got every last drop of his seed. 

Finally stilling, he leaned back over your tired and boneless body, his chest against your back. Gently hands brushed your hair to one side. He pressed a kiss to the back, panting and catching his breath. 

“You did so good for me, love.” you hummed your approval.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before he pulled out. You whimpered as you felt the pressure from his length disappear. Before you could protest too much, his strong arms were picking you up and pulling you to his chest. Flipping your positions, he sat down on the couch and settled you on his lap. For the rest of the night he wouldn’t let you get up or do anything, doting on you the whole time. Because after all, his cute little wife needed to sit still so his seed could take. ;)

tags | @plushygrrrl @alpha-mommy69 @roygbivvie @flooftoof

[hoshifighting]

oiiiii

hey, 👋 a big fan of your parents work (which is you)

and also a great fan of your works too!!

you're so sassy and lovely, a real role model btw.

I got a good fic idea and you are the only one I think can do proper justice to it.

rough sex from a nonsensical fight between the reader and seungcheol. the man ends up taking her from behind on the couch, but ends up having the reader's back to his chest, one hand down the other holding her throat kinda, and he accidentally says something so dumb, they both stop and start laughing. same position everything, they just are laughing and that sex turns to soft one. yeahh sorry about that.

😭

sex after a fight with seungcheol

WARNINGS: smut, silly fight, choking, dirty talk, mentions of body fluids (cum), clit stimulation, afab reader, seungcheol saying smth cringey bc hehehe a/n: def telling them about this compliment HASHAHAUHAUHA, and thank you sm 😭😭 on my sassy era I think? heehheeh

“why the fuck are you so bossy, cheol?” your voice cuts through the living room, breathless, already hoarse from the way he’s been handling you like a doll for some time already.he doesn’t answer—he’s too busy burying himself inside your drenched cunt from behind, his hand splayed across the small of your back, pushing you into the couch cushions like you’re meant to stay there forever. the smack of his hips against you echoes in the room, like he’s trying to fuck his frustration right into you.

“you’re the one who—fuck—” you gasp, fingers clawing at the couch. “—started this. you put the stupid picture on the wrong wall.”he lets out a low, guttural laugh, breathless and mocking, like you’re the one being ridiculous. “wrong wall?” his voice trickles with sarcasm, like you’re talking about world peace instead of home decor. “it’s my fucking apartment too.” “it’s not just yours—”he pulls you up without warning, your back flush against his chest, his arm wrapping tight around your waist to keep you steady. “you really wanna fight about this now?” your head tilts back on his shoulder, and his other hand comes up to your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. his fingers don’t tighten—just rest there, like a warning—like, he still can choke you.

“you’re so fucking stubborn,” he growls, his lips brushing your ear, making your skin prickle. his hips don’t stop, not even for a second. “every damn thing’s a fight with you.”

“maybe if you weren’t such a—shit!—control freak—” your sentence shatters into a moan as his free hand slips between your thighs, fingers working your clit over until you’re gasping, your chest heaving.

“what was that?” he mocks, “didn’t catch that, baby.”

your nails dig into his forearm as you throw your head back. “i said—you’re a—bossy prick—”

his grip tightens just enough on your throat to shut you up.

his hand tightens just the right amount, that perfect sweet spot where your head spins a little, but it’s the way his fingers don’t even falter on your clit that gets you. he feels it—of course he feels it—the way your clit pulses under his fingers at the same time your walls clamp down around him, like your body’s completely giving you away.

cheol’s known you for years. too many nights fucking you, too many fights that ended like this—he knows you too well. knows how you get all sensitive when you’re this close.

so, of course, the fucker pulls out.

“ah-ah, nooo! cheol—what the fuck!?” your voice breaks into this desperate whine, your thighs trembling as you claw at his arm.

he just smirks, like this is a game to him. “shhh,” he hushes, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder before lifting his hand and landing a sharp slap to your ass.

“cheol—!” you snap, twisting your neck to glare at him, but he’s just laughing. the kind of cocky laugh that makes you want to slap him back—except he looks too fucking good, his flushed face and that messy, sweaty hair making you forget your anger for a second.

“that ass sounds like a drum babe” he chuckles.

you freeze. he freezes.

and then you’re laughing, full-on cracking up, hystericaly “what the fuck did you just say?!”

cheol’s face goes bright red, and he buries it in the curve of your neck, trying to hide. “sorry i—oh my god,” he groans, muffled against your skin, though he’s laughing, too—embarrassed and shaking with it. “just shut up, i don’t know why i said that.”

you’re wheezing at this point, your stomach hurting. “a drum, cheol? seriously?”

he huffs, still trying to hide his face, but his hand sneaks up to squeeze one of your tits, like it’s his way of punishing you for laughing too hard, trying to distract you while rolling your nipple with his thumb. you break a moan, but cant stop laughing.

“quit it,” he mutters. “you’re gonna kill the mood.”

“the mood’s dead, babe,” you gasp, wiping at your eyes as you keep giggling. “you killed it. murdered it.”

“shut uuuup!” he whines, but he’s still laughing, his body shaking against yours.

somehow—somehow—he slides back inside you, still chuckling, the both of you grinning like idiots. every time he thrusts, the moans stutters for a second because one of you bursts into another fit of laughter.

“okay, okay, seriously—stop laughing,” cheol says, exasperated, amused as you’re still choking on giggles. his hand smacks your thigh this time, not too hard. but it only makes you laugh harder, your whole body shaking against his.

“i can’t!” you gasp, turning your head to catch his flushed face out of the corner of your eye. “you called my ass a drum, cheol. you banged your way into that one.”

he groans like he’s suffering, but his smirk gives him away. “you’re gonna regret that.”

you scoff, not buying it. “what are you gonna do? write a—fuck!”

you barely get the word out before his arms snake around you, pulling you flush against his chest like you’re a doll he can just position however he wants. his lips brush your ear, and his voice drops into that low, syrupy tone that’s made you weak since day one. “told you I know how to shut you up.”

his hand dips between your legs again, fingers finding your clit like it’s second nature, you forget how to breathe for a second. the other hand stays firm on your chest and arms, holding you pressed tight against him so there’s nowhere for you to go. his hips move deep so you feel his wet tip hitting your cervix, he makes you feel every inch of him.

“oh my god,” you whimper, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“there she is,” he murmurs. “what happened to all that laughing, huh? gone now?” you try to bite back a moan, but it comes out anyway, and he chuckles, smug as hell. “yeah, that’s what I thought.”

you lean your cheek against his, feeling the scratch of his little facial hair. “cheol—ngh.. baby!”

“mm?” his voice is too relaxed, like he’s not busy fucking you into next week. “what’s up, baby?”

“don’t—don’t stop, gonna cum.” you gasp.

“wasn’t planning on it,” he says, and you can feel the smirk pressed against your jaw. his fingers move faster, matching the pace of his hips, and you’re melting, just like he knew you would. “but... say it hm..” he says, . his fingers press harder against your clit, and your body jolts at the same timr. “say you’re mine, baby. let me hear it.”

“i’m yours,” you breathe, and the way his breath hitches makes your chest tighten.

“that’s right,” he mutters, his lips finding your jaw, kissing along the line of it, like he can’t get close enough. “mine. all fucking mine.”

you twist in his arms, turning just enough to catch his lips with yours, and the kiss is messy, desperate, tongue and need. his rhythm falters for a second, but then he’s right back at it, fucking into you so deep it’s all you can think about, his hand still working between your legs until you’re right on the edge again.

his name spills out of you, you crash over the edge, your body shaking in his arms. he holds you through it, his own movements growing rougher, until he’s groaning into your neck, his grip on you tightening as he fills your swollen cunt, the slick starting to drip from your folds.

“told you i’d shut you up.” he mumbles, his lips quirking up against your skin.

“shut up, cheol!” you mutter back, but there’s no heat in it. just warmth, just laughter, just him.

[syluslnd]

Hi dear, I wanted to ask you to make a post about how silus sucks the reader's nipples and cannot tear himself away from her breasts.

sylus sucking on your nipples

Sylus's eyes narrow in on you the moment he notices your outfit—a tank top, no bra, the fabric clinging to your skin. His smirk is immediate, sharp, as he steps closer, one eyebrow raised. "Kitten" he purrs, his voice dripping with teasing amusement "were you planning on going out like this or is this just for me?"

Before you can answer, his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it higher.

You shiver as the cool air hits your skin and Sylus chuckles darkly, his fingers grazing along your ribs. "No bra, huh?" he muses, his teasing tone making your cheeks burn. "You must really want my attention, sweetie. Are you that needy today?"

His other hand suddenly grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. In one swift motion, you're in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as he easily pins your arms behind you with just one hand. His grip is firm but he's toying with you-making it clear you couldn't escape even if you tried. "Such a good little thing" he murmurs in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Walking around, all exposed, just begging for me to notice."

You squirm but his hold only tightens and he leans in,his lips brushing the side of your neck. "Admit it, kitten. You didn't wear a bra because you wanted this" he teases, his free hand tracing the bare skin just under the fabric of your shirt. "You like it when I take control, don't you? So easy to tease, so desperate to please."

His fingers glide teasingly over your chest, never quite touching where you want, as he smirks. "I can feel you trembling, sweetie.You're lucky l'm feeling generous today.Maybe I'll give you exactly what you're begging for-if you ask nicely."

Sylus watches you, the corners of his lips curling up as you struggle to get the words out. He can see it all over your face-the desire, the hesitation-but you're too shy to admit what you want. He leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, "Come on kitten, don't be shy. I know exactly what you want."

When you still can't bring yourself to say it, he chuckles softly, almost pitying. "Sweetie, I'm not that cruel" he says with a sly smile.

"Let me help you." With his free hand, he lets his fingers drift under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your chest before finally brushing against your nipples. The sensation sends an immediate spark through you, your breath catching as he flicks them lightly between his fingers.

Your body reacts instinctively, hips bucking as a jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

Sylus's grin widens at your reaction, his grip still firm around your wrists, holding you completely still while his fingers tease you, drawing out more soft moans. "Look at you, so sensitive" he whispers, his voice dripping with amusement. "I barely touched you and you're already squirming in my lap."

He continues his slow, torturous teasing, his fingers circling your nipples, giving just enough pressure to make you ache for more.

"You couldn't even say it" he muses "but your body's telling me everything I need to know. Go ahead, kitten, show me how much you like it."

His grip on your wrists remains steady, keeping you pinned against him, your movements limited to desperate, small bucks of your hips as his teasing hand keeps playing with your chest. Sylus leans down, his lips brushing your neck as he murmurs,

"Good girl. I'll make sure you feel everything."With a swift, fluid motion, Sylus shifts his weight, effortlessly flipping you onto your back. The sudden move leaves you breathless as you land against the sofa cushions. Before you can even process it, Sylus is on top of you, his body pressed against yours, pinning your wrists together above your head with one strong hand. Your tank top is pulled up, leaving your breasts fully exposed, vulnerable beneath his gaze.

His eyes lock onto yours, dark and full of amusement, the kind that makes your stomach flip. You can't avoid the intensity of his stare and his lips curl into a wicked grin.

"There we go" he murmurs, his voice dripping with that teasing tone you've grown so accustomed to. "Now l've got you exactly where I want you-can't hide from me anymore, kitten."

His free hand glides down your side, fingers dancing over your skin as he takes in the sight of you laid out beneath him. "So beautiful" he purrs, eyes lingering on your chest. "Look at you, all exposed, just waiting for me to play."

Your heart races as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. He knows exactly what he's doing-his teasing words, the weight of his body pinning you down, the way his hand grips your wrists, keeping you helpless beneath him. "I wonder" he whispers "how much more you can take before you start begging."

Then, without warning, his tongue flicks out, making contact with your nipple. The sensation sends a shockwave through your body, your back arching instinctively as a soft gasp escapes your lips. Sylus grins against your skin, clearly enjoying how quickly you react to him. His tongue continues its slow, deliberate teasing, circling your nipple, sucking gently before flicking it with precision.

"Mm, so sensitive" he teases, his voice vibrating against your chest. "I can feel every little twitch, kitten. I bet you're loving this, aren't you?" His mouth alternates between soft licks and firm sucks and he watches your reactions closely, knowing exactly how to work your body.

His teeth graze your nipple just enough to make you gasp and he smirks, shifting his weight to pin you down even more. "I could play with you like this all day” he murmurs, dragging his tongue across your skin, never giving you a moment to catch your breath.

"You're going to be such a good little thing for me, aren't you?"

Your body trembles beneath Sylus, the teasing flicks of his tongue and the gentle pressure of his mouth driving you closer to the edge. As much as you want to let go, there's a shy hesitance that keeps you from fully surrendering. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out, your face flushed with both arousal and embarrassment.

Sylus notices immediately. His eyes darken with amusement, his grin widening as he watches you try to suppress your sounds.

He pauses, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips hovering dangerously close to your chest. "Oh, sweetie” he purrs, his voice low and laced with warning. "You're trying to be quiet?"

He tilts his head, his gaze locking onto yours, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. "I don't think so, kitten. You better let me hear every single sound you make. If you don't..." His fingers trail down your side teasingly, making your skin tingle as he smirks. "I'll just have to make it worse for you."

Before you can even process the threat, he leans down again, his mouth latching onto your nipple with a sudden firmness. His teeth gently graze the sensitive peak, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your body arches instinctively, a soft moan escaping your lips despite your attempts to hold it back.

"There it is" Sylus murmurs, the vibration of his voice sending a wave of heat through you. "Much better." He nibbles gently on your nipple, sucking it between his teeth just enough to make you squirm beneath him, the teasing bite balancing on the edge of pleasure and pain. "See? Doesn't it feel so much better when you let loose?"

You can't help it now-your moans are coming out more freely, your body responding to every flick of his tongue and every gentle bite. He hums approvingly, clearly satisfied with how quickly you're unraveling beneath him.

"Good girl” he whispers, switching to the other nipple, giving it the same slow, torturous attention. His hand, still pinning your wrists above your head, tightens slightly reminding you that you're completely at his mercy. "Don't try to hold back anymore” he warns, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin again. "I want to hear exactly how much you're enjoying this or I'll make sure it lasts all night."

With that, he bites down just a little harder, his tongue soothing the spot right after, leaving you no choice but to moan louder, your body shaking as his teasing becomes more intense.

[drewsephrry]

congrats on 2k!! if you’re still accepting requests - could I get #1 from the fluff prompts with rafe? :)

thank you so much!! yes, i will be accepting requests till the end of 2024!! 🤍

2k celebration!!!

warnings: panic attack

words: 835

Rafe Cameron didn’t know how to exist without the pressure of his emotions weighing him down. For years, he had kept the chaos inside, not knowing how to let anyone in, especially not someone like you. You weren’t like the others, you didn’t look at him with disgust or fear. You saw him for what he was, all of him, the anger, the confusion and the fragile parts he’d buried deep.

It had taken time for him to accept it, but whenever you were near, he felt something different. When you were close, the world seemed to slow down. The simple act of your touch could ground him when nothing else seemed to work.

Tonight, though, things felt different. Rafe was sitting on the couch in his dimly lit living room, his hands gripping the edge of the cushions as his mind raced. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, everything felt off. The walls of the house seemed to close in around him and the silence was deafening.

His phone had buzzed a few times, but he didn’t bother looking at it. Nothing mattered right now. All he needed was you.

It wasn’t that he expected you to fix everything, you couldn’t. But when you were near, he didn’t feel quite as lost.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway caught his attention and he instantly stood, heart pounding in his chest. Without waiting for you to reach the door, he opened it before you could even knock.

“Y/N.” He breathed, his voice tight. You smiled softly, stepping into the house, but the smile faltered when you saw the tension in his posture.

“Rafe, what’s going on?” You asked as your brows furrow in concern.

He couldn’t explain it. How could he put into words the chaos that spiraled inside him? Instead, he reached for you. Without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, needing your warmth more than anything. He buried his face in your hair, his hands trembling as they wrapped around you. You didn’t hesitate as your arms wrapped around him too, holding him close.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” You whispered. Rafe’s breath hitched and he held you tighter, trying to push away the panic clawing at him.

“I don’t know what’s happening. I feel…I don’t know…lost.” He stuttered.

“Rafe.” You murmured, your voice low and steady. “You’re not lost. I’m right here.”

Your words were soothing, but it was your touch that really settled him. You had always known how to reach him, how to ground him when everything felt too much. Your fingers gently rubbed the back of his neck, soft, rhythmic motions that calmed him as he took in a slow but steady breath.

“I don’t want to be like this.” He whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I don’t want to keep losing control.”

“You’re not losing control.” You said softly, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. Your hands rested on his shoulders, your gaze unwavering.

“You’re just…human. And it’s okay to feel this way, Rafe. You don’t have to do this alone.” You exclaimed as Rafe shook his head, the weight of everything pressing down on him. But then you did something that always helped. You took his hand and guided him to the couch, sitting down beside him. Without saying a word, you shifted closer, until your body was pressed against his. You didn’t speak, you didn’t need to. Your presence was everything he needed.

Slowly, Rafe let himself relax into you, his hand gripping yours as if it was the only thing keeping him from spiraling. You rested your head on his shoulder, your fingers drawing circles on his palm, a simple but steady reminder that you were there.

“Can I stay like this?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper, vulnerable. You smiled softly, your fingers tracing up and down his arm.

“As long as you need, baby.” You said, her voice warm and full of affection.

For the next few hours, they stayed like that—no words needed. Just the steady rhythm of your breathing, the constant warmth of your touch and the feeling of your fingers brushing against his skin. It was the one thing that kept the noise inside his head from becoming too overwhelming. It was the one thing that reminded him he wasn’t alone.

Eventually, Rafe leaned back into the couch, his eyes closing as the weight in his chest lifted. Your presence was the anchor he needed to steady himself. No matter how bad things got, no matter how far out of control he felt, he always knew that with you by his side, he was safe.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He murmured after a while, his voice soft and filled with quiet gratitude. You didn’t say anything right away. You simply squeezed his hand tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“You’ll never have to find out.” You whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/N: hope you enjoyed this!! i tried really hard for it!!🤍

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Can you do HLC reacting to MC falling asleep during a class? It almost happened to me last Friday, and I think it would make a good reaction.

A/N: that's me this week, just tired af

HLC REACT TO MC FALLING ASLEEP IN CLASS

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: He tries balancing and stacking things on MC. His record is three ink bottles, five books, and a rememberal. He thinks it's funny how deep MC can sleep.

OMINIS GAUNT: He's passed out next to them. Either he's just got his head down alongside theirs or they're leaning on each other. Sometimes he wakes up with MC's drool on his robes.

ANNE SALLOW: She entertains herself by tickling MC's nose with her quill. She wants to see how much she can get away with before they sneeze themself awake. Don't look at her, she didn't do it.

IMELDA REYES: She's indifferent, but if anyone other than a professor tries bothering MC, she scares them off with a glare. MC clearly needs to catch up on sleep. Back off.

NATSAI ONAI: She leans against them and uses MC as a cushion while she studies. She thinks they're really comfortable and it's a little funny that they don't stir from it. MC is out like a light.

GARRETH WEASLEY: He's not sure whether to be scared or impressed that MC fell asleep standing up in potions class. It ends up being one of the few classes he does cause chaos because he is so spellbound.

LEANDER PREWETT: MC has the right idea, this class is boring. He lays his head down next to them. His fingers gently touch theirs. He can pretend to hold their hand for a little bit.

AMIT THAKKAR: He gets nervous that MC will get in trouble and tries to gently wake them. If it doesn't work, he'll leave them be. Don't worry, he'll take notes for them.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He wants whatever they have to sleep that well, even in class. He entertains himself by blowing a piece of lint across the table to MC's nose and they blow it back as they take long steady breaths.

POPPY SWEETING: If MC has long hair, she braids it while they sleep. Otherwise, she doodles on their hand. The ink shouldn't last too long. She thinks.

[delwrites]

Hey 😚 i saw you were open to request so here i am haha but totally fine if you wanna skip it tho

Ive been really into friends to secret lover trope lately

Could you write a james x reader were childhood friend and around their sixth year in hogwarts they realized their feeling and they started to secretly dating and no one knows!

The story could focus on how they got caught? Maybe a slip up during an argument? Or that reader looks so beautiful james just couldn’t help it? Or just plain old getting caught making out in the broom closet? 😅

Hey angel, thanks so much for the request! <3

Having been friends with James since your meeting him in your guys’ first year, you pride yourself on knowing all of his little habits, able to read him like a book. So when you were curled up on the sofa, himself sprawled out across the armchair beside you huffing and puffing away, it was more than obvious to you that something was up.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” you ask, turning your body as best you can to fully face him, brows creasing as you do so. He only hums inquisitively at this, refusing to look at you as he appears to find his own hands much more interesting, fidgeting away.

“Seriously, Jamie, what’s up?” At your further questioning, he lets out one big sigh as he swings his legs over from where they had been previously stretched out over the handles of the armchair, now sat how the design permitted. 

“Sirius said something to me today, got me thinking…” Realising that that was all he was willing to give you right now, you spin back around with your own huff, hugging one of the common room cushions to your chest. You know James was never too good with words, so a lot of the time you’d appreciate his choosing to stay quiet instead of stumbling over thoughts he could never fully get across.

“Hey, love?” you hum in response, eyes trained on the fire dancing before you. James’ presence always comforted you, and that paired with the warmth emanating before you made your eyes droop more than you’d like to admit. 

“Would you like to go to Hogsmead with me this weekend?”

“Oh, sure” you reply, letting a dopey smile overtake your face. “We can invite Frank and Alice, I’ve been meaning to get her back for coffee-”

“No, darling, I meant just us two?” The implication made you suck in a breath, head whipping round to study any change in his features.

“You mean like.. Like a date?” 

He smiles at you, a heartwarming grin that makes your stomach flip. You’re not too sure where this sudden taking to you has come from, you’d always thought you’d stay in the friend zone forever, doomed to an unrequited love from the most oblivious man you’ve ever known. Of course, your friends had tried to convince you otherwise. Mary would nudge you gently every time she caught James staring at you, to which you’d always brush her off one way or another, making up excuses so as to not get your hopes up. 

Who would’ve guessed that all this time, he was thinking the same about you?

You had both agreed to not tell anyone about your date until you had figured stuff out between the two of you, wanting to be secure in what the other was feeling before going public with anything. It seemed the most sensible thing to do.

But when the day of the date came, you found yourself frustrated at not being able to tell anyone. No one to help pick an outfit out, no one to help you with your hair, no one to talk to. As much as you hated it, you made a promise to James.

 There was a close call where he dragged you by your wrist into a dingy alleyway after having spotted Dorcas as she left a quaint bookshop, holding you against a wall with a finger pressed to his lip in a hush motion, hand placed on your hip to keep you still and steady, lest you run out and make yourselves known. To say the whole ordeal made your heart skip a beat would’ve been an understatement, and the sneaking around was absolutely riveting. 

So you found that what was even more frustrating, was not being able to tell anyone how good the date went. He had greeted you with a bouquet of flowers, charm placed on them to never wilt as well. He had been a gentleman the whole afternoon (he normally is anyway, but even more so this time). He had held every door open for you, even pulling out your chair for you, and paid for the whole ordeal. You felt so safe with him walking next to you, a certain pride overcoming you knowing that he liked you, and you liked him, and gosh he liked you. It was overwhelming and you longed for someone to share it with. But James had your word, and the last thing you wanted to do was mess things up with him. So, you kept your mouth shut, painful as it was.

The next few weeks consisted of you sneaking around everywhere, and although it started off as exciting, you were really starting to get tired of keeping such a daunting secret from your closest friends. There was a lot of sneaking out after curfew to have midnight picnics on the astronomy tower, consisting of snacks James had nabbed from the Great Hall during dinner. A lot of sneaking off with the promise of the bathroom on your lips to professors, instead meeting up just to get these little snippets of alone time with each other, before any of your friends could catch on, let alone someone like Minnie. 

You thought finally going on dates with James Potter would be a good thing, but you came to find that you hated it. Not the dates, they were always amazing. They always made you forget how much you disliked sneaking around, almost making it all worth it. He was amazing, and kind, and funny and gosh you liked him so very much, but the lack of sleep was starting to catch up to you, making you much more irritable than normal. 

Every time you’d sit gathered in the common room with all your friends and who you wished to be your boyfriend, all you’d want is to openly hold his hand, openly admire how good he looked in that one quidditch jumper, and oh wow, to openly kiss him. 

To be fair, he hadn’t even secretly kissed you yet. 

So when you heard Sirius talking to James in the Great Hall about a Hufflepuff girl cheering extra loud for him during their last quidditch match, always staring at him with heart eyes and blushing every time he looked her way, it got on your last nerve. 

“James, can I talk to you please?” you practically grit through your teeth, trying to keep your calm as best as you can. 

“Hold on a sec, you’ve been stealing him away so much lately, what, you guys fucking or something?” Sirius proclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows at the both of you infuriatingly. To say the least, the comment had struck a soft spot, and you wanted now more than ever for James to lift this silly rule, to be confident enough in your relationship to just admit his feelings for you, right there, in front of everybody.

It was too much to hope, as all he did was turn around and join in on the jesting, not even considering how it might make you feel.

“Gosh no, you know we’re just friends, Pads cmon, don’t be like that.” The words cut through you, hurting more than he realised. You didn’t even know what to do, but you weren’t making the decisions, your body was making them for you. You spun on your feet, tears welling up in your eyes, embarrassment overflowing through your veins like blood. You started to walk away, leaving behind you a stunned Sirius and a very regretful James.

In that moment, all conflicting feelings left him, overtaken by wanting (read: needing) to comfort you, any means necessary. He couldn’t stand to see you upset, especially by his own hand. 

When you heard him calling after you, getting up to catch up to you, you could only speed up, trying to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Honey, please, I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t mean it-” 

It’s no surprise that he catches up to you, jogging in front of you to somewhat block your path, pleading with you to hear him out. When your stubbornness dismissed him, there was only one more thing that he could think to do that would get his point across. After all, actions do speak louder than words. 

He grabs ahold of your face with both hands, opening his mouth to say something, anything, before cutting himself off by planting his lips firmly to yours. 

James Potter really was never very good with words. So it’s a good thing that you could always understand him, words or not.

thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed! i'm always open to constructive criticism and helpful feedback :) a like, comment or reblog goes so far💕

[sanjisboyfie]

I don’t see much Connie springer x male reader sooo that’s why I’m here😚. So I was thinking something like Connie coming home from work and it’s just male reader in the kitchen making dinner for them. And Connie sneaks up on reader and wraps his arms around his waist and laughs into his neck as they greet each other after a long tiring day. And it ends with them sitting down and having dinner with each other, smiles and all. Honestly just fluff, I want my bookie to be happy.

LJ:LKJLKJAIDJOIJAD i love connie springer guys hes just a silly guy please send him more love

connie springer x male reader !

-> can be read as modern!au or in the canon universe

rating: fluffy <3 hes just baby guys

by some miraculous chance, you don’t hear the front door of your humble home open. perhaps its purposeful of connie to open and close it so gently. he had come home later than usual, so he was anticipating that you would be getting ready for bed — which is why he was being so soft with his actions. but when the smell of a home cooked meal greets his senses, he sighs in delight and grins to himself. he now knows you’re in the kitchen. he quietly takes off his shoes, jacket, and hat from his head, running his hand over his buzzed hair and walking to the kitchen.

his body moves quietly from the front door to the kitchen before he’s placed himself right behind you. you don’t notice him, too immersed in cooking, and it takes him sneaking his arms around your waist and pulling you backward to even notice.

a weak yell escapes your mouth, immediately turning around to slap his chest and shoulders for scaring you so bad. you weren’t alarmed, familiar with the hands and arms around your torso, but you were pissed at him for being so mischievous.

“connie! i could’ve gotten burnt! i was right in front of the soup!” you scold, slapping his chest a couple of times. he only smiles softly, moving his arms to rest loosely on your shoulder.

“i know, babe, but i did purposely wait till your hands were not stirring the pot — so i was aware and considerate!” he defends himself, leaning down to kiss away your frown. his action successfully distracts you because you still did miss your man after a long day of waiting for him at home.

he smiles into the kiss, moving one of his hands to rest on your jaw, keeping you steady and close to him. the other falls to your hands, squeezing it and holding it as he kisses you with passion. it was normal and familiar - to be so drowned in his overwhelming amounts of love and affection. he forces himself off of you, pecking your lips one last time before stepping away, “what’d you make?”

“your favorite soup and i have the bread already heated up. it’s a simple dinner, my love, but i made do with what we had,” you say, sounding apologetic, but he immediately washes your worries away by pinching your cheek gently.

“we can go down to the market tomorrow, early morning, maybe miss janet will give us a discount for being her first customers,” he winks, “besides, you know i love anything you make, no matter how simple you think it is,”

“thank you, baby,” you smile and he beams a blinding one right back at you.

after a couple of minutes of talking about his day at work, the soup was finished and you two were serving each other. you had exchanged your plates with one another and walked to the living room, collapsing onto the couch. connie sighed, feeling relief to finally be off of his feet and immediately patted the cushion beside him. you took it in a second’s notice, smiling to yourself to feel his arm wrap around your shoulder.

“thank you for the food, baby,” he says, before immediately diving into his thick sandwich. you had assembled it, knowing of his love for meat and packed on as much protein you could. and to hear and see his satisfaction after the first bite, you smiled to yourself in accomplishment.

after finishing the quick meal, connie immediately collapsed into your body, his empty plate and bowl placed on the table.

"c'mere," he groans, wrapping his arms around you and diving his head into your neck. the weight of his body on yours makes you collapse into the soft cushioned sofa beneath you. his warm breath is cascading down onto your exposed neck. "ugh, i missed you today,"

"you say that everyday,"

"and i'll say it again tomorrow and the day after and the day after and the day after-"

"okay, i get it, connie," you laugh, slapping his shoulder to signal him to move his entire body off of you, but he shakes his head into your neck.

"don't wanna move, don't make me," he says, whiny tone obvious and audible.

"alright, you big baby, stay there and suffocate me," you say with a rolling of your eye that he doesn't even see.

instead, he just hums happily and continues trying to bury his head deeper into the crevice of your neck and shoulder - as if he's trying to melt his body with yours.

the prickly sensation of his buzzed hair against your skin is not unpleasant or pleasant, it's just something you've grown to have a fond familiarity with. and to feel his breathing slow down, to show he was slowly turning sleepy, it made your smile stretch even wider.

"we gotta get to bed connie, you still have to take a shower and stuff," you tap his back to show he has to get up, but he only groans and falls even more limp into your hold.

"five mins," he says softly, kissing you on your neck several times, as if to goade you into agreeing.

and it does work. because now you're running your hand up and down his back while the other ghosts over his spiky hair, a content look on your face. and you can't see it, due to his face being hidden in your neck, but he's also sharing a similiar look of relaxation and happiness.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: When MC turns into a small, wounded animal

~ this was inspired by a short conversation in the server lol ~

You're not sure how exactly it happened, but one moment you were strolling quietly along the tree line, and the next moment in a flash of magic you were a fraction of your size and completely overwhelmed by the shift in sensory input. What had been knee-length grass towered over your head like densely-packed trees. You took off in an awkward, four-footed run when you sensed massive footsteps nearby, but your unfamiliarity with your new form quickly had you landing wrong on a small, fuzzy paw with a nasty twist. You flop on your side in shock and discomfort as the shadow of a fully-grown human looms over you, hoping that whoever they are, they'll be kind.

Julian

Saw you running away as he approached you and (in typical fashion) blamed himself for what was clearly a sprained paw

Good thing he's a doctor! He'll take you home and get you all set up and treated for your injury, no payment required

His hands are surprisingly cold when he scoops you up, but his grip is steady and gentle. He bundles you in his large woolen coat (which smells like leather and salty air) and carries you back in the crook of his elbow like you're a human baby and not a small animal

Oh, and he talks

He talks to you the whole way across the field, into town, through the streets, and into his clinic. (pausing to say hello here and there)

He wants you to know that you're going to be just fine, that he's going to make things "right as rain", and that he has an excellent pillow in the corner of his office that you'll love snoozing on

As he gets into town, he wants you to know all sorts of other things. That person mixes the best (strongest) drinks. That person is the best at darts. That person can get you anything for a price

The clinic smells like stress and pain, but he's very quick to give you some soothing scritches behind your ears as he takes you back to his office, sets you down on his table, and starts bandaging you up, distracting you with soothing comments

He has given you name already and going by how often he checks in to give you pets, he is going to take you in, he just doesn't know it yet. His raven appears shortly after to stand guard over you

Accuses you of "petnapping" when you poof back to human form

Asra

Approaches you to help, not because they feel guilty for what they can tell is partially their fault, but because they're picking up on a pretty intense enchantment that's piquing their curiosity

Takes a moment to hold out his hand and let you approach him before picking you up, and does so very carefully and gently. Has really warm, soft hands and smells like freshly burned incense

Talks to you a little bit just in case you can understand them, mostly just to let you know why they're picking you up and that they noticed magic on you and they have good intentions

Talks at you a lot more. He's mumbling and muttering on and off the whole way back to his place, idly petting your head and nose as soon as he notices you like it, spouting off ideas of what's going on

Faust opts to wait until you're back inside a safe room on a cushion before she makes her appearance. She's well aware that she looks like a predator to you right now and doesn't want to scare you

That, and she needed to convince Asra to make a proper introduction and reassure you that you aren't about to get eaten

If you're able to settle in she'll stick right next to you, coiled around your pillow to make sure you're not lonely or scared

Asra, on the other hand, is following several trains of thought at once, all out loud both to themself and to you and Faust

He's juggling the source of the spell, the solution to the spell, the fact that you'd make a good pet, and - oh yes- your injured paw

Slightly disappointed they didn't have time to solve it when you poof back to your human form

Nadia

She fully intends to just keep walking, assuming that you (the small animal) will be able to figure it out on your own, but her deep-seated sense of responsibility forces her to check on you

Oh dear. You're limping, and clearly scared and alone

This won't do. She'll have to take you to the nearest vet, or animal shelter, or maybe to what's left of Lucio's old menagerie ...

Very firm and polite about how she approaches you. You get two seconds to sniff her hand (which smells like the world's most heavenly and expensive flower garden) before she picks you up

It's clear she's not very used to carrying small living things, because as intentionally as she's marching you back to the Palace, her hold on you is very stiff and awkward. It's hard to balance

She doesn't speak much beyond giving instructions to her carriage driver and the guards as she enters the Palace. Once the two of you are alone, though, she sets you down carefully for a talk

You seem like a very sweet creature. She must admit that she's grown rather fond of you as she's carried you around. She apologizes for scaring you and for any discomfort as she held you

Now that she's considering it, she may wish to keep you. She can promise that all of your basic needs will be met, and that she will find at least five minutes to half an hour to spend with you daily

Her talk is cut short when the vet arrives, and as soon as you're bandaged up she's sweeping out of the room to get back to her duties, leaving Chandra to keep an eye on you if you need anything

Asks you where the lovely creature is when she returns that night

Muriel

Oh he's not hesitating for a second, he's carefully approaching to help as soon as he sees that you're hurt and quietly reassuring you

It's clear this man knows what he's doing. He gives you as long as you need to approach his outstretched hand, and sits unmoving for minutes on end so you can be completely familiar with him

The biggest, warmest hands you could imagine when you're finally ready to be picked up. Your whole body easily fits in just one of them, but he's snuggling you to his chest to keep you safe anyways

Will cover you with his cloak for extra comfort

Gives the best pets and reassurance. Sure he could crush you in one fist but he is scarily good at giving you scritches around your ears and chin and speaking just enough to calm you down

Sets up a very comfy spot for you at just the right distance from the fire with exactly the types of food you need to eat

Takes care of your paw so gently and expertly that you barely feel a thing, and then praises you for staying calm and calls you brave for letting him help you. Does not stop petting you at any point

Does have to leave a few times for the rest of his day's tasks, but not before he takes his time introducing you to Inanna and making sure you feel comfortable and safe around her

And goodness gracious, you're the safest little creature in the world once she's decided to look after you. She'll sit guard over you with a paw on either side of you while she watches the door

Yes, Muriel is in the hut when you poof back, and yes, he's immediately bright red at all the words you heard him say that day

Portia

Rushing over to look at you, not because she can tell you're injured, but because you're a small, cute, fluffy animal and what else is she supposed to do when she sees those? Walk on by??? Never!

A little surprised when you don't run away, and very pleased when you willingly approach her outstretched hand to get to know her. Which is when she sees the way you're limping and figures it out

You're hurt! That's awful! Don't worry, she'll take care of you!

Drapes a soft shawl around you that smells like detergent and fresh bread and snuggles you up. She carries you like a baby and it's the warmest, softest, safest experience you've ever had

Has the perfect nails for scritching and is giving you the royal treatment the whole way back to her cottage (she'd take you to see her brother, she tells you, but he's probably overworked as is)

Keeps accidentally flicking her hair into your face - there's so much of it, and as nice as it smells, the curls tickle you dreadfully

Doesn't like the idea of making you feel imprisoned inside, so she pulls out a basket and fills it with rags and old blankets and puts it on the porch for you to snooze in while she finds some food for you

Ends up pulling a bunch of produce from her garden and slicing it up into little pieces on a plate for you to pick and choose what you like. The whole time you eat she's petting you and listing off different names to see if there's any in particular you respond to

Has to run off after an hour because she was on her break, but she calls Pepi over to meet you before she goes to keep you company

Almost cries when she comes home to an empty basket

Lucio

Fully intended to keep walking past you. He wasn't even looking in your direction when you went sprinting off because he was too busy navigating a root and pebble filled path in heels

Mercedes and Melchior, however, noticed the tall grass rustling right away and came sprinting over to investigate. You were not prepared for how scary those teeth would look up close

The two of them can tell fairly quickly that you're not a normal small animal, and they're both so intrigued and excited that they start bouncing back and forth around you with whirlwind tails

Lucio, noticing the commotion, finally walks over to see what they found and notices you. Hey, you're kinda cute. He'll keep you.

Scoops you up without a second thought, tucks you into one arm, and keeps walking with the dogs trying to jump up and sniff at you on either side. It smells like dog and cologne and you are stressed

He does talk while he walks, but not to anybody specifically. He rambles from his ongoing train of thought to tuneless whistling to barking at the dogs to stop getting pawprints on his trousers

You'd hope for pets, but he's holding you in his human arm and the other spiky metal one with the sharp claws on the end don't look ideal for gentle comfort. Thankfully, he's pretty warm

He doesn't realize that you're injured until he gets to where he's staying and puts you down. As soon as he sees that you're limping, he's panicking and trying to figure out how to take care of it

Ties it up with a handkerchief and calls it a day. You'll be fine

Asks you if you can turn back at will when the spell wears off

[paingoes]

Rubies

Asking

“Aegre fero” here has a double meaning of “I’m sorry” and “It hurts”. Taking some license with the Latin I think. Forgive me.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, comfort!!!, crying, past trauma, conditioning, malnutrition mention, emotional whump, abuse mention, rocky recovery)

=========

Apollo readjusted the dials on the old receiver. He clicked in between the channels of the small device, listening in as best he could through the static. The sheer range of Galatea’s radio always impressed him. 

“-off the Western side now, escalating-“

“-running out of provisions! Just a reminder-“

“-tell Contra if she doesn’t fix her damn-“

“-worst summer in years, but not like-“

“-does anyone not need their kidney-“

Delta came out of his room, slipping quietly out into the hall. His short hair was hard to get used to. It was actually kind of curly when it wasn’t weighed down. Apollo thought it was cute. His expression was totally unreadable, but that was about typical for him. 

“Hey.” Apollo pulled one of the earbuds out. He didn’t move much beyond that. Delta had gotten comfortable enough that he didn’t feel the need to fuss after him nor the impulse to coax him out of hiding. It’d be better to stay still, not spook him too much.

Delta skirted the edge of the couch carefully and knelt down onto the carpet. He folded his arms on the cushion, resting his head down on top of them. It hid his face. Apollo took out the other earbud, leaning forward.

“You okay, bud?” Apollo’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. Delta hadn’t knelt for him in a while. He’d thought that he was getting out of the habit. Delta nodded, his face still buried in the cushion. Not speaking, but that was also to be expected.

“Do you want to sit up here?” Apollo offered, just in case he needed to be reminded that he was allowed to. He shook his head for no.

“…Okay. Let me know if you need anything, alright?” He only put one earbud back in. Delta spoke so softly, he didn’t want to miss it. He wasn’t going to force him to talk about it, if there was anything to talk about at all. Delta needed to do what made him feel safe. As odd as the behavior seemed to him, he wasn’t going to correct it. 

He turned his attention back to the radio, but kept his sights on Delta to see if there was any change. His eyes widened as he noticed the small hitches along his shoulders. He was definitely crying.

“Hey, hey.” Apollo put the radio aside on the couch, sliding down onto the floor. He touched Delta’s arm lightly, “C’mere.”

It was all the invitation he needed. Delta shifted off of the couch and into Apollo’s arms, burying his face in his chest. Small sobs wracked his body. Apollo was surprised at how silent he was being in spite of this. He made shushing noises reflexively, even though there was no sound. He felt the fabric of his shirt marginally tighten as Delta gripped it. 

“Aegre fero.” Delta’s voice wavered. It was only when he spoke that Apollo could hear just how much trouble he was having breathing. He carded his hands through his hair.

“It’s okay. Deep breaths, yeah? Four-seven-eight,” he said. Delta knew how. Apollo had caught him doing them alone before, unprompted. He was clearly used to being the only one to calm himself down. Apollo’s heart ached at the thought of him sitting up whenever they had kept him, forcing himself stable for somebody else’s sake. Still, he slowed his breathing, picking up the pattern. From where Delta was curled into his chest, he should’ve been able to hear it well. His shoulder blades gradually steadied. The shaking stopped. He didn’t let go.

“Do you…like when I play with your hair?” Apollo’s hands stilled. He realized he’d never actually gotten permission to touch it. He probably should have. Delta nodded slowly. His face was still hidden. Apollo continued to run his hands through it. It was very soft — and seemed to be a lot healthier than it had been when they’d first picked him up. He was proud of that, the way the malnutrition symptoms were gradually fading. He had missed cooking for people.

It took a while before Delta would pull away. His face was flushed when he did, eyes bleary. He looked down like he was ashamed. Apollo patted the couch cushion.

“Sit up, sweetheart.”

Delta climbed onto the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest. He was always more responsive when given direct orders. Apollo didn’t want to force him, but honestly, his joints couldn’t take any more time on the floor. He stood up himself, disappearing briefly to retrieve a cup of water. He brought back the burner phone too, passing both of them to Delta.

~

It was mortifying. When had he ever cried? He could count on one hand the number of times he had done it over the last two years. On two hands, he could count the last decade. Now it was like he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t supposed to behave like this. He had learned, so early on, that he was not supposed to behave like this.

It had felt so nice to be held for a second.

Mortifying.

Apollo sat back down on the couch and opened the IRC program. The burner phone buzzed in Delta’s hand. He unlocked it.

sunspot: Hey

nodiving: hi

nodiving: sorry

sunspot: Do you want to talk about it?

nodiving: i dont know

nodiving: i dont know whats wrong with me

nodiving: im not supposed to be like this

sunspot: Be like what?

nodiving: pathetic

sunspot: Why do you think it’s pathetic?

nodiving: because it is

“That’s circular logic,” Apollo said aloud. Delta typed faster.

nodiving: im not supposed to need anything and i usually dont

nodiving: now i have to keep bothering you for everything even things that dont matter

nodiving: im sorry

He began to type something else, but couldn’t bring himself to. He knew he should be punished for it. For having the audacity to even take notice of the emotion, let alone make it someone else’s problem. He should’ve just stayed in his room until it passed. 

sunspot: Everyone needs things. 

sunspot: I’ve been telling you this entire time to please come to me if you need anything

sunspot: Thank you for trusting me enough to take me up on that

Delta blushed, his fingers idle about the device. Apollo looked him up and down.

“When you say ‘things that don’t matter’,” he ventured cautiously, “You mean your own feelings?”

Feelings. The word itself sounded childish to him. He was supposed to be above it, as cold and mechanical as they’d trained him to be. But his skin was still damp where he’d been crying. It was a little late for that.

He nodded. Apollo couldn’t be mad at him for it; Delta already acknowledged their own worthlessness. It wasn’t a lie.

“Okay,” Apollo said softly, “I understand why you would think that. Nobody’s had much regard for them throughout your life. But it’s not true. Your feelings do matter. It was wrong for anybody to make you feel like they didn’t.”

No they don’t. Delta hid his face in his hands. He shouldn’t need this. He recoiled from the words as if they had burned him. No they don’t.

“I know you might not believe me right now. That’s okay. I’m still really proud of you for coming to me with this instead of trying to deal with it alone. Even if you think it’s not important, I still want to know what you’re feeling. It matters to me.”

Awful.

“Delta?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, showing he had heard. Not that he agreed, just that he’d heard.

Apollo paused while he caught his breath. It took a lot of effort to try and recover from what he’d just said. It still burned.

“Do you want to try?” Apollo encouraged.

Delta nodded, picking the phone back up. He typed slowly and decisively.

nodiving: nothing caused it

nodiving: im just sad

“Thank you. That’s a really good start, Delta. I know you’re not…used to talking. So maybe you don’t have all the vocabulary you need for it right now?”

Delta’s eyes narrowed at that, the mention of vocabulary. He wasn’t stupid. He read books.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you’re smart.” Apollo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Your technical skill is advanced. You’re great at arguing. I know. All I’m saying is that you probably don’t have a lot of practice talking about this kind of thing. It might be difficult at first. And that has nothing to do with your intellect.”

That was objectively true. He had no idea what to describe what was happening to him, not with all the words he knew. He thought of the one that had shocked him most when they first suggested it. Abuse. He knew the definition. He did not see how it could slot into his life. Many of the words they used triggered that same uneasy feeling in him. Chess-piece. Feelings. Love. 

Most days, he could barely talk at all.

“I’m...gonna get you some CBT workbooks or something. We can work on it more later. Is there anything you need for right now though? Anything that normally helps?”

He didn’t know anything that would help. He’d never felt like this before. Whatever it was, it seemed like it was receding. The mood had passed.

He realized that crying might’ve helped. Touch. Talking. All the things he’d never been allowed before. All the things he thought he didn’t need.

Mortifying.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A/N: I guess you could say this is a CRACK fic and that Steve is the BUTT of the joke. . .get it? Yeah, I don't know what this is either, but I wrote it when I was trying to sleep.

"I need to think about anything else," Jonathan muttered.

"I can't stand all of this waiting either," Nancy said.

They were at the radio station waiting for the others to arrive. Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve had been the first ones there.

"I joined the baseball team because I like getting spanked," Steve revealed.

Nancy and Jonathan's head snapped to look at him.

"What?!"

"Well, we did this thing where the players would stand in a line and congratulate each other on a good game by giving each other a friendly smack on the ass," Steve said. "They never knew it wasn't friendly for me. . .what?"

"Are you telling us that you're gay?" Nancy asked with raised eyebrows.

"What?! No! Not there's anything wrong with that. I just like getting spanked by anyone. . .amongst other things," Steve said.

"I mean, thank you for telling us but why are you telling us?" Jonathan asked.

"You said you needed to think about something else," Steve said. "And I trust you both."

"You never told me that you liked getting spanked," Nancy said, her eyes twinkling.

"Well, my sexual partner, before you, ended things because they thought it was childish," Steve said, shrugging and rolled his eyes. "Why was I given an ass that was meant to be smacked only for it not to be spanked?"

"So, anyone, huh?" Jonathan asked.

"You getting curious, Byers?" Steve smirked.

"Maybe," Jonathan blushed.

Steve moved over to the couch where Jonathan and Nancy were sitting. He wedged himself between them, pressing his knees to the cushions as he bent over the back of the couch. He perked his end up, presenting it to them.

"You can get in on this, too, Nance," Steve said.

"I don't know," Nancy giggled.

"More for Jonathan, I guess," Steve said. "He'd probably be better at spanking me than you are."

"He certainly knows how to convince you," Jonathan teased.

"Shut up, Jonathan," she replied.

Suddenly, he could feel Nancy's hands along with Jonathan's cupping his ass, their hands caressing it.

"Groping costs extra," Steve said and then paused thoughtfully. "I would make a great whore!"

Suddenly, he heard two loud thumps, and he turned around. Nancy and Jonathan had fallen off of the couch, laughing so hard that sound had escaped them.

"What?" Steve asked. "Oh, come on, Nance, you of all people know that I would make a fantastic whore. I'm very generous."

"Stop it," Nancy giggled.

"Mm, make me," Steve said and turned back around, back in position.

It took them a second, but they had gotten back onto the couch, and suddenly, he felt both of their stinging slaps.

"You'd make a bad whore, Steve Harrington," Nancy laughed. "A very bad whore."

"Come on, Byers, you can do it harder than that," Steve said. "Nancy hit me harder than you did."

"You trying to make this a competition?" Jonathan asked.

"Just say you can't do it," Steve said.

He felt Jonathan move closer to him. There was a hand on his back as Jonathan steadied himself. There was a pause and then. . .SMACK! Steve let out a loud breathy moan.

"Good game," Jonathan whispered.

"We should probably stop before, well, you know. . .," Nancy trailed off.

"Yeah," Steve said, sitting on the couch. "Wouldn't want anyone walking in on that. . .so, did I successfully get your mind off of things?"

"And onto something else," Jonathan said.

"Thinking about my bare ass?" Steve asked.

"I'm no longer curious," Jonathan said.

"So, anyone, huh?" Steve asked.

Jonathan leaned heavily against Steve, glaring playfully at him.

"I should have smacked your ass years ago," Nancy said, leaning on his other side.

"Yeah, me too," Jonathan muttered.

There was another pause, and then all three of them burst into laughter. The world had gone to shit but they somehow still managed to find a little spark of levity. Steve was really glad he could lighten the mood. That moment had been so utterly ridiculous, and they didn't stop laughing even when the others started coming in.

"What'd we miss?" Hopper asked.

Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve struggled to contain their laughter.

"Goddamn it! Did you get into Argyle's stash?" Dustin asked.

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike entered the room. They moved in front of Joyce and Hopper to stare at them.

"Oh, let them have their moment," Joyce said with a smile. "It's nice. I'm glad you guys are getting along."

"Yeah," Nancy gasped. "All we needed was a good slap."

The three of them leaned harder against each other as they giggled.

"What the hell happened?!" Robin asked.

What happened in that room, stayed in that room. . .until Vecna was defeated, that is. Nancy and Jonathan ended up congratulating Steve on a good game. . .in front of everyone.

"Schmackin," Argyle said as Jonathan and Nancy slipped their hands into Steve's back pockets, watching the Upside Down slither out of Hawkins.

[steviewashere]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Ooo I love this!! Thank you!! These are all on AO3, so that's what I'm linking!!! I'll include the summaries for each one below <3

Return to Sender | Explicit | Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings | WC: 56,917 | 11/11 Chapters | Steddie

"Grabs the stack of mail that he needs, but realizes he also needs to grab a hefty package. He clambers into the back, hefts the last package in his truck, and gently grasps the rest of the mail, stacking it on the very top of the box. When he finally places his feet on the dirt and gravel path, he makes a steady effort to keep his head up, line of sight straight on. But then the stranger’s head whips up from where they’ve been looking down at their feet. Steve is a very graceful person. Has been. Continues to be. Needs to in order to do his job. The sight of this stranger, though, nearly makes him drop the contents in his arms. He’d recognize those damn soft brown eyes anywhere. Stopping himself from going further, he stands roughly five feet away from the guy. Blinks. Blinks harder when said guy doesn’t stop staring at him. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Eddie…is that you?”" ————— Project 019 of the Steddie Big Bang 2024!

2. Look After You | Teen | Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings | WC: 2,723 | 1/1 Chapters | Platonic Stancy, Minor Steddie

"Even if it’s pulling slow to the next red light and in the corner of her eye, on the left in the steadying rain, she spots a figure on the sidewalk. Hunched in, carrying a heavy sack on their back, hair floppy into their face—a battered face. And if they didn’t cross under a streetlamp, she probably wouldn’t have recognized them. But it’s the blue Adidas on their feet that she notes. With a crank, then two, and another that threatens to jam her window into the car door— “Steve?!” She calls out. The figure stops. Startles frantically. Whips their head around, eyes darting, mouth frowning. And then they look at her. His eyes wild and scared and hazy. Her stomach drops low. “Hey! Where’s your car?!”" OR Nancy sees Steve walking down the street in the rain—and also finds out how much of an asshole Steve's dad really is

3. Deepening The Bond | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | WC: 2,970 | 1/1 Chapters | Steddie

"Steve Harrington has a vampire boyfriend. — All this to say that Eddie is sitting two cushions over from Steve on their sofa, hand clamped tight around his nose and mouth, openly drooling thick saliva down his chin. Eyes pointed everywhere except for Steve. Knuckles fisting tight into the pant leg of his fleece pajamas. — Zeroing in on his crotch almost immediately. There’s a small, dark patch of what is most definitely blood." OR Steve starts his period, Eddie helps him with the blood

4. I'll Still Remember All I've Learned (From You) | General | No Archive Warnings Apply | WC: 2,363 | 1/1 Chapters | Steddie

"Steve can’t take his eyes off of Eddie. Wondering, not for the first time, when he’ll just say what he needs to. “I think you’re beautiful,” Steve wants to say, “I think you’re kind. I think you’d look good underneath me on my bed. I think I like when you wear my clothes whenever you stay over. I think I’d make you breakfast forever if it meant you’d sit at my table. I think I love you, Eddie. Eddie, god, I think I love you.” They’re just friends, though. Nothing less. Nothing more." OR Steve is scared to define his relationship with Eddie and believes his feelings may be unreciprocated

5. My Boy | General | No Archive Warnings Apply | WC: 1,611 | 1/1 Chapters | Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson, Minor Steddie

"Eddie has always been a whirlwind of movement and words and voices. Even in his most dire, most embarrassing, or even most depressing moments—he’s never been one to be unlike himself. He’s like an early morning Saturday cartoon come to life. Not a single moment in Wayne’s new life with this kid has been drought dry, silent, and still. Tonight it is. Which is odd." OR Eddie's got a secret to share with Wayne. Wayne just wants to see his boy shine.

There were so many to pick from, especially with my most recent fics. Ahhh this was so difficult.

[mudandmire]

Familiars

Azris Week - Day Two: Familiars

~~~ Welcome to day two of @azriweek! It is so early right now and I'm rushing this note because I need to go to work, but I'm literally so excited. This community is truly so talented and wonderfully kind it inspires me more and more. Fair warning this follows none of canon, like literally none. I went a little rouge with the lore but I couldn't care less because it was fun. Anyywaayyy, hope you enjoy! :D ~~~

~~///~~///~~///~~

Made for

Azriel keeps his hands wrapped in cotton gauze the first week he’s in Zebedee’s fields. Every now and then, listening to the tall grass rustle, the canyon gale skipping across the steppes plains and buffeting against him, he’ll grasp his hands together and itch. It’s a bad habit, but the feeling, the weight, of his hands together brings him more comfort than he could ever voice.

The moon rises early, the summer season slowly cresting into autumn, and with it the midnight sun begins to disappear behind the fish-toothed ridge of the Illyrian mountains—every moment cut shorter and shorter. So Azriel sits in the flickering firelight of the hearth in the clay burrow, Zebedee humming a soft, low tune that makes his little, withered wings shudder. His mother is somewhere, sitting in a corner darning the holes in pant legs and socks, her narrow shoulders hunched—much like his.

It’s a quiet Azriel isn’t used to. A noisy quiet. Darkness, those familair shapes and figures takes their place along the walls and outside the glass pane windows—yet Azriel is not alone in it. For now, his shadows have settled comfortably along his shoulders and the frayed edge of Zebedee’s colorful patterned rugs. They had their time to stretch and play when the sun began to set, and now laze like fattened cats on the high beams of barns. The shadows are familiar; the light, the noise, is not.

Breathing, steady and deep—Zebedee keeps his eyes closed as he hums, swaying gently from side to side on the cushion he claims his own. The deep impression he has left on it from a lifetime of use evidence enough. Every now and then Azriel will pick up the softest snick of a needle through fabric, the pre-meditated rip of a seam, and he’ll picture his mother’s face, trace her name but won’t dare to turn around.

Azriel’s hands reach for each other, clasping fingers to fingers, like a lock latched. He soothes himself with the steady scrape of his bandages over skin, back and forth. He hardly thinks further about it, so lost in the dancing flames that he startles with a jolt when Zebedee’s large, calloused hand folds over his own.

His eyes jump to his, wide in his sockets. Zebedee’s gaze is open—it’s the only word Azriel knows for it. His eyebrows are lax, not pinched or furrowed, and his mouth isn’t pursed or twisted into a sneer like he’d so often see on his father, his step-mother. The dark, wet shine of his eyes looks into Azriel and it feels like his words come from there, not his lips.

“You must not agitate your scars, Azriel.”

Zebedee is a conflicting male. His gait is long, his feet so big Azriels can fit twice in his shoes. His hair is dark, wild and wiry with tight curls that match the thick of his beard around his mouth down his neck. There’s a sternness to his stance, his face, that comes from a lifetime of experience in the wilds of the Illyrian Steppes. Yet his eyes have retained their kindness; his hands their gentility.

A contradiction. Males who loom are cruel, Azriel had learned that and now he wore the bandages to prove it.

The room has gone completely silent, a blanket shrouding a candlelight. He can’t even hear the faint tug of a needle through fabric anymore.

Azriel tenses, his narrow, bony shoulders drawing up to his heated ears. “Sorry.”

Zebedee shakes his head, leans closer with his palm eclipsing Azriel’s hands entirely. “No apology needed, b’nee. I know from experience how umcomfortable scars can be, yet I also have the wisdom to know that itching and picking makes everything a whole lot worse.”

Azriel keeps his gaze pinned to Zebedee’s hand. The deep ingrained lines around his knuckles, the faint barrier between the dark skin of the top and the lighter, if not more calloused, skin of his palm. What he would give to have hands like Zebedee’s; strong and unbroken, crooked but powerful, large but kind.

His bottom lip juts out, knee boucing as he glares. “But your hands are fine.”

A laugh rumbles through Zebedee’s chest. “They may look it now, yes, but that is only because Oya and the Ko-kaw’eloi gave me time to make it so.”

“Ko-ka’eelohi?”

“Ah,” Zebedee says. Simple, his eyes glimmering with the shine of a secret and Azriel wonders if he’s going to tell him a story.

“I forget, sometimes, that you are unaware of our divine watchers.” He says, though he leans closer he still remains sitting straight, keeping his beetle black eyes trained on Azriel.

Azriel’s face twists, wings shuddering gently. “I know Oya, but I thought the Mother was the—the,” he loses his words slightly, fumbles for a meaning he doesn’t know how to place.

“The only divine one? That is what you were taught, yes?” There’s no judgement in his voice, only a curiousity as warm as the heat of his hands.

Azriel nods. “I thought Oya and Ena—Enalius were a myth.” He stumbles on the pronunciation slightly, but Zebedee takes it all in stride.

“Some think so, many in the moutain camps believe both to be a fairytale. But there are others, like us in the village, who believe otherwise.”

“That they’re real?” Childish wonder, the kind he had been denied his whole life, shamelessly fills his face. He’s too caught up in Zebedee’s simple story to think aout the incessant itch of his bandaged hands.

“That they were real, alive, and that even now they watch over us. They send us rain from the mountains, give us the wind we need beneath our wings. They watch over us under the midnight sun and the eternal moon—but always under the Ko-kaw’eloi: the stars divine.”

It paints a picture. Azriel had spent more than one night sleeping under the skylight in the stable—memories of dark, endlessly dark, cells and iron bars chasing him from his bed time and again. There’s a special pleasure in looking up, seeing the stars, watching the migration they track through their sky.

It makes Azriel feel less alone, some nights. There are not only shadows to comfort him, to clothe and keep him. But a night sky bursting with life and light that has been denied to him until now.

He wonders, though. “Can they only watch?” His little voice balances on the edge of something, a realization, or a confirmation of what he already knows.

Zebedee sighs deeply. “They have their places,” he says, face softened with understanding, “and we have ours.” His hands fall away from Azriel’s, and then spread like two great wings to his sides. “We are Illyrian, Azriel. We are made of this very stubborn, difficult land we build our farms and houses on. But, we are also gifted our freedom, our honor from the Ko-kaw’eloi—our wings are not just for decoration, to determine us different from others. They are a part of our history, in what we are made of. Made for.”

As if hearing the words, impassioned and earnest, Azriel’s wings twitch. They don’t often move, cramped as they had been the first eleven years, their growth had been severely stunted. Now in one great pull, pantomiming the spread of Zebedee’s arms, they fold out behind Azriel with a great shudder.

There’s a lance of dull pain, a discomfort like a pulled muscle, but even that cannot keep the wide smile from blooming across Azriel’s lips. “Ko-kaw’eloi made me my wings?”

Zebedee’s face is alight from the inside with pride. He’s kept his body still, but his own wings quiver as if longing to join in. “Made your wings—your soul, Azriel. That is something that cannot, will not be broken because it is not of this world’s to break.”

“I am made of stronger things.” He whispers to himself.

“Our guidance, our compass, our birthright. Remember them, b'nee. Even when there is discomfort, even when there is pain they are watching, and they know each and every piece of you because we are a part of them.”

The night wanes on, a slow march of stars—Ko-kaw’eloi, Azriel calls them fondly in his head—across the blanket of heavens and Zebedee sends him to bed. His mother had disappeared from her chair in the corner, he doesn’t know when and doesn’t care to search her out right now.

Instead he says goodnight to Zebedee, a respectful bow of his head, and when Zebedee nods back he scampers off to his little room. He’s held tonights revelations in his hands like cupped water, and he’s trying hard not to spill. When he gets to his room, he closes the curtain that cuts him off from the main room and clambers up onto the piled furs that make his bed. His wings fluttering behind him like they’ve had life breathed into them. His face presses against the cold glass pane of his window; eager, bright eyes looking up at the spread of stars and feeling Zebedee’s story, his sincerity sink into his skin.

He falls asleep that way. Cheek pressed to glass, his breaths fogging the window, and his scarred, bandaged hand clutching the fabric of his tunic over his chest.

The stars never waver.

~///~

It’s years later, Azriel hardly remembers what it was like to be tweleve because he’s eighteen—there is only eighteen and everything that comes after.

There was, however, time between the two and change that swept in like a particularly vengeful wind. A comet with bright, auburn hair, golden eyes the spitting embers of a fire, and a trickster mouth crashed into his life one chilled winter’s day.

Eris had swept into his life, little and careful though it was, with such ease Azriel can’t remember a time he wasn’t there.

They’ve intertwinted their lives now; to the point where removing one would rip apart the other. Their connection runs deep, straight into secrecy and with every word and look dipping into the waters of something more.

Azriel wonders about it, keeping his hand over his eyes to shade them from the beaming afternoon sun as he sits on the crest of a golden hill. Eris lays beside him on his front, back bare as the contours and dips of bone and muscle glint with a thin sheen of sweat. Azriel swallows hard, his mouth dry. His eyes are drawn to the spread of bare skin, even if he keeps pulling his gaze away it strays right back to the little spot at the base of Eris’s spine—two dimples right above the hem of his trousers.

“I thought Illyrian summers were more temperate than this. I’m being baked like a particularly pale potato.” Eris grumbles where his head his pressed to his folded arms. His mouth is pinched, eyes squinted up at Azriel.

Azriel laughs, and without a word unfolds his wing like a sheet and adjusts it to shadow Eris. “Better?” He asks. “I don’t know how I ever thought you were from the Summer Court, your heat tolerace is worse than mine.”

“It’s not my fault the sun has a vendetta against me—I’m too pale for it’s attention, Azriel, it’ll cook me alive.”

“And here I thought you were getting used to it so I wouldn’t have to hear your complaining every summer.”

“Oh hush, you love my whining, it brings joy and substance to your life. Where would you be if I wasn’t here to verbally protest how hot it was? You would never know without my complaints and then you’d be roasted like a duck on a spit and everyone would throw a sad funeral for you because I wasn’t there to tell you how hot it was.”

Azriel smiles down at him, crooked, his teeth biting into his lower lip to keep the laugh he feels bubbling up from bursting out. Eris talks like no one he’s ever met, ever known. He’s blustering and proud, sharply witty and yet he can have these spells of absolute nonsense that makes Azriel want to fold up next to him with a stick and keep prodding to see how ridiculous he can become.

“Roasted duck sounds good right now.” Azriel says, his gaze trained on Eris.

His cheeks are pink, freckles stark in contrast against his pale skin. The heat, as much as Eris hates it, loves him. He’s a blush color, like the tall stemmed, small five-petal flowers that hug the steppe floor. It rises in paint strokes along the tops of his shoulders, the bridge of his nose to his cheeks, and, strangely, the very tips of his ears. Maybe in some places the sun has kissed him a little too hard, he’s sure he’s burned at least slightly—yet still Azriel can’t help but think he wears the color well.

Eris snorts. “With some lemon and herbs—”

“Rice and spices, I think you mean.”

“Do you wish for me to perish from burning? Is that what your grand plan is?”

Azriel leans back on his palms, smirking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Heathen.” Eris grumbles. One of his arms comes out from under his head and he swats at Azriel’s exposed flank.

“Ah,” he tuts, wagging a finger, “I wouldn’t abuse your only shade from the sun.” Threateningly, his extended wing shudders as if he’s about to fold it to his back.

Eris scrambles closer to Azriel, eyes wide. “Wait—no, no need for that. I will eat your fire food, no problem. Do not move your wing, I beg.”

“And your tongue will fall out of your mouth, it will be so hot, and I will be forever spared from your whining.” He deadpans, keeping his wing extended.

Eris grins up at him, boyish and charming, his chin resting on his folded hands. “Only for you, dear bat.”

“Lucky me.” Azriel says, quieter than intended.

A pause falls on them, comfortable and warm. The slight breeze rustles through the grass, a lock of Eris’s rich red copper hair falls into his eyes—he crosses them looking at it.

Azriel huffs a laugh, hardly thinking about it when his hand comes up and his fingers gently tuck the stray strand behind the point of his ear. Eris’s eyes snap to his, his body frozen for a moment before he melts under the attention, the touch.

Azriel doesn’t move his hand.

It’s his feet dipping into those shores of something more, this time, and Eris seems to be egging him on from a couple feet away, eyes bright and mischief in the curve of his pink lips.

His breath shudders out of him, trapped in his lungs, as his fingers curl gently around his ear. It’s so strange, the difference; round and simple, pointed and elegant. It’s even stranger how such a small difference denotes a much larger one between the two of them.

Eris doesn’t push him away, just keeps his sunlit eyes trained on him like the barn cats that wait on the beams or in the corners. So Azriel decides to indulge.

His hand sweeps over the curve, down his ear where the scarred pads of his fingertips meet the tender, warm skin of his neck. They land on his pulse, and Azriel has to inhale deeply at the quick tempo, the hard pound of it against his. Eris hasn’t moved, but he softens slightly, drawing in a quick breath as Azriel continues on. Mapping, tracing, wandering.

“You have freckles.” It slips out—low and hoarse, a secret dragged out blinking in the harsh light of day. He feels the heat of a flush against his cheeks, down his neck and chest. “I mean—of course you do, I just didn’t know if they…” He snaps his mouth shut.

Eris grins into the bare skin of his forearm, eyes glinting. “If they…are everywhere?”

“Yes.” Azriel grits out. His eyes have wandered past where his hand stopped and now rest on the curve of his spine, the jut of his hips and—lower.

“Hm.” Eris hums, and leaves it at that.

Azriel’s gaze flicks to his, pinned with a look in his hazel eyes shadowing a much deeper want that remains unspoken.

“Are they?” He asks bluntly. Eris shouldn’t be so surprised anymore, after all the very beginning of their aquaintence turned friendship started mostly because Azriel was blunt and cut through all of Eris’s frilly, verbal avoidance.

Eris sucks in a sharp breath, a shiver trickling down his spine. “Yes.”

Azriel’s eyes darken. Suddenly, looking is not enough.

He asks, “may I?” as his fingers brush against Eris’s thundering pulse, pinky twitching where it rests lower, near his collar bone—foretelling the journey his hand wants to take. Eris nods, lips parted. “Yes.” He says again, and Azriel can’t help the swoop in his stomach like being buffeted by a strong wind on a cliff when it comes out breathy—needy.

He needs nothing more than that, so trains his entire focus on the expanse of porcelain, freckled skin and the path his hand takes down the warm skin of his neck, to the dip of his collar bone he swirls around, and then to the plane of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his back.

Every inch of him is speckled with little marks and tan dots. Clustered together and spread apart, darker and lighter; every one Azriel wants to map and trace and keep.

His hand lays flat against the dip in Eris’s spine, skin to skin, and it’s unbearably warm—more than the sun. “It looks like the stars imprinted on you.”

Eris hums, comfortable and molten beneath him. It’s not a hum of derision, but one that gently nudges, ‘tell me more.’

“There’s this thing we have in our culture—I guess you could call it a religion, but it’s much simpler than that.” His fingers caress the knobs of Eris’s spine, up and down, following a pre-ordained trail he feels was made solely for him.

“We, Illyrian’s, are made of the stars. We call them Ko-kaw’eloi, the ‘stars divine’. We are part of them, and they have gifted us our wings—they watch over us. Our struggles and our joy, our sorrows and laughter. There’s some who really only worship the stars because they feel cast aside by the whole idea of the Mother, but most worship because they know what they were made of. Made for.”

As if in a trance, Azriel traces circles around clusters of freckles, like he would knots of stars in the sky.

“Ko-kah-ehlohi?” Eris tries out, the Illyrian prounciation missed slightly with his sharp tongue. Azriel’s stomach jolts hearing his mother tongue come from Eris’s lips—swallowing hard.

“Koh-kaw-elo-i.” He corrects softly.

Eris’s brows furrow, and Azriels hand comes down to smooth it out with his thumb before returning to it’s place on his back. “Ko-kaw’eloi.”

“Mhm.”

“Can I say that’s beautiful? I don’t particularly enjoy religion, or really anything to do with the orgin of Fae and what mastermind, resentful, immortal beings had to puppet my miserable life. But that, that is beautiful.” Eris says softly.

Azriel smiles, a gentle breeze ruffling the feathery, raven locks of his hair. “Thank you, Eris.”

Eris nods, then falls quiet. It’s a pensive sort of silence, one where Eris falls still because his mind has done the opposite. Azriel waits patiently, keeping his hand brushing up and down, swirling and stroking the bare skin of his back. He knows Eris will say whatever he’s figuring out right now, it takes a minute sometimes, especially for personal things. Azriel doesn’t mind. Right now he’s just basking in a glow of companionship and warmth, he’s wholly content, time itself could stop and Azriel would thank it.

Eventually, Eris takes a sharp breath—like he’s pushing himself to say whatever he needs to before he closes back up. Azriel keeps his eyes on Eris, who meets them with hesitation. His fingers dig into the grass below him.

“The night before I met you for the first time, I prayed to the stars. I wanted—I needed freedom, and I asked for it.” He says.

Azriel goes still, balanced on the razor edge of the intensity burning in Eris’s golden eyes.

He doesn’t look away. “And the very next day, like some great cosmic prank, I met you. You showed me this,” he waves a hand around, gesturing to the endless, rolling hills and plains of the Illyrian steppes. “And I have since been afraid that at any moment all of it would be taken from me.”

“What changed?” The words rips out of him.

Eris looks up at him, swallowing hard. “Ko-kaw’eloi gave you your freedom,” Azriel’s wings flutter as if they know he’s talking about them. “Perhaps they could let me keep mine.”

“Eris,” Azriel’s plea is raw, wanting, and his hand jumps to his chin, lifting it gently so Eris has no choice but to meet his eyes.

“I am part of them, they are part of me. I swear on both that you can keep me, if I can keep you.”

Eris’s eyes turn molten, his mouth twitches and his bottom lip brushes Azriel’s thumb. “Is that even a question?” He breathes.

Azriel supposes not. The certainty of knowing the sun will set and rise, the moon will wane and wax, the fields with grow and die sets into his bones like steel. No, it’s not a question, it’s a promise and Azriel doesn’t intend to ever break it—not if the Ko-kaw’eloi keep watch.

~~///~~///~~///~~

B'nee - 'My boy/son'

Ko-kaw'eloi - 'Stars divine'

Alrighty cool second day is posted! Had this idea bouncing around in my head of Illyrian lore, and thought it would be cool to tie in "familiars". Not just the form of a divine being looking out for their charge but also in the more common form "familiar", being known and having a close association to. Anyway, lol this one was a little longer than planned but eh who cares <3.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Rewind, Remix, & Replay Kim & Jay 5x12

This is the link to the rest of the series

This one turned out really long. It’s setting up the way I want it to though I think. I’m loving this couple more and more as I write them. The next chapter will probably be short because I don’t have much to add to that particular episode—just a heads-up. Enjoy lovies xoxo

There is a groan at the alarm going off on Jay’s phone that is distinctly not his. His eyes flutter open, and takes him a minute to decipher where he is. His long frame is draped across the couch in Kim’s apartment. He fumbles in search of his phone. A glance around shows it is on the coffee table still blaring its alarm ringtone. He starts to move forward to reach it but Kim groans again as she is currently using his chest for a pillow. He puts a hand on her back to steady her as he folds forward to grab his phone and turn off the alarm. He looks to see her looking up at him with blurry sleep-filled eyes. Her warm hand grabs his forearm twisting his wrist to make out the time. When she sees that it is almost an hour earlier than she normally gets up for work she snuggles back down into the cocoons of blankets and Jay’s warmth. He settles back into the couch cushions too, rubbing his hand over his eyes. He had learned in the last few months that Kim was not a morning person. She couldn’t function without a cup of coffee and could be quite moody in the mornings. Jay on the other hand was used to having to be awake at a moment's notice. He wasn’t one to snooze alarms or linger in bed. He stretched, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of spending yet another night in his jeans.

He had spent the night at Kim’s after the night with the team at Molly’s. It had been a long but fun night. He had been having such a good night that he had even let Kim force him into singing for the karaoke theme. She had cheered when he finished and commended him on his rather good singing voice. When it had started getting late Jay had offered to drive her home. He had ended up coming in for just one more beer and ended up on her couch watching a random movie on the TV. Neither of them had made it long and if Jay had to guess his beer was probably still more than halfway full.

What had started as a random thing had now become a common occurrence. Jay couldn’t help it. He was touched starved, and Kim was affectionate. She wasn’t afraid to give comfort when she felt someone needed it. He shouldn’t have been surprised- he had seen her friendship with Kevin. Still, when she offered him the same kindness it shocked him. He wasn't used to it. If Jay Halstead wanted affection or touch he had to initiate it or be the comforter, not the comforte.

He had fallen asleep that night on her couch the night that she had hugged him. It had been a long day emotionally. He had gone to talk to his therapist out of want instead of requirement for the first time. He had finally wanted to sort out some of the things in his head. It had been a short period there, but he had talked more than ever. Jay had knocked on Kim’s door with a case of beer and the request not to talk. She had turned on the hockey game for him and popped popcorn for them to share. He remembers indulging himself in it. She had made it extra buttery and he wasn’t sure when the last time he had eaten was. He hadn't realized how badly he had been at taking care of himself. But watching another brother-in-arms die because of his pushing- even if it was to save a kid- had been a hard pill to swallow. It had stuck painfully in his throat restricting his breathing. When it had finally scratched its way down it pressed even harder in his chest and stomach.

He had fallen asleep before the game and hadn’t even made it to halftime. He groggily woke up and a new show had been on. Some trash reality TV show that he couldn’t name. In his sleep, he had moved closer to her. His upper body was diagonal leaning against her, his head practically in her lap. The blanket from the back of the couch had been thrown over him and he felt pleasantly warm. The whirling of the ceiling fan gave a soothing white noise.

He had tried to get up, but his brain was foggy, and his body begged for the rest. He hadn’t been sleeping well in weeks having vivid PTSD nightmares that he had woken up feeling more tired than when he had laid down to sleep. Kim looked down and noticed his fluttering eyelashes. She had shifted, letting him lay more comfortably in her lap. She had squeezed his shoulder gently and readjusted the blanket higher on him telling him it was okay to sleep. He hadn’t had much choice, his body pulling him back into a strangely restful sleep. Jay couldn’t be sure of what made him sleep so well, though he had a few ideas, but he wanted more of it. Jay had continued coming back in search of that warm comfort and to soothe his touch-starved body. Usually when he felt this way he had to search for the beds of wanton women. He soon learned that physical comfort, platonic or not, was different and longer lasting when it was given by someone who knew and truly cared about you.

It probably wouldn’t have become an almost biweekly thing had Kim hadn’t seemed to need and crave the same thing. Jay didn't know a lot about her personal life, but he recognized the signs of a lonely soul. Then they started talking too. Witty banter that never strays to anything too serious. It was good for both of them. Healing.

Jay looks back down at his watch. If he went home now, he wouldn’t have time to shower. He had a bag in his truck that had spare clothes. If he got up and made coffee it would be done by the time he was out of Kim’s shower. She could have her cup and then take a shower of her own. He made to get up and Kim groaned again wrapping her arms tighter around his waist. “I have to get up.” Kim groans again and readjusts pressing her face further into his chest. He rubs her back soothingly, “Don’t you want me to make your coffee?”

Kim turned her head to look up at him, opening only one eye to meet his gaze. She thinks it over before nodding decisively to herself. “Five more minutes,” Jay chuckles but doesn’t argue. When the time is up Kim’s grumbles are kept to a minimum as he replaces himself with the pillow he had been using. She twists cocooning herself deeper into the blankets they had been ‘sharing’. Kim was a blanket hog, but Jay generally didn’t mind. He ran hot.

He made himself busy starting the coffee. He typically made it stronger than Kim, so he split it down the middle of their preferences. Then he headed out to his truck and grabbed his go bag. He took a quick but hot and satisfying shower. He dried off with a thick, soft, and unnecessarily bright towel. He threw on his clothes and poured two cups of coffee in one he put a ‘normal’ amount of sugar in the other he put an ‘obscene’ amount and then added a liquid creamer.

He walked to the couch putting the cups on the coffee table. Then rubbed Kim’s shoulder to help ease her awake. She blinked up at him then gave him a pointed glare until he pressed the warm mug into her hand. Her face immediately softened as she moved to a sitting position and took a grateful sip. Jay sat next to her, flipping on the news channel.

Half of her cup was drained when she finally smiled at him, “Thank you,” But added with a grumble, “It’s still too early though.” Jay gave her an easy smile.

“But now we can have a real breakfast. How do you want your eggs?” Kim gave a pause and he offered instead, “Oatmeal?” Kim downed the rest of her coffee and patted him softly on the cheek as his blue eyes shined in amusement.

“I don’t care what anyone says about you, you are just a big ol’ softie.” The alarm started ringing loudly on her phone now and she shifted to turn it off before heading to the shower.

“What who says?” She didn’t respond as she continued towards the bathroom, “Kim?”

Xxx

Jay is surprised when he opens the door to find Kim. “I thought you would be with Atwater.” The worry overtaking her features all day had finally been released after finding Kevin alive and mostly unharmed. She now just looked exhausted from the day. Her eyebrows were still furrowed with stress and her body slumped with fatigue.

“He said he had something to do. Is it-” She shifted awkwardly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Do you mind- I can just-” She gestured behind her in a way of saying that she could leave, already backing away. It was always Jay who showed up at her place. She wasn’t sure what made her think she had the right to show up at his place unannounced. He was clearly settling down for the night in his sweatpants and an undershirt. His feet were bare against the wood of his floors. What if he was busy, or he had a friend over? How embarrassing.

Jay’s expression changed as she started to back up. He hadn’t meant to make her feel unwelcome. He reached out grabbing her bicep softly but firm enough that she felt his pull. He eased her into a warm hug. If a few tears slide down her face from the emotion of the day neither commented on it.

Jay twisted, shuffling her back into his apartment before closing and locking the door behind them. Kim glances around his apartment. It’s clean and organized, what she would expect from an ex-military. The colors were neutral and while there were pictures and memorabilia it was kept to a minimum. Jay didn’t rush her, instead headed to the kitchen for a drink for her. Kim hit the living room. A hockey game was on the TV at a low volume. Then she noticed the overstuffed tan couch. Kim could almost feel how plush it would be and how it would hug every curve as she sunk into it. She wasted no time testing her theory. She practically moaned in delight spreading out on the soft cushions. Jay chuckled and it caused her to look up. He held out a glass of red wine.

Kim hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take it. Most people she worked with didn’t know she indulged in wine. She always drank beer and hard liquor when she was out with the police force, the exception being Kevin. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to the fact that she was a female cop than there already was. She realized that she drank a few glasses with Jay around when he had shown up at her apartment to, as he put it, not talk. “Thank you,” Her voice was more tentative than she meant for it to be. It was strangely touching that he had noticed her preference. He sat on the couch next to her, the cushions sagging and bringing them closer, their thighs touching. Kim took a sip as he reached around her grabbing the blanket thrown over the back of the couch and wrapping it around her. He left his arm around the back sliding his arm to rest fluidly around her shoulders. She leaned into his warmth and then winced as her hair got caught by his arm tugging the strands. He immediately lifted it, the callous fingers of his other hand freeing and moving her ponytail out of the way as they readjusted. Kim’s hand went to rub at her temples and slid down to her eyes.

“You okay?”

Kim waved him off, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I just have a bit of a headache.” That was the understatement of the century. Her head had been pounding for hours and had started in the back of her skull and moved forward to encompass her temples and then her eyes. She knew it was a stress headache. They always started there.

“It’s in the back of your head?” Jay had lowered his tone, making his voice deeper so as to not aggravate her headache. She had barely nodded when his fingers had pulled out her hair tie. His strong fingers massaged the tension out of the nape of her neck up into her hair.

It felt absolutely delightful.

She sighed leaning back into his hand, resting more of her weight against him. It didn’t make her headache go away but it did turn the pounding into a more bearable ache. “How did you learn to do that?” Jay's face turned wistful like he was being taken back in time.

“My mom used to get them a lot. She swore the only thing that helped was when my dad did that. He wasn’t such a son of a bitch to her.” He offered humor to cover his still lingering grief, “When she got sick, they got worse. I used to do it for her too, near the end.” Kim didn’t know what to say. Jay didn’t talk about his mom, but she knew that she had passed away from cancer years before.

Kim squeezed his knee to let him know she was there and listening if he wanted to talk more about it. He said nothing else, so she let the subject drop. After a while, his fingers had stopped massaging and were not carding through her hair. His clever fingers untangling and brushing through the thick strands.

It had been such a comfort for her as a child. She had tried to get many of her boyfriends to do it. Some had flat-out refused, and others like Adam, gave halfhearted attempts that just made her miss her sister doing it even more to the point where she stopped asking. Jay had just started doing it absentmindedly and it was perfect. How had so many intelligent women, like Erin Lindsey, let him go? It shouldn’t have shocked her. She had seen him with kids on their cases. Jay may be a badass ex-ranger, but he had an undeniable nurturing side. Whoever ended up with him in the long run was going to be taken care of. If he ever had kids, they would have what Kim always wanted, the knowledge that their father truly loved them.

Kim must have been silent for too long because Jay asked, “You still doing okay?” She hummed in appreciation.

“Yeah, that feels good. It’s making me sleepy.” His fingers continued running through her hair.

“Good, it’s been a long day. You deserve some rest.”

[quietwingsinthesky]

Evie and Jacob preening each other's wings :)

u get it u get it. they’re like the product of weird assassin legends that a lot of people don’t believe are real until the day the frye twins start growing wings. and it’s definitely not something they can let just anyone catch wind of. so, probably, they’ve been the only ones preening each other since the wings grew in.

(especially assuming that like. eagle vision is something that’ll come in naturally, but the wings *don’t*, they require something to Activate them, some trauma that sets them off like a genetic defense mechanism. which i guess for the fryes might be That Time Their Dad Fucking Died. factchecking myself at the wiki but like. he got sick, would barely let them see him on his deathbed, and they were two of the only four people there to bury him. anyway in wings au <3 their dad is in the ground barely a day before the wing growth kicks in and a week and a half before it finally finishes. it does not help either of their respective daddy issues that they have no idea how he would have reacted to them having this “gift” or to how they choose to use it.)

anyway uhhhh also this appeared in my notes app.

“Evie, leave it.” Jacob means that to be a stronger complaint, but the pillow cushioning his head against the side of the couch is so soft and his wings are so heavy with cramps from being trapped beneath his outfit all day and Evie is gliding her fingers right down the sore spot where they jut from his back. His wings give an aching twitch beneath her touch. “Evie…” and that’s a whine, right from the back of his throat, like they’re children and she’s got him wrestled down on his belly just to prove that she’s been paying attention during training.

“Jacob,” she returns with a hum. He probably shouldn’t let his eyes drift shut, but her nails are running flat over the surface of his secondaries… He gives a little shudder at the the feeling. Nothing else in the world like it.

He’s never let anyone but Evie touch his wings. Hell, other than her, he can count the people he’s let see them that won’t soon be dead in a few minutes time on two hands. It’s an on-going debate with himself: to trust his Rooks enough to show them off. Among Assassins, he and Evie may be living myths, but to anyone else, they’re freaks of nature at the best of times.

Among Assassins. He buries his face in the pillow and resolutely does not think about Evie letting Henry preen her.

“Do you really want me to stop?” Evie asks, suddenly, and he can feel the warmth of her hand lingering an inch above the elbow of his wing. He lifts his mouth from the pillow to speak.

“…No?” He flops back down, irritation at Henry’s imagined intrusion fading because Evie’s got her fingers hooked in that way she learned lets her drag each feather out of alignment without risking plucking him. A light prickling sensation rushes down his wing and up his spine from the base of each feather she tugs on.

“You were puffing up. I thought I might’ve hurt you.” Unconsciously, his wings sweep wider. Papers drift forgotten across the floor of the train car. “But you’re just being dramatic, as always.” Jacob huffs, but it’s barely audible. He blinks slowly over the pillow. Evie’s other hand is steadying his wing, holding it firm in her palm. She knows exactly how much pressure they can take, how the muscles below the feathers bend and stretch, and if he lets her, she can maneuver his wings into any position she wants without putting any undue strain on them.

He doesn’t want to lift his head, even to look back at her, so he looks down instead at her shadow, lit from behind by the fading sunlight coming in from the windows. Her wings are tucked comfortably against her back. His other wing rolls and stretches over the back of the couch, pressing into the train car’s wall. Evie helps it settle. She puts on hand on the broad back of it and pushes it down into a comfortable resting position. If he twitches the tip of it, he’s pretty sure he can feel her folded wing near his.

“What is this?” Evie says under her breath, running her fingers over a patch of feathers. She makes a disgusted noise. “Jacob, there’s blood crusted in your coverts. Aren’t you able to keep yourself presentable?”

Jacob shakes that wing out beneath her hands. He feels the vague sense that he should get defensive or tell her to drop the subject or- But there’s not really room for him to be upset around the calm fog in his head. She’s right, and he knows she’s right, and he almost wants to tell her why he hasn’t made the time to clean himself up, but…

“Clearly not,” he mumbles into the pillow. He lets the whine come naturally this time, “Evie? Please?” Evie sighs, loudly, for effect.

She pulls away, and Jacob flaps his wings unsteadily, trying to reach for her with them.

She settles them with a touch. “Hold still. I think I still have half a flask of water on me.” She drums her fingers along the bridge of his wing, right against the bone. The rhythm works itself into his head, leaving even less room for thoughts that aren’t about being preened.

He listens to her rustle around looking for it, then the pop of the flask and the soft slosh of liquid inside. Evie presses some cloth—a rag? a napkin? He’s not sure and is too relaxed to look.—over the feathers, wet with lukewarm water, Her scrubbing is patient and methodical, turning the blood from dry splotches sticking the vanes of his feathers together into wet clumps that easily slide off of him.

Her other hand slides into the crook between shoulderblade and wing. Jacob goes completely limp, wings barely held up for her to keep preening. “If you fall asleep, I’m putting this on top of your head and leaving it there to soak your hair.” He hums, not really acknowledging the words as much as Evie’s voice, Evie’s touch, Evie there with him like she’s supposed to be.

His feathers ruffle, damp but clean. Evie takes to combing the water from them. Jacob’s eyelids are too heavy to open again.

Evie says something. He misses it entirely.

She says something else. Jacob grunts and scrunches his face against the pillow.

He manages to focus again when she scratches that spot low on his other wing that he can never reach. Evie keeps it up, sending pleasant shivers all through his body with each pass of her nails over a place only she’s ever touched.

“Jacob. Jacob,” she says, and he can hear her smiling, hear her feigning annoyance at how long it’s taken to get his attention back. “Little brother, are you still in there?”

She’s evil, is what she is. Diabolical. She knows exactly what a good preening does to him. He fumbles for a reply that’s even half-witty and loses it again as she goes up against the grain of his feathers, upsetting them in a way that leaves him frowning, just so that she can get to work putting them back the way they should be.

“Lost cause, then,” she says. Jacob opens his mouth to say… something.

Hard to remember what. Evie’s wing has stretched forward to cover his, and it’s heavy and warm and smells like her. He puts all of his energy into pressing back into the underside of her wing to feel where her feathers slip between his.

Evie curls her hand over the side of Jacob’s neck. He hums. She leans over him to kiss the back of his head.

Jacob’s pretty sure he doesn’t fall asleep, not for a little while longer, if only because when he wakes, he’s in a much more comfortable position then he was and his wings have been folded carefully along his back and covered with a blanket. He doesn’t remember what exactly Evie might have done in the meantime, but when he stretches his wings out, they’re perfectly preened and feel lighter than they have in a week.