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sunflowersandsapphires · 1 year ago

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Shades of Pink

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, jealous/possessive Matt, underage drinking, Matt being a fool

a/n: Thank you all for being patient with me! My brain has not been feeling up to writing lately but I managed to get the next few chapters of this fic planned out! I have a couple more written so the plan is to post an update for this fic every 3 weeks. I hope that's frequent enough for y'all :)

w/c: 5.8k

Matt’s skull rattled as the machine in front of him gave a shriek, metal grinding on metal. Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand over the machine’s interface, growing more frustrated when the start button was rendered functionless.

The telling chime of an error message echoed in the damp basement and taunted him. “Fuck!” He cursed, kicking the reinforced frame in anger. Great, now he had no clean clothes AND his foot hurt.

Growling in irritation, he yanked open the door and began grasping handfuls of soaking wet clothes and dropping them into his hamper with nauseating splats.

The suds from his detergent quickly settled into a film over his skin, actively worsening his mood. Setting his jaw, he hefted the rapidly dampening laundry bag over his shoulder to trudge back to his room.

Each step sent shockwaves of tension through his frame, he was freefalling into overstimulation at this point. By the time he reached his floor, every cell in his body was rigid, trying desperately to hold back the rage-induced sobs building in his chest. Fumbling with his key, he managed to push the door open with a slam—startling Foggy and, unexpectedly, you.

“Hey man, we were about to come find you so we could grab lunch. You, uh, you ok?” Foggy asked skeptically, but Matt ignored him. Instead, focused on your soft footsteps from the edge of his bed to his stiff form in the doorway.

“What happened, trouble?” The name suggested you were hoping to lighten his mood, but he could practically taste the concern rolling off your skin.

“Washing machine broke. Didn’t feel like dealing with it, so…” Matt shrugged, biting his cheek fiercely to avoid becoming emotional in your presence.

You tutted in sympathy, reaching to his shoulder to slip the bag of laundry from his clenched fist. “Well, after lunch I can drive you to my place and we can do laundry there, if you want?” The warmth of your fingertips over his torso sent a shudder down his spine. “Matt..?”

“Yah, that…that sounds good. Let’s, uh, let’s do that.” Matt responded lamely, shuffling from foot to foot as he willed his tense body to slacken.

“I’m sorry your day started so poorly. Do you want a hug?” Your voice was soft, your posture hesitant as you asked Matt a question he didn’t know he needed to hear. Nodding miserably, he collapsed against you.

Your soft hands wrapped around his chest, pressing upwards between his shoulder blades with delightful pressure. Matt melted into the embrace, feeling the frustration flood out of his body with each of your inhales. Threading one hand into his hair, you scratched lightly, eliciting a dreamy sigh from him. Giggling in response, you squeezed him tightly before drawing away, much to his chagrin.

You chuckled, tracing a thumb over the deep furrow between his brows. “Wow, that bad?”

Face falling, Matt’s mouth fell open in a mixture of embarrassment and horror. Shaking his head profusely, he stammered. “N-no, not at all, I just—“

Lightly shoving his shoulder, you laughed brightly. “I’m kidding, trouble. It seems like you needed that. So…” Turning back to face Foggy (who Matt had forgotten was there) you smiled. “Lunch?”

“Foggy if you spill that in my car, you’re banned. You hear me? Excommunicated from my vehicular sanctuary.” You groused, glaring at the blond who was precariously balancing a large milkshake on his knees in your rear view mirror.

Blushing, Foggy quickly moved the cup to a more sturdy location as he finished his burger. “Yes ma’am.” He gave a mock salute, making you abandon your scowl for a satisfied smirk. Matt was smiling beside you, sipping his coffee carefully to avoid the same threats as his roommate.

The three of you were seated comfortably in your car, bags of both Matt’s and Foggy’s laundry stashed in the trunk as you inched closer to the building you lived in.

Your loft was hidden away in the back corner of a bland building about 8 blocks from Campus. The worn red brick stood about 15 stories tall, complete with the paint-dripped doors and crooked windows that one comes to expect when seeing cheap student housing.

The inside was drafty and humid, the insulation having rotted away through decades of storms and frat-style ragers. The walls were far from soundproof, given they were about 90% white paint, which had encouraged you to begin seeking refuge in Matt and Foggy’s room whenever you needed to study or, honestly, a moment of peace on a weekend.

Which is how you found yourself toting the two boys back to your spacious yet slightly dingy loft which, amazingly, had its own functional washer and dryer. And, thankfully, a really comfy couch given that Foggy hadn’t done laundry once since move in.

“How on earth have you made it this far in life without doing a single load of laundry?” Matt panted between giggles as Foggy’s face scrunched with a pout as he shuffled over to the washer.

“I don’t know! My mom always did it.” Matt failed to hold back a snort and Foggy crossed his arms. “It’s not that funny, Murdock!”

“Do your siblings know how to do laundry?” You raised an eyebrow at him, not even trying to keep your smile contained. Matt was in stitches beside you and his laughter was contagious.

“I mean yah, but—“ Matt guffawed and Foggy sank into his seat, sullenly glaring at the pair of you. “I hate you guys. So much for friendship.”

A bout of giggles burst out of you. “Don’t worry, Fog. We’ll show you how. It’s really not that hard, just need to know a few things.”

You opened the top of the washer. “I’m assuming you don’t have detergent then?” Taking Foggy’s indiscernible mutter as an affirmative, you pulled out your own.

“That’s fine, I’ll loan you some, but I expect you to buy your own next time, Nelson. This shit ain’t cheap.” You pointed a finger at him and he put his hand up in promise.

“Scout’s honor.”

Matt turned to you with a grimace. “Shit, I didn’t bring any either. It didn’t cross my mind.”

With a humorous twinkle in your eye, you pinched his waist. “That’s ok, Matt. You can use some of mine whenever you want. Not a problem.”

Foggy’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious!?”

Ignoring him, Matt gave you an overly gracious smile, clearly picking up on your mirthful spirit. “That is so kind of you, sweetheart. You have such a giving personality.”

Foggy spluttered in irritation, head whipping between the two of you incredulously.

“Anything for my favorite guy.” You purred, sidling up to him as Foggy choked. Matt couldn’t help the flutter of his heart at the implication of you preferring him over anyone else.

“Guys, c'mon. You’re being mean.” Foggy pouted. You chuckled but pulled away from Matt to wrap the other boy in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Fog. I love you too, scout’s honor.”

Foggy grumbled at your promise, but returned the hug. “Yah, yah. Sure ya do. Anyway, are you gonna teach me something or will I continue to wander through this world clueless about the wonders of clean clothes?”

Giggling, you pulled him over to the machine and launched into a thorough explanation of the process. While he was sure you were sharing good tips, Matt’s brain was not at all focused on your words. His mind was transfixed on the heat cradling his shoulder from your faded touch, and the steadiness of your heart when you’d called him your favorite guy.

It was hard to not let his thoughts wander, when the smell of you coiled around him like a scarf on a bitter cold day. Your heartbeat danced along as you spoke animatedly with Foggy—teasing, confident personality slowly beginning to reveal itself as you grew more comfortable with the two roommates. Matt was no stranger to his tendency to fall head first for quick-witted women, but it was getting harder to obey his rational side when you opened yourself to him in ways like this.

Trusting him, encouraging his teasing sarcasm with your own goofy humor, leaning into his touchy nature as if you wanted it too. The fact that he was about to be wearing your laundry detergent for weeks was not going to help quell his growing infatuation.

Your voice broke through the growing pile of thoughts in his mind. “Right, Matt?”

“Uh, what?” His face must have reflected his dreamy confusion because Foggy snorted.

“Doing ok over there, Casanova? Did we lose you in the intricacies of a habit you already have?” Matt rolled his eyes as he heard two hands land on hips, knowing Foggy was giving him a shit-eating smirk.

“Believe it or not, Nelson, I don’t have the most fun listening to you all day every day. Forgive me for letting my mind wander while you learned something simple.” His tone was meant to be light, but the nerve Foggy had unknowingly struck left his voice harsher than intended.

Stepping in between him and his roommate, you placed a hand on his arm gently. “Hey, it’s ok that you tuned us out and it’s ok that Foggy needs help with this. I was just letting him know that we were always here if he had any questions.”

Wincing as he realized you were mediating a conflict he’d accidentally created, he smiled sadly at the blond. “Sorry, Fog. Of course you can ask me. Always. I’m practically a laundry expert.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

His attempt worked immediately. “Aw, you sap. You’re forgiven.” Foggy smashed himself against his roommate, eliciting a grunt from the taller man.

“Thanks, bud. I appreciate you both dealing with my bad mood today.” Matt spoke quietly, a flicker of fear sparking in his chest.

“What bad mood?” You asked, joining the hug. The two of you squeezed Matt until he groaned at you to get off, setting off fits of giggles in you and Foggy both.

“Ok, now that we’ve started the washer, I can give you the tour!” You exclaimed, stepping towards the doorway. “This way, gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed.”

The act of doing laundry at your place shouldn’t have been as life-changing as it was for Matt. Your soft floral scent clung to all of him—his clothes, his sheets, his skin. Each inhale brought him closer to you, and it was more indulgent than any sensation he’d ever experienced. Connecting with you at all was incredible, but to have your presence melding into his belongings as if you had chosen him, claimed him. It was divine.

Unfortunately, as had been evident his entire life, all good things come at a price. The cost of feeling this close to you was the new pressure on his delicate senses. He adored the fact that he was able to carry a piece of you with him, it brought more emotional comfort than he could have imagined, but his nose and skin were less happy about the idea.

“Matt, I’m begging you, rewash your clothes, man. You’re, like, allergic to that detergent, I think.” Foggy bit his lip, circling his roommate as he looked at the irritation crawling across Matt’s back.

“‘M fine, Fog.” Matt tugged on a shirt, ignoring the worry emanating from his roommate. “My skin is just sensitive, is all. It just needs to adjust.” He left out the fact that this slight effect was nothing compared to the reaction his skin had every time his clothes were washed in coarse starch by the nuns. At least this was a symptom of your genuine care for him, rather than general disdain for his needs.

“And this has nothing to do with that fact that you’re adorably into our mutual friend,” Matt winced as Foggy teasingly handed out your name.

“I’m not ‘into’ her, Fog! What the hell?”

“Sure, that’s why you’re walking around using more control than I’ve ever had in my life to not scratch your skin clean off your bones?” Foggy shook his head as Matt attempted to inconspicuously slide his hand back into his lap from where it was itching his side.

“Like I said, sensitive skin—“

“Not to mention that you’ve had more headaches this week than in the nearly two months I’ve known you?” Matt remained silent at the allegation, hoping not to convey admission with his lack of words.

The headaches had been more of a nuisance than the scratchy fabric rubbing at his angry skin. He wasn’t used to this much exposure to scented items in his personal space, let alone pressed against him. But it was all worth it to hear the sweet little sigh you gave when you were close to him, comforted by the familiarity.

“Nothing to say for yourself? You realize the more you avoid this conversation, the more likely it seems that you like her, right?”

Matt just sighed. “I can’t like her, Fog. We are in our first semester at one of the most prestigious law schools in the country and she’s one of two friends that I have. I can’t lose that, and I don’t have the time to start a real relationship. So we need to stay friends.”

“I get it, Matt. You’re not really a long term kind of guy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn! She is so sweet I’m sure she’d be more than patient with you.” Damn Foggy’s intuition for constantly discovering the core of Matt’s insecurities.

“She deserves better than me.”

“Matt—“

“No, Foggy,” Clenching his fists, Matt let out a breath through flaring nostrils. “I’m not good enough.”

Foggy sighed, but dropped the subject.

Despite Matt being more than confident in his inability to treat you the way you deserved, he found himself growing incredibly envious of the attention you started receiving from other men. There was no doubt in his mind that you were attractive, he’d had more than a few conversations with Foggy (and enough time in class biting his cheek in anger as the men around you fixated) to know that you caught the attention of damn near everyone in the room.

Maybe it was the fact that you weren’t afraid of standing up for your beliefs or confronting an ignorant point raised by a classmate. It also could’ve been the fact that you were one of the only students who knew what was going on. Your intelligence was captivating, and the way your voice carried defiantly across the room seemed to encourage the affections of both your peers and the Property Law TA.

Explanation for their interest aside, Matt found himself practically swatting potential suitors away from you each day, irritation swelling in his chest as your heart fluttered at the attention. You’d shyly admitted to him that you’d never had a long term relationship before and that you weren’t used to being sought after. If he was an ounce more of a man, he would have confessed just how much you deserved the affection, even when it wasn’t from him. It wasn’t fair of him to keep you from happiness, he knew that, but every time your pulse skipped as another boy complimented you, it felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.

So he’d taken to stewing in his own silent fury, currently pretending to read ahead while actually listening intently to your bubbling laughter as a boy a few rows behind you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with some generic pick up line. Shifting in his seat to disguise the rumbling growl in his throat, his heart sank as the bachelor invited you to a party that evening. Giggling, you giddily accepted, writing down the details before scurrying back to your seat.

There was a noticeable warmth in the apples of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Matt could practically feel the radiant smile you were wearing. As he was working up the dignity to break the silence, you turned to him gleefully. “Matty,” He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip at the new affectionate nickname. “What would you say to attending our first college party?”

Trudging back to the corner across the horrifically sticky wood floor, Matt set his jaw and chugged the disgusting alcoholic sludge he’d been served. Waiting impatiently for the buzz to wash over him, he glowered in a stiff armchair as you flitted around with the overly flirtatious host. Foggy had disappeared ages ago with a peppy journalism student, telling him not to wait up.

The party was off campus at the house of your fellow Torts student. He and his large handful of housemates lived in a shabby 3 bedroom that felt fragile in design, as if the strong bass blasting from the beer-soaked speakers would shatter the foundation at any moment. Sweaty bodies pressed together in a pulsating mass, dancing to the ear-piercing techno music and slurping down cheap booze.

Matt was well aware that he was not explicitly invited to this soirée, but hearing you ramble excitedly at the idea of the three of you attending together had been too sweet to shut down. Your gracious host only seemed a bit miffed that two boys had shown up with you, taking no time to brush off Matt and Foggy’s polite greetings and whisk you away like the true gentleman he was shaping up to be.

James or Josh or whatever his name was, Matt could honestly care less, clearly intended to get in your pants, and was taking no time to attempt that. After pumping you full of Jell-O shots, he engaged you in conversation about the volunteer work he loved so much during high school. Matt didn’t need to hear his heartbeat to know that was utter bullshit, but you responded with elation, ecstatic to find another law student with a similar moral compass to your own. The dark haired law student was more focused on the fact that he could smell his rival’s arousal brewing, a set of wandering hands becoming increasingly noticeable despite the quaking music and overwhelming atmosphere. Hearing a nervous giggle spill out of your mouth as you shrugged out of an inebriated touch, Matt stumbled off the cushions he sat on, ambling over to you to ensure you were safe.

Before he’d even reached you, your attention landed on him and your pulse stilled. The relieved exhale that left your lips as your eyes found him in the crowd gave his ego a boost for the ages. Waltzing up to you with a smirk, he wrapped an arm protectively around your shoulders as you smiled up at him. “Hey, you! Long time, no see.” Your voice was cheerful despite the situation.

“You doing ok?” Matt asked, ignoring the brooding man to his left who had backed off a bit since Matt had walked over.

“Uh huh!” Your head bobbed with a nod, leaning into Matt, you waved towards your suitor. “Jake was just telling me about his work with the Red Cross after Hurricane Isabel.”

The buff man gave a condescending chuckle, eyes darting over your form. “The Peace Corps, actually.”

You gasped, “Oh, that’s right, I’m so sorry!” Jake simply smiled, his eyes darkening as Matt subconsciously clenched his hand around you.

“Quite alright, sweetheart,” He drawled and Matt’s small grin vanished. How dare he call you that? Only Matt was allowed to call you that. “It’s easy to get confused about that stuff. But, yah, it was just so…rewarding, ya know? Helping all those poor people who lost their homes. Can’t wait to do it again after graduating.”

“Oh, you’re going back to the Peace Corps? How noble of you,” Matt smiled, thinly covering his irritation at this jerk’s arrogance.

“Well, either that or a similar organization. It’s just so important to give back, ya know?” The tone of the other man indicated that he, too, was holding back a stream of anger.

As Matt was about to spit back a response, a drunk guy tripped into Jake, who promptly “spilled” (threw) his drink onto Matt’s pristine shirt. Jumping away from you, Matt stood up straight to let the excess liquid drip off his torso, trying not to scream as the damp fabric fused with his skin.

Jake, ever the charmer, let out a barking laugh. “Shit, sorry man. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Course you weren’t,” Matt muttered, flicking excess moisture from his hands.

“Oh gosh, you ok, Matty?” You hurried to grab paper towels from the counter behind you, pressing a wad into Matt’s hands while using another handful to dry his shirt yourself. Standing there frozen, Matt’s tipsy brain couldn’t fathom how amazing it felt to have your fingers pressed against his stomach as you tried to clean him up.

Realizing with a jolt that he hadn’t responded to your worried question, he placed a hand over yours gently. “Uh, yah, I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry about him, beautiful, he can clean up in the bathroom while we chat.” Heat pushed aggressively at his already sticky skin as Jake sidled up behind you, placing eager hands on your waist as the douchebag tried to pry you from Matt.

Suddenly, something in him snapped. He wasn’t happy with the immense amount of sensation he’d had to endure nor the fact that he’d been listening to a complete asshole flirt with you all night. Not to mention, said asshole seemed to be moving faster than you wanted and was now physically removing you from Matt’s safeguarding after pouring foul-smelling punch all over his clean shirt? That was just unacceptable. The dark force within Matt that was constantly simmering below the surface was ready to erupt.

Stepping forward with a snarl, Matt was ready for a fight, but he didn’t have to start one.

Pulling out of the grasp of your aggressive suitor’s hands, you intertwined your fingers with Matt’s. “Sorry, Jake, but I should get going. I have to be up for a scholarship event tomorrow, and I’ll need a good amount of sleep if I want to act not-hungover.” You giggled, smiling at him. “I’ll see you around?”

“Sure. Whatever,” Jake feigned a smile, stalking away but muttering loud enough for Matt to hear, “Stupid bitch.”

Matt growled, taking a firm step towards him, but you tugged on his hand. “Hey,” You murmured, squeezing his hand, “Let’s get out of here.”

Not wanting to upset you by giving away the other man’s shitty intentions, Matt trailed after you as you wove through the crowd and out the door. The grip of your fingers around his hand was grounding, allowing him to push away the less pleasant feelings from the party. Shoving past a group of people playing beer pong outside, you sighed as your lungs took in fresh air for the first time in a few hours.

“Wow, that was…” you trailed off, steps faltering slightly.

“Yah.” Matt agreed, trying not to blush as you linked your arms together on the path towards his dorm. “I’m…sorry.”

Turning to him, your footwork halted. “For what, Matty?”

“I didn’t mean to stop you from enjoying yourself. You and…Jake,” Matt practically choked around the name. “Really seemed to hit it off.”

You were quiet for a moment, your steady heartbeat echoing in Matt’s ears, before you burst out laughing. Giggles became chuckles which transformed into uproarious laughter. You had to pull yourself out of Matt’s hold to cradle your stomach as you cracked yourself up. Matt just stared blankly at you, brain flooding with pure confusion.

“Matt,” You wheezed. “He’s a total douchebag.”

“But, but I thought—“ Matt shook his head, breaking into his own set of giggles listening to your bright, infectious ones. “Stop laughing! He was all over you!”

“Yah because he’s a douchebag!” You exclaimed, as if it was obvious. Falling back against Matt’s side, you tucked an arm around his waist and began marching forward again. “He told me that bullshit story about the Peace Corps, but they don’t accept minors. So he was either lying about that or his age.”

“Why did you talk to him for so long? You had me fooled.” Matt ran a hand over your back, smiling with relief that you hadn’t been as smitten with Jake as he’d assumed.

“I don’t know!” You shoved him lightly as he snorted at your behavior. “I’m awkward, Matty! I kept trying to end the conversation and he just. Kept. Talking. And then I felt bad because he seemed like an ok guy, but then he started getting handsy and I was soooo over it.”

Growling deeply, Matt’s arm tightened around you. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the room was over it at that point.”

You just hummed in thought. “Well it’s a good thing I have my Matt in Shining Armor. Now let’s get you home so you can change.”

“About that..” Matt slowed his pace, not wanting to let you go quite yet. He needed a plan, and fast.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just…I can’t exactly tell, but I assume the shirt is going to stain?”

With a grimace, you traced a finger over the patch the drink had touched. Matt’s light blue shirt wouldn’t stand a chance after 24 hours. “Oof. It’s likely if it’s not treated tonight. That punch was eerily red. Like inedibly vibrant in color. But if you use a stain remover—“

“I don’t have that.” Matt blurted, “I, er, I just really like this shirt,” God, that was the worst excuse he had ever come up with. Nice going, Murdock. “and I don’t want it to stain. Would you, um, could you—“

“Is the great Matthew Murdock asking for my assistance with laundry?” He could hear the smirk you wore. “I thought you were an expert.”

“That’s hearsay.” He objected, teasingly.

You giggled once more. “Well, what kind of person would I be if I let my knight’s shining armor stay tarnished?”

Matt feigned a groan at your cheesy comment. “You know what, on second thought—“ He started to pull away from you, but you held fast.

“Nope! You want to hang out with me even though I say goofy shit. That’s your bad. No turning back now, you’re in too deep, Murdock.”

“Lucky me.” Matt remarked, but there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“C’mon, slowpoke!! Time is of the essence!” You pulled Matt up the last flight of stairs to your loft, laughing as he pretended to go limp so you would drag him further. “Hey! Be careful, trouble, you weigh more than I can handle.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Matt lurched forward, toppling against you as you opened the door. You squealed, but nestled into the contact anyway. The door creaked open and you both shuffled inside, there was no sign of anyone else in the apartment.

“My roommate went out with her boyfriend.” You explained, as if reading his mind. “They usually hang out here but I think they were drinking for free somewhere.”

“Good for them.” Matt snorted, being tugged towards your laundry room.

You instructed him to sit on top of the dryer while you opened the washer. “Your shirt, sir,” Holding out a hand to him, you messed with settings on the machine.

Removing each plastic button from its corresponding fabric loop, Matt was suddenly painfully aware of how intimate the action was. Biting his lip to keep his growing…feelings…at bay, he tried not to dwindle on the fact that you had asked him to undress. In your apartment. Alone.

You may have just realized the tension of the moment as well, heat flooding your body as your movement stilled. In one swift movement, Matt gracefully removed the dress shirt and placed it in your outstretched palm, imaginary sparks cascading up his arm as his fingertips brushed your bare skin.

“Thank you,” You nearly whispered, gaze lingering on his parted lips for a moment too long before you busied yourself at the washer. “Um, Hydrogen peroxide should fix the discoloration. It might smell a little, though. We may need to wash it twice.”

“That’s, uh, that’s fine.” Matt murmured, arousal becoming difficult to ignore.

“I can wash your undershirt too, if you want,” Matt’s skin jumped as your fingers danced over the fabric where the spilled drink had seeped through.

“Yah. Yah, ok.” Your hand rose and fell with Matt’s chest as he breathed. Time had slowed to a crawl, nothing existing outside the little haven you had painstakingly created for him. Tugging the garment up and over his head, he gripped it tightly for a moment before passing it over. “Here.”

You took the fabric gingerly, eyes not straying from his mouth. “Thanks.” Still clenching the shirt in one hand, you cupped his cheek and leaned in. Matt greedily followed your lead, nose bumping against yours for only a second before—

The sound of a door slamming made you both jump apart. Drunken laughter rang throughout the hallway but abruptly stopped as Oscar and Jen took in the scene before them. Eyes flitting between shirtless, panting Matt, and your embarrassed face, it painted quite the picture.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Jen giggled, pulling Oscar towards her room.

“Carry on, children!” Oscar guffawed, running after her.

Grimacing, you turned back to Matt. “Shit, Matt, I—“

“You know what, I should really get going.” Matt snatched his undershirt from your open hand, sliding off the dryer and beelining for the door.

“Matt, wait!” You called after him, but he was already gone.

Exhaling nervously, you clenched your fingers around the item you held before knocking firmly on the door.

Foggy’s equally anxious face appeared as the door opened. Tension ebbed from his brow slightly as he met your wide eyes. “Well, what do you know!” He greeted you in a loud voice laced with false surprise. “So lovely to see you, my dear. Please, come in.”

Stepping past Foggy with a grimace of a smile, your gaze quickly found Matt—tucked away against his thin headboard, looking like he wanted to vanish into the faux wood.

“Wow, would you look at the time. I really should be going.” Seizing his coat from the bed, Foggy scurried to the door.

“Where are you going?” Matt asked, frantically.

“Out. With, er, my other friends. Bye!” The slam of a door concluded his swift exit.

You avoided looking at Matt, shuffling from foot to foot for a moment before sitting at the edge of Foggy’s bed. The raven-haired boy had a skittish energy, like a feral cat, and you didn’t want to scare him off.

Biting your lip, you desperately scrounged for any remaining courage within yourself, trying to muster up the nerve to break the silence, but Matt beat you to it.

“I’m starting to think you two planned that.” He spoke quietly, toying with a stray thread on his comforter.

You gave a humorless chuckle. “Guess we need to work on our acting skills, huh?”

Matt just grunted. C’mon Murdock, work with me here.

You took a deep breath, “Matt, about Thursday night—“ Your sweet friend interrupted you with a wince.

“I’m sorry.” Matt’s face was practically mournful, but his apology left you confused.

“Sorry for what?” You tilted your head, honed in on him as he curled further into the corner.

“I…I made it weird. I didn’t mean to, it just happened! You were trying to do something nice and then I had to go and ruin it and then your roommates came home and—“

“Oh, Matty,” You launched yourself off of Foggy’s bed and flung your arms around Matt. Startled, he teetered for a moment before returning the hug. “You didn’t ruin anything. We were both…a little tipsy, and it was late. We weren’t acting like ourselves. We can just forget about it!”

Pushing down the disappointment that surfaced at your desire to move past the near kiss, Matt was a bit relieved that you didn’t hate him. “Really?” He asked as you settled against his side, nestling into the arm he threw over you as if you belonged there.

“Of course! If you’re willing, we can move past it.” Then, with a bit more vulnerability, you added, “I care about you a lot, trouble. I’m not going to let a little awkwardness keep us apart.”

Matt smiled as you rested your head against his shoulder, taking a moment to weave your fingers together. He basked in your warmth for a bit before curiosity outweighed his desire to hold you.

“What did you bring with you?” His voice was still soft, tentative, like he was still doubting that you cared for him.

“Oh!” Escaping his grasp, you leapt to grab the crumpled heap of fabric from the other bed. “I brought back your shirt.”

Matt gingerly took the clothing from you, wondering why he hadn’t smelled the strong floral detergent when you came in. Forgetting his manners, he brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply before running his fingers over it.

It was soft, more so than when he had worn it last. It held traces of your vanilla soap, and even fainter remnants of tequila and peroxide, but it smelled like…nothing. Or as close to nothing as any porous object could ever get with his delicate senses.

“I, um, I hope it’s ok. I used a new detergent. Fragrance and dye free, supposed to be good for sensitive skin.” You shifted on the balls of your feet, watching him turn the shirt in his grasp .

Taking your hand, Matt tugged you back against his hip, embracing you again. “Thank you.” He struggled to form the words around the lump of emotion in his throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Foggy may have mentioned that the clothes we washed last time were giving you a reaction.” You shoved him lightly. “You should have told me!”

Shrugging, Matt sighed. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

Snuggling in closer, you frowned. “You never bother me, trouble. You ok?”

Matt scrubbed at his eyes hastily, “M’fine.” You clearly didn’t buy his bullshit, but you didn’t call him on it either, simply using a gentle thumb to wipe away a stray tear that his hands missed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Matty. But, if you want to, I’m right here.”

Eyes filling with tears again, he stifled a sob, waiting for the ability to pull himself together before he spilled his secrets to you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get emotional, it’s just—“ Your hand came up to stroke through his hair as a strangled cry broke free. “No one has ever done this for me before. I’m just…not used to it.”

“You’re my best friend, Matt. You deserve to be taken care of, and I’m happy to do it.” Pressing a kiss to his temple, you guided him to your shoulder and simply let him cry.

Tag list: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock

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operation-steal-chans-laptop · 2 years ago

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seeing how lee know most of the times like to tease... would love to tease him back until he can no longer wait and softly begs for you to let him use you.

Never have you been this bold around Minho. Never been this cocky, raunchy little whispers as you pass by him throughout the day leaving his ears one too many shades of red and his legs turning to jello.

At this point, he was just putty in your pretty little hands and despite what he says he absolutely loves it. Loves all the praise and attention he's getting, and you love watching him slowly fall apart.

At some point you catch a glimpse of him palming his painfully hard cock through his pants, his head hanging low in embarrassment as he does so. You observe him as a smirk settles on your face knowing just what it feels like to be in that situation. knowing what it's like to be teased all, day lust taking over your body rendering you weak, your core throbbing begging for release.

It really was a beautiful sight. Desperation looked good on him, such a shame he stops when he sees you watching him from across the room.

His face flushes and his heartbeat quickens.

“Is everything okay, love?” You say as sweetly as possible to which he nods in return

“Are you sure?” This time he doesn’t answer. “Aww poor baby what's wrong, hm?'' You say as you come up behind him, your arms encircling his waist.

“you’re breathing so hard, sweetheart, you’re practically panting,” still no response “and your heart is beating soooo fast,” your hand slides from his chest down his stomach, inching closer to where he needs you most, causing his breath to hitch.

“You don’t seem okay,” you whisper in his ear before lightly kissing his neck.

The kisses, the teasing, the condescending tone of your voice, and your roaming hand were almost enough to make him cum right then and there.

“y/n,'' his voice is soft and filled with shame.

“Yes my love?” The room falls quiet once again with no response coming from your shy lover. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

Minho sighs and prepares to speak. “you’ve been teasing me all day—and I—”

“shhhh, love it’s okay slow down, yeah?” You kiss his shoulder in an attempt to sooth his nerves.

He then takes a deep breath and sighs once more. “I— I need you”

“awww, pretty boy, that’s all you had to say. You want me to take care of you?”

“Mhm, please”

“Of course, darling,” you pause before finishing your sentence. “Later” With that you remove your arms from around him and walk off, leaving him flustered over what all that just happened.

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llilyrose · 5 months ago

Text

fun little art tip with llilyrose

there's lot of niche terms used to define different aspects of art; e.g. "rendering" is different from "shading" where shading provides depths and rendering includes shading but also includes parts of the process like hue-shifting and gradient charts, or half-tones vs. crosshatching (which is a different thing entirely).

The example I wanted to talk about here is cel shading vs. soft shading!! it's become more relevant in my art as i start pumping out fully rendered pieces and I thought it was notable enough to post.

"`What's the difference?"

here's a chart so you can get at what I'm saying:

Cel shading is the type of shading you'll see in animation! That's because it's easier to redraw every frame, of course. It's also just a lot more common. While soft shading leans towards a more abstract form of shadows and form, cel is very direct and easier to understand unless the person using soft shading knows what they're doing. it can use fades within its blocky parameters (usually to indicate light bouncing back onto the shadow), but its edges are tend to be pretty crisp.

Soft shading, as the name suggests, focuses on impressionistic shading. this means it will imply something is there instead of making it 100% clear, like you can see in the shadows cast by the sphered shaded in soft. in ibis paint this is seen in the airbrush pen or the pen brush (fade), which i personally rely on while shading.

"which ones better?"

it depends on the situation, of course!

"in which situations should i use each shading?"

I'm glad you asked!

obviously, if your artstyle leans more towards one type of shading than the other, this advice won't mean a whole lot to you, but if your artstyle blends the two it's very important to remember:

cel shading should be used when a light source is close to its object, and can change depending on the brightness of the light. rim lights (the thin lighting you see close to/within lineart) usually come from lights behind the object. think about how bright your light is and what exactly it touches in the art piece.

take this for example:

this piece uses a mix of soft and cel shading, but i want you to focus on the cel shading for me here. the lighting is harsh and only touches everything that the star's light would! since it's the only light source, everything else should be practically pitch black, but sometimes you have to sacrifice realistic aspects of your artwork in for it to be intelligible.

this post is MOSTLY about soft shading, though, because I'm most familiar with it and people need help with that the most, evidently.

soft shading should be used to highlight the brightness of an object (think of the "halos of light" that surround real world light sources). in the above piece, everything gets darker the further away it is from the star, and i utilize circles of soft shading for this effect. i also soft shade into a darker color the parts of siffrin that aren't reached by the star to give him some depth. there's some soft shading for clothing wrinkles too but that's just my own style.

soft shading can also be used for distant light sources!

the first image is a subtler example of this effect and the second image is a lot more direct.

you can tell that the light source isn't In His Face because the lines between values aren't super clear. even though the second image's light is bright, you know it's not as harsh as the last example was because the shading isn't as clear cut.

usually when bright light hits an object I'll set a layer to the "add" blending mode and gently airbrush it before setting it to a lower opacity. it's meant to mimic the light that bounces off an object when lightwaves hit it, but this only works in SOME pieces.

(addendum: using soft shading ONLY for your pieces can be difficult if you don't understand how light would normaly hit your object. soft shading works best on rounded surfaces and cel shading works best on sharper ones, like pyramids and cubes and whatnot)

overall both styles of shading are perfect for some things and not so perfect for others. they work the best when you use them together, but they look similarly stunning when used in their own as well!! this post is just meant to give a few tips on a piece of my art process and maybe give you a look into the core of my art style,,,, if anyone has any questions about the things I make my askbox is always open!

#art tips #shading #as im writing this there are dogs BARKING AND HOWLING OUTSIDE. HELP. THEY'VE LITERALLY NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE #WGAT DO I DO???? do we have wolves?? I didn't think there were any whereg i lived. what.

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childotkw · 2 years ago

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Hi Jordan!! I love your writing babe!! You're amazing and also your Tumblr is the reason for all of my frantic all nighters the night before the exam because I spent all my reading and rereading all the fantastic stories in here😅. I genuinely can't express how much I adore you and any update from you is like Christmas come early and makes my entire week. That said I just adore your ruination au. If we could get a sneak peek it will be amazing!! Feel free to ignore me if you want tho and TK ly!☺

Hello my darling!! Thank you 🥰 I’d apologise for the distractions but I’m also too amused to be sincere 😂😂

And I’m happy to share two lil snippets from ruination 3!

———————

She rose from her seat, Rhaena following only a second after her, and placed the letters absently onto the desk. She shook her head lightly.

“No,” she said.

“Baela –”

“No.”

But the look in her father’s eyes was undeniable. Familiar in the worst way, dragging her back to that horrible night a lifetime ago across the sea. Baela’s hands fisted at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms until there was blood.

“Jace or Luke?” she asked, barely hearing her sister’s startled gasp as she too began to understand.

“My girls,” Rhaenys whispered, stepping towards them with open arms.

“Jace or Luke?” Baela snapped, recoiling from her grandmother’s attempted comfort.

It could only be one of the boys. They were the only ones of note that had left Dragonstone recently, and no one…no one else could etch such exquisite tragedy onto Corlys’ expression, nor render a man like Daemon so reduced.

“Father?” Rhaena asked this time, soft and hesitant and just a shade off a plea.

Daemon glanced between them, a thousand and one thoughts writhing behind his eyes, before his gaze settled on Rhaena.

“Luke,” he answered quietly.

Not Jace.

Poisonous relief bloomed in Baela’s heart, and then was immediately burned away by shame and grief.

———————

Cregan firmed his footing and shoved the younger away easily, breaking the stalemate and making Jacaerys stumble. The boy nearly fell onto his arse, and the pinched expression that swept onto his face reminded Cregan of the newer guards he would sometimes watch train in the yard.

Pricked pride had a universal look on young men, regardless of station.

A laugh rumbled in his chest, though he restrained himself at the last moment, turning it into a cough. Jacaerys saw through the attempt and glared sullenly up at him.

“Apologies, My Prince,” Cregan offered, dipping his head.

Jacaerys huffed, his own mouth curling with rueful amusement. He lowered his sword and dropped out of his stance, signalling the end of the session, then dragged a hand through his sweaty hair. “No apology needed, Lord Stark,” the boy said, as unfailingly polite as he had been when he first arrived late yesterday, windswept and drained from his back-to-back flights. “I suppose I’m just not used to losing,” he continued, a slightly more open grin sneaking forth.

Cregan didn’t bother disguising his laugh this time and reached out to take the other’s sword. He carried them both over to the rack at the side of the practice yard, absently spinning one of the worn leather handles in his palm as he went. “Are you a match for Daemon Targaryen already, Your Grace?” he teased.

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the boy splutter, his cheeks reddening bashfully. “Well…well no, not Daemon – he’s kind of unbeatable,” and for once Jacaerys sounded his age.

Cregan counted that as a small victory.

“I meant Luke,” Jacaerys said, trotting to Cregan’s side as they moved out of the yard and into the castle proper. “Daemon pits us against each other given we’re close in age, but my brother…”

Cregan stopped to accept a goblet from the waiting servant. Jacaerys took one as well, gulping the fresh water down greedily. His eyes remained troubled, clouded by deep thoughts.

“Your brother?” Cregan prompted, intrigued despite himself. He knew little of the queen’s second son, only rumours and the tale of him half-blinding his uncle having reached his ears in the past.

Jacaerys’ face flickered from frustrated to fond to exasperated in an instant and Cregan thought, somewhat wistfully, so that’s what being an older brother is like.

“Luke has no taste for fighting,” Jacaerys admitted quietly, gaze fixed on his cup. “He hates holding a sword, would fake sickness to get out of training if Daemon would allow it. What happened with Aemond,” the boy’s lips pressed together in annoyance, “it shattered his confidence. He used to be so eager to train, even if it were just drills against a straw target. But now he can barely look at a blade without paling and I…”

He sighed, a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve not been as understanding as I should be,” Jacaerys admitted. “But I just want him to be str – tougher.” Cregan didn’t blink at the slip and some hidden tension that younger had been carrying since he arrived eased as he continued, “We’re going to war, and I need to know he can protect himself.”

Cregan hummed, finishing off the last of his drink and handing the goblet back to the girl with a nod of gratitude. She collected Jacaerys’ as well and curtsied before walking back down the hallway.

“I admit that it’s hard to imagine him needing a sword when he’s got a dragon protecting him,” he replied lightly, thinking back to the beautiful beast the boy beside him had arrived on. Targaryens, Velaryons, the lot of them were all mad to bond with such creatures, but no one could deny they were the ultimate power in the realm.

#anonymous #HOTD #ruination au #lucerys valeryon #baela targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #cregan stark #everyone will be sad in chapter 3 #:(#poor Jace hasn’t heard the news yet #these are just drafts so they might not be in the Final Cut #but!#they’re still goodies!

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jenjennhi · 9 months ago

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Hiii can u pls do a face tut pls I’m begging you

heya! sorry this took some time, i just moved and it's been really hectic @@

and thank you for the question! i'll use stuff for bela and shadowheart as an example for ya for the two styles i usually do

warning, i am not a teacher and i'm still experimenting and learning so uhh some of this might be scuffed but is how i do it :>

also noting that i use csp or photoshop depending on my mood and what brushes i want to use but the same technique works for either and i use 2 brushes for the main bits and additional brushes if i want to add texture

1 - so after i have the sketch roughed, i usually put it on a multiply layer and add a background layer under it (i leave it white or almost white if i'm just doing a doodle or sketch) and i start to figure out the lighting and shading under the outline layer

the lighting is usually pretty rough and i'll start to understand what i'm going for as it starts to shape up but i try not to reduce the brush size too much so i don't get too muddled

(at this point i'm going thru my mantra of "trust the process" and breathing into a paper bag and kicking and screaming about how i want to quit)

2 - once i have the lighting somewhat how i want it, i start tweaking the color and i do it by using adjustment layers and manually painting. this part is kinda like cooking and tasting as you go, if i feel i want the image to feel colder/warmer i'll adjust accordingly but i will tell you how i did it for both examples below:

for bela, i actually painting above the shading/lighting layer and used "soft light" and "hard light" blending modes for the hair and skin to fit more with how i wanted it to look. i used color balance and curves for the background to get it to more of a purple/blue and darker

for shadowheart, i actually put the color below the shading/lighting layer and left the color as is and swapped the blending mode for the shading/lighting layer to "multiply" and then did adjustments using curves and gradient maps using "hard light" and "soft light" too and i think i had a "color burn" just for fun

this is my fav part of the process bc i just experiment and mess around with different layers. i usually have a vision for how i want the color and lighting to look but there's always room for new ideas! so i just mess around for a while here till i'm happy!

3 - rendering time! um i don't really have much advice here except i just start going in and rendering in closer detail. and remember references are your friend!!!

bela render progression:

shadowheart render progression:

i sometimes end up changing the drawing quite a bit during rendering but that's okay bc as you go into detail, you will notice discrepancies from the pre-render stages

for the style i used with shadowheart i just paint over the outline pretty much with some bits of it left it and i blend more to smooth it out more. for the style i used with bela, i add back in any outlines i painted over that i wanted to keep

and at the end of the day it's your art and how you express it is what's always gonna be the best so trust your gut (and references) but also it's okay to take creative liberties and go with the "cool rule" :3

and keep practicing!!!! i def feel i've gotten better with drawing faces compared to a year ago

i hope this helps and if it didn't ":3 i hope you had fun reading

#i hope this makes sense #i had to go back into my files and disable layers to get these screenshots Dx and i have a LOT of layers but for you anon i did it #i didn't know if u just wanted a broad tut of how i draw the face or if you wanted smth specific but i hope this helps anyways #i didn't promise this would help #pretty long post #asks #anonymous #my art

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alteon77 · 1 year ago

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*IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm copying everything over from AO3 to here because this series has a sequel coming out in the Fall, and I'd rather be prepared just in case AO3 goes down again. This is an older, complete story. So if you recognize it, you're not imagining things. 😂

Chapter Publication Date: 10/23/22 | Word Count: 8,374

All the Precious and Fragile Things (so easily do they break): Chapter 3

Part I: All of This Past

In a flashback, we learn the origins of May and Morpheus' history.

In the present, Morpheus meets his daughter, and Alexander Burgess is dealt with.

AO3 here, Masterlist here

SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS PAST...

When Morpheus first sets eyes on her from inside his glass prison, he pays her little mind. After all, it's not as if Roderick Burgess hasn't brought women down here before, using his capture of the devil in his basement as a means of seduction to entice them. He doesn't think at first glance that the female whiffet before him will prove any different, that she might be anything more than yet another fool taken in by the mortal magicians rather questionable charms.

Granted, she's prettier than the others, he thinks in the sort of detached way that he notices everything down here now out of sheer boredom. Beautiful, even, he might say were he inclined to speak in the moment. Her shortened gown is a soft ivory, embroidered heavily with silver and diamonds that twinkle like stars even in the low lights of this place, and he carefully tries not to think about how the thought of stars makes his heart pang in want, so great is his desire to look upon them again. Unlike most of the women Roderick has brought down, however, she wears her hair long to the small of her back in smooth curls, the silken tresses clipped away from her face with a glittering silver comb that appears as if it was meant to match the dress.

"Mr Burgess," she gasps, drifting closer to where Morpheus is and gazing at him from under long lashes. "This is him?"

For a split second, he sees a flash of something that reminds him of pity and anger in those almost... unnaturally shaded eyes of hers before the features on her unblemished, glowing skin smooth out, and she turns back to the amateur magician with a coquettish smile. Her lips, he notices rather distractedly, are full and pink, covered with something that makes them shine and look disgustingly kissable.

"It is," the man practically purrs, and she takes his arm again, moving indecently closer to him.

"I can't imagine how much power it took to bind him," she breathes out, and Morpheus resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Roderick Burgess leans in and the woman pulls back, glancing hesitantly towards the guards. "Roderick…. not with them watching."

She sounds like a blushing maiden, but Morpheus has the sense that this disingenuousness is just another form of temptation. He thinks she knows exactly what she's doing with her virginal white garb and her coy manner and her apparent bashfulness about having a witness to what they're soon to engage in. Never mind that he's stuck in here, of course. She doesn't seem to care that he'll remain, uncomfortably forced to hear every moan and gasp, every slap of skin on skin, every false declaration of affection after his jailers are gone. Predictably, Burgess shouts an order for privacy, never taking his eyes off the woman as if he's enthralled in a spell, as if he's caught in the obvious net that she's laid for him, and the guards grumble a bit before they gather their things and file out. When they've gone, the metal gate slamming loudly behind them, she smiles at her apparent paramour, slow and provocative, and Morpheus prepares to turn away from them because he'll resolutely not be watching that particular proceeding no matter how attractive he might think she is.

Only... he finds himself going rigid instead, stilling in shock when Roderick Burgess collapses on the ground in a boneless heap, and he is rendered wholly unable to process what's just happened for a long moment or two.

The woman scowls at the magician's prone body as if she's fighting the urge to kick and spit on it before she seems to calm, finally shifting her attention to Morpheus, who is observing the goings on in a sort of stunned confusion.

"Sorry for the delay. And sorry you had to see that. I hope it wasn’t as nauseating for you as it was for me," she offers sincerely. "We couldn't find you because of the stupid binding, and then when we did, we had to actually get in here, which required a little….well, subterfuge.” She grins as if they’re about to embark on some grand adventure. “Right. Let's get you out of that fishbowl first, sweetling. I'll try to be quiet so the guards don't come running back in here."

He ruffles a bit at being referred to thusly, but her smile is open and honest, kind even, before she starts a chant in a language he doesn't recognize, her hand conjuring forth a curious golden magic that turns to dust as it settles over his cage.

Metal and glass dissolve from around him, disappearing into nothingness, and he allows himself a moment to breathe deeply of the fresh air, filling his lungs in shuddering inhales as he revels in the feel of it on his face for the first time in decades. And then he remembers the woman enough to glance back at her, a sudden wariness about him as he watches her. Will she require something from him for this? What payment might her help demand? A dark, bitter part of him expects to barter for his freedom, but instead… curiously enough, she seems to be paying him no mind.

Instead, he thinks that she's concentrating on her magic, on using it to pull up the outer edge of the binding circle. He stares as it begins to rise, and oh…. Oh. He feels so very close to free. Awareness from his realm probes tentatively at the edges of his mind as his power abruptly begins waking up inside of him, though it frustratingly remains just out of reach, and he closes his eyes for a second to better focus, as if by doing so he can help call it back to himself more quickly. So transfixed is he by this sensation that he doesn't notice Roderick Burgess get shakily to his feet and clamber closer, doesn't notice him lash out and sink something into the woman's back with a sickening squelch. Morpheus' eyes snap open at her gasp, and he is taken aback at the sight of her. The tip of the blade emerges from her chest and blood blooms around it, a macabre crimson flower against the white of her gown, the silver point of a dagger serving as its center. A dull, burning sting throbs strangely in his own chest, almost as if he's the one who's been stabbed, as if he's feeling something of hers reflected back to him.

The outer edge of the binding ring returns to where it had been when she'd started this as she stops casting in understandable distraction, looking down at where she's been mortally wounded before flicking those inconceivably wide eyes up to Morpheus.

"Cursed blade," the magician bites out with grim satisfaction as he brutally yanks the weapon from her. She wavers at this action, swaying once or twice as if the the unexpected agony of it will drive her to her knees. She's unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. That much is clear to Morpheus, but she deliberates for only a moment before she seems to come to a decision, her teeth visibly gritting through the pain as she brings a hand up to him across the circle.

Take my magic , a voice in his head hisses, her bloody palm trembling out at him. You can use it to unmake the circle.

He nods without hesitation and brings his own hand up, pressing it against hers, twining their fingers together.

Please don't leave me here , she asks, and he feels her sudden vulnerability even though she's speaking in his mind. He nods again in agreement, and the power arcs across their joined palms, the vibrant gold and blue of her magic lighting up the dark of the room before she collapses over the binding ring and into him. It's instinct for his other arm to wrap around her in a mimicry of an embrace, for him to gently lower her down to the floor as best as he can, careful to keep from jostling her too much, careful to keep their hands touching to preserve the link.

He's never used the power of another before, never really needed to as an Endless, but hers feels so fundamentally different than his that it's jarring. Still, he assumes the same methods to wield hers as he does his, shaping with it in the most familiar way he can. He probes the binding ring and focuses on unmaking it like he'd seen her do with the glass, dissolving the paint into grains of sand that blow away into nothingness. Roderick Burgess opens his mouth presumably to yell, to bring the guards back, and Morpheus reaches out with her magic, tossing his captor aside as if with an unseen hand. The magician hits the wall hard, his neck crunching immediately in what's sure to be a fatal break. And Morpheus is somewhat disappointed about that if he's being completely honest. He'd wanted to properly punish the human, to enclose him in a never ending nightmare and watch him suffer for the crime of his audacity in daring to imprison an Endless, in daring to injure both the Dreaming and the mortal realm. This vengeance, if it can even be called that, feels wholly unsatisfying.

At his feet, the woman whimpers in pain, and Morpheus releases her hand, severing the link to gather her in his arms despite the fact that he thinks it might be pointless. She is losing blood rapidly, her returned magic struggling to mitigate the effects of the lethal attack by Burgess. Most creatures, he knows, are incapable of surviving cursed blades. Even to the Endless they sting a bit, but it feels ungracious to leave his savior to die in the same desperate place that she'd rescued him from. His power, no longer repelled by the binding circle, suddenly settles back into him. It thrums under his skin pleasantly, making him feel whole and complete as he hasn't for decades. Before him a bright blue vortex erupts, the dulcet call of his realm pulling him home as he clutches tighter to the bleeding woman and wills them both back to the Dreaming.

His realm has clearly ebbed in his absence.

He thinks as he approaches it that it should be worse withered, but it pulses with a magic that is not his. It's warm and bright and content. Familiar, though he can't quite place it. He frowns in confusion, wondering if he's going to have to fight some interloper for his kingdom, and then wondering who he knows that possesses such power. The woman in his arms moans in anguish, and he spots the black veins running along her arm. The curse is spreading now, and he knows with a small pang of sorrow in his chest that she likely doesn’t have long.

"My lord!" The voice is as familiar as his realm. The sound of it makes him feel more like he's home than even the sight of the Great Wall surrounding the Dreaming. Lucienne comes running up to them, the gates closing behind her as she does. "Oh, Lord Morpheus!" she calls, uncharacteristic excitement and relief radiating from her when she gets to them. "It's worked, then. You've finally returned." Worked? Had this been a joint effort then? His suspicions are only further confirmed at her visible alarm for the woman. Concern tinges his librarian's study of her, one hand coming up to brush along the spreading black veins in a careful affectionate attentiveness that he doesn't recall ever seeing from Lucienne. "May…. What's happened to her?"

Lucienne clearly knows this woman. She’d called her by name even, and that is... curious indeed.

"Cursed blade," he answers, readjusting her in his arms. Light though she is, he's just spent decades languishing in a binding circle, and his strength is flagging. Thankfully, his librarian seems to take note of this as her features fix into an expression of determination.

"Goodness. Then, we should get inside and get you both taken care of." She looks over the stranger for another minute before nodding, falling in line near him as Morpheus begins the journey towards the gates.

"Who else is here?" he demands, his voice still rough while he walks on slightly unsteady legs at her side. "I feel another's power."

"It's hers, sir," she tells him, gesturing to the female he carries. "She's been augmenting the realm while we were searching for you. It was decaying significantly in your absence."

He glances down at the woman anew, puzzling over this development. What kind of magic user has the ability to lend their strength to keep a realm from degeneration? Worse still, he can't help but to wonder what price she will exact from him for such a thing. "And how, Lucienne, did she accomplish this?"

"I'm unsure as to the mechanics of the magic behind it. She was very clear that it was only a make-do measure, though. The realm, sir…. It is not as you left it"

Wariness clouds his features, but he cannot deny that he is indebted to this newcomer twice over for her assistance, and the thought settles like a stone in his belly as he wills open the door to the Dreaming. Inside, it becomes readily apparent that Lucienne was correct about the augmentation being but a stopgap. This woman had simply been keeping the realm alive in only its most basic form, and there is enough damage that he almost groans at the work awaiting him. First, he decides that he must see to his injured guest, and then he knows he will be required to focus on finding his tools before the rebuilding can begin. Only when his power is wholly returned to him will he be able to offer his savior the boon she has earned, even as he honestly wonders if she will manage to live long enough to ask anything from him at all.

Miraculously, the woman heals well under Lucienne's attentive care. She demands that he call her May, which he senses isn't actually her real name even as he entertains her request all the same. He allows her to rest and recuperate almost entirely before he hesitantly broaches the subject of what he owes her for her assistance and is surprised when she laughs at him for a solid four minutes. He frowns while he watches her do this, not understanding what's actually funny as she asks him if he might fetch her a glass of water.

When she's drained it, her face still flushed from her fit of mirth, her lips curve up into a smile. It's a kind, honest smile that nearly disarms him with its warmth. "You owe me nothing, Dream. Nothing at all… but I should like to help you repair the damage if you do not mind. I so rarely get a chance to use much of my magic in the Waking."

He puzzles over this. She'd survived a cursed blade to the chest so she must be immortal, and his experience with those long-lived is that they tend towards a deceitful, manipulative cruelty. He still feels as if he does need to repay her in some way, however, and so he is compelled to grant her request no matter his mistrust. Of course, he does so conditionally as he's not an idiot like his sister believes of him, and the woman- May- remains rather happy with his capitulation despite the limits he places on it.

Relatively quickly, he discovers that May is good company. She's well-read and witty, though her sense of humor can only be called questionable at best. There's a natural goodness in her, a light about her presence that everyone in the realm seems drawn to, and her kindness, he learns through his small interactions with her, is seemingly genuine. Even Fenris, the surliest and most prideful of his nightmares, has an apparent grudging respect for her that baffles no one save Morpheus. In short, he thinks that the more he knows of her, the more he is perplexed by her.

And so, with increasing frequency, Morpheus finds himself seeking her out.

On his most recent return to the Dreaming, his tools safely in hand at long last, he follows that glowing brightness of hers to a beach that he thinks he vaguely recognizes, remembering that he had constructed it eons ago and then promptly forgotten about it. Here, May sits at the shoreline, her feet bare, her hair hanging loosely down her back, brushing against the sand. The silkiness of it shines in the fading sunlight, and he has the sudden ridiculous urge to reach out and run his fingers through the wild curls.

She's speaking to something, and it takes him but a moment to realize that the something she's speaking to is his realm. With a sudden surprised glance up at him, her eyes crinkle slightly as she graces him with yet another of her lovely smiles. "Well met, Dream King. Did you collect your tools?"

He nods, his coat billowing behind him before he sits at her side, keeping a respectful distance between them. "I've insisted you refer to me as Morpheus."

"Yes. I'm sorry. You have insisted that... Morpheus." His name coming from her mouth sends an odd tingle through his spine. "It's excited that you're here," May tells him, gesturing to the water where the undulation of it is suddenly spirited. Her laugh as it does this is melodic and joyful, the dulcet tones of a sweet harmony filling the air at the antics of the world around her.

"The Dreaming?" he questions.

May tilts her head at him. "Of course." She makes a little face in apparent bewilderment before she digs her toes further into the damp sand, like she's a plant trying to bury her roots in its warmth. "Have you never spoken to it?"

"No." He shakes his head. Speaking to a realm is not in his nature or necessary to his function. He shapes and maintains it, but he wasn't even aware it had voice.

"Why ever not?"

"It never occurred to me to do so," he responds, his answer honest.

"You should. It has the most lovely song." May grins in gentle affection and brushes long fingers over the sand as one might stroke a favored pet. A strange lump feels stuck in his throat then, as he watches her interact with such effulgence. She's especially beautiful like this, he realizes with a pang of something that's dangerously close to yearning.

"Were you not helping Lucienne today?" he asks instead of thinking any further on that particular observation. He’s noticed such thoughts cropping up more and more during these past months of conversations with her, and he knows it’s something that should be ignored for both their sakes. Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, is assuredly not lucky in love, and his romantic endeavors tend to end in either hatred, pain, destruction, heartbreak, or some calamitous mess of all those things. He thinks that for her help, he owes her better than to risk entanglement with the possibility of any of those outcomes.

May pulls a face not unlike that of a sulking youth. "She told me I looked peaky and ordered me to rest."

His lips twitch up in a faint smirk. "That certainly sounds like something she would say." Of course, he doesn't mention that his librarian seems especially attached to May herself, and that he's not sure she would fuss quite so much over him were he injured. He wonders why that is, as he has numerous times before by now, but he resigns himself to have patience on the matter, suspecting as he does that he’ll find out in due course.

"I considered sneaking back in, but I swear she has eyes everywhere."

"She does not have eyes here," he reassures with a furtive glance around, as if he's telling her some great secret. "Unless she foists a raven upon you, that is."

Her grin is a teasing one. "I heard that you were assigned a companion quite unwillingly. He’s sweet.... if a little new.”

"I could not seem to discard him." He sighs. "Though I tried. Numerous times."

"Be grateful that she only sent you a raven instead of following you around herself. Millennia living my life under my own terms and now I’m ordered about like an errant child. My independence has been utterly felled by the admonishment of the universe's sternest librarian."

She's full of levity though she's feigning seriousness, and it's unexpectedly humorous. It draws an unwilling huff of quiet laughter out of him. The little vibration of amusement feels alarmingly foreign in his throat, and he idly wonders how many creatures have ever pulled such a sound from him. May beams as if she's proud to have caused such a thing, but she does not address it, does not speak of it as if he's a skittish animal that she doesn't want to frighten off. "She's actually very glad to have her library back."

"I am aware," he answers dryly. "I believe she was more devastated by the loss of it than of me."

May's laugh does not strike him a foreign thing as his does. Hers is an obviously well-practiced sound, one that he's heard often enough in his realm that it's starting to work its way into the very fabric of his home. He studies her as discreetly as he can, wondering over the mystery of her yet again, until the caw of his raven interrupts him.

"Sir," Matthew calls out breathlessly, "there's someone here at the gates. Viego, I think? He wants to see May. He sounds... really pissed."

"Language, Matthew," Morpheus corrects, but beside him, May only sighs in something like resignation.

"Blast." She exhales heavily. "That's my brother. I forgot to get a message to him that I was safe. This is going to be delightful." She goes to stand, but Morpheus is on his feet first, holding a hand out for her to take in assistance, an oddly gallant gesture that he doesn't quite understand of himself. Power jolts between them when she slides her own palm in his, cool and grounding even as their magic seems relentlessly, jarringly drawn together. The few times he's touched her, he's noted the pull between their shifting energy, and he tells himself that it is the only true reason for his own curious captivation where she's concerned.

A part of him, though, that poor, fragile part that he’d hidden carefully beneath the ache from eons of heartbreak, knows better. Thankfully, he’s grown adept at ignoring that particular facet of himself.

PRESENT DAY...

In May's room, it is silent now.

Morpheus sits in a chair at her side, his power too drained to even consider willing away the dried blood on his physical form as he contemplates the events of the past few days.

He is a father again, though he has not held his little girl yet, reluctant as he is to have her brought into this place while her mother fights for her life, a dogged battle that is continuing to draw on the reserves of energy that he'd woven into the realm decades ago. It had been a fail safe, then, a way to ensure the longevity of the Dreaming should he ever be captured again, but he never could have imagined using it for this purpose, to pull his once-betrothed back from the Sunless Lands as she'd faded.

He will have to speak with his sister later, to confess his transgression and hope she does not challenge him regarding his interference in her function. It is a rule amongst the Endless that they should never intrude in one another's duties, and yet he had, seemingly without thought as to what repercussions might result from such blatant meddling.

In truth, he does not know why he had decided to save May in this manner, why he had not simply allowed her to fade like she should have done, but he had… panicked at the possibility of her loss for some reason. It is an unusual thing for him to admit to, that anxious twisting in his entire awareness that he'd felt each of the two times he'd realized that she was dying before him, and even now he is incapable of adequately explaining it, of making any real sense of that... fear of his then.

I should end this immediately, some bitter, prideful part of him whispers. He had not, after all, been the one to take her life, and so the blame for her death would not be his. But as soon as he thinks it, he knows better. May should never have been abducted, should never have been held and tortured, and she would have been safe if only he had answered a summons from her or her brother earlier. In this, he is assuredly at fault.

Though, he is not the only one to have played some part in this. She'd been weighed down by carrying his child, hurt beyond measure, and that loathsome creature Alexander Burgess had compounded those things by exploiting her weakened state, by using it to first capture and then torment her for almost the entire duration of her pregnancy.

Morpheus has never felt the urge to murder a mortal like he does in this instance.

Viego, however, has been the one to claim rights to such retribution, and Morpheus finds that he cannot argue him on that really. Viego is her family while Morpheus is… not. In fact, he is nothing to her save for the father of her child, their child, and so he has no inherent entitlement when it comes to seeking vengeance in her name. Her brother will do as he sees fit, and Morpheus will be forced to accept Viego's decision in this matter.

That desire to lock the youngest Burgess in an eternal nightmare of unspeakable pain and horrendous fear does not leave him, nonetheless, despite his rationalizations to the contrary.

He studies May anew, his eyes roving over her gaunt, thin face as she sleeps, the only part of her that is visible given the pile of bedding atop her. Viego had been the one to cover her in several blankets, carefully working the bloodied coats out from under her bare body before doing so, and the tenderness with which the maker had seen to this task had been strange for Morpheus. He's always known that they were close, that they had spent countless millennia together before she'd came to the Dreaming and made her home here, but to witness this clear proof of Viego's love for her is still shocking. Viego, he's always thought, was incapable of such an emotion.

It is odd to consider himself as being wrong, but to have the truth of Viego's sentiment laid before him in such startling clarity, Morpheus knows that wrong is certainly what he'd been in this regard. Observing this devotion between the siblings, however, causes a flurry of questions rise up within him. Had Viego… known that May had been lying to Morpheus, her future husband, all along? Had Viego been in full possession of every detail surrounding her deception? Had he kept silent out of loyalty? Or had there been a more duplicitous, conniving reason? Was he involved in hopes of some... gain? Her brother is near to the bed, and he's got a hold of May's hand, gripping it as if he's attempting to will her into consciousness so that he can ensure for himself she is well. The phrase thick as thieves comes to mind, and Morpheus understands in that moment that Viego likely had been aware of some of it, at least.

That sensation of betrayal washes over him, the bitterness of it feeling all too familiar these days. He had been a fool, and he is sure he can only blame himself for falling prey to May's schemes.

Just as he can only blame himself for her current condition.

As Morpheus had mended her, as he'd pushed his power into her ravaged body and healed her, his heart had broken with what he'd found there. He'd been made privy to the testament of her horrific ordeal, to her suffering told in the damage to her physical form. There, he had been made intimately aware of the layers of injury on nearly every part of her, the wounds that had closed and then been reopened, the bruises that had faded and been remade. Her captor's brutality had been grotesque, her barely there immortality likely the only thing that had kept her alive for as long as she had endured. And all because Morpheus had ignored her calls for him.

He is not too prideful to accept his fault in this, not too sure of himself to think he has not failed her in some way. I should have answered her, he thinks, his stomach clenching in some foreign feeling as he mulls over his own dereliction where she is concerned. I should have answered her, and had I done so, none of this would have came to pass.

May sleeps, her dreams nothing more than fevered images of the nightmare she's endured these past months, memories flooding into her dreamscape with all the harsh bite of a million snapping, razor sharp teeth. She's so lost, drifting really in a sea of terror and fear, that she thinks she might have died and went to Hell. Literal Hell.

Which… knowing what she's done, knowing the extent of her own monstrous deeds, she supposes that it makes sense she'd end her life suffering for all of eternity.

(Upstairs from the basement she's still frighteningly trapped in, there’s a commotion, and May freezes, her mind a frenzy of dread that's only a hairsbreadth from hysteria, before she seeks out a place that she can at least have the benefit of surprise on her side if she must fight. The knife in her hand is slippery, and she grips it tighter while she waits behind a stack of boxes off to one corner of the basement. Her daughter, now full of milk, sleeps peacefully in her arms, making no sound that can give away their location, and May is grateful for that small mercy at least.

The gate groans, and she hears measured footsteps moving toward her. May tries to calm her breathing, going still as she can in anticipation. A shadow arches over the space beside her, and she tenses herself to lunge out, to gut anything that comes near her or her child.

Only to see Morpheus, Dream of the Endless standing before her.

She thinks for one wild moment that he’s a trick of her mind, that the blood loss is giving her some kind of peaceful image as she dies. His eyes are sparkling at her, shining like there are tears gathering there amongst his stars, and he seems so... mournful, his sorrow thick in the air around them. Tentatively, he reaches out, his long fingers scant inches away from her…..)

May’s eyes snap open, and immediately she’s gasping for breath. All of her burns so fiercely, so painfully, that she’s not sure how her lungs are even functioning.

“May!” Viego’s voice calls out to her, frantic and relieved at the same time somehow. “You’re safe, sweetheart. Breathe. We got you….. You're here. You’re safe.”

Blearily, she blinks her eyes into focus, taking in the sight of her brother half kneeling on the bed as he brushes her hair back with trembling fingers, his touch grounding her in some way. Lucienne hovers behind him, a tremulous smile on her lips.

“Hi, sis,” Viego greets and leans forward to place a heavy kiss on her forehead. This is real. This has to be real. Her face crumples into a grateful sob while she tries to sit. Her brother's alive. He had found her. He had come for her. No doubt sensing her struggle, one of his large hands braces against her back, helping her up.

“How are you feeling?” Morpheus calmly asks from beside her, and May freezes at the sound of his question, frowning in confusion when she shifts her gaze from Viego to gape at the Endless sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. Beside her, he looks a wreck. His normally wild hair is laying almost flat against his head, and there’s dried blood on his face and hands. Missing his coat, his arms are bared by the t-shirt he's wearing and flecked with smudges of crimson red as well.

“Morpheus?” she asks, her voice shaking while she attempts to makes sense of his presence here. Are they… in the Dreaming? “What are you….”

“He helped me save you, sis,” Viego pipes up. “He was surprisingly a little useful.”

Morpheus cuts a glare at Viego, and Lucienne sighs from where she’s at behind him, as if she’s been listening to their bickering for far too long and is tired of it.

Not that May can really focus on that, though. Fear washes over her so quickly that it's dizzying. Has he taken Aurora? Did he bring her back here to steal her baby away? Alarm swells within her, sudden and sickening. Her child. Her child.

“Where is my daughter?” The panic slams into her like it’s a physical blow, heavy and hard.

“She’s safe as well,” Lucienne answers, her tone soothing. “We’ve had Minnie caring for her. Would you like me to get her for you?”

May’s not ashamed of the way tears spill out of her eyes as she nods and her friend leaves. She needs to feel the warm weight of her baby in her arms, needs to verify that she’s hale and whole for herself, needs to protect her from... she's not quite sure. Maybe Morpheus? Maybe something worse? Why can't she think clearly?

Lucienne comes back in mere minutes, holding a bundle of clean blankets that she coos at before placing in May’s arms.

If she was crying a little before, she’s opened up the floodgates now.

“Hi, sweetling.” She greets the little girl with a watery laugh, studying her through blurry vision. Blue eyes blink up at her, but the infant mostly looks unimpressed at being roused from her sleep. “You’re okay. Everything is okay now.”

At her side, Morpheus has gone more rigid than usual, and May finds that a flush of shame takes over her. She imagines for a moment that she can feel the sorrowful yearning coming off of him as he stares, can hear his song go lower than usual, its beat mournful and slow while he watches her with their child. “Have you….. Have you seen her yet?” she asks tentatively, though she thinks she might already know the answer.

He meets her eyes like he’s just snapped out of a trance, and she notices that there are no stars there, that the nebulae she once loved to see twinkling from his irises are no more. “No…. I have been here.”

He hasn't even glanced upon their daughter, too busy sitting bedside to do so, and May feels her heart clench at the thought of that, at her assumption that he would so spitefully rend their infant from her. He might hate her, might hurt her, but... she's always known that he was incapable of harming a child. It’s a difficult concession to make because she doesn't trust him, but Aurora is his as well. May holds the girl out slightly from her body. “Would you… Do you….Do you want to hold her?”

Don't, an aberrant voice in her head orders harshly, once he's got a hold of her he'll never relinquish her. You might as well give her up forever if you hand her over to the nightmare king.

May ignores those thoughts as best she can when he stands and sits across from her on the bed. Infinitely careful, he takes the baby from where May's holding her out, cradling his daughter against his chest and staring into the little galaxies of her eyes told in a lovely, deep cerulean blue.

“She’s beautiful,” he breathes out, and the awe in his voice makes May want to cry all over again. She curses her hormones for this newfound tendency to weep so uncontrollably.

“Aurora,” she supplies and sees Viego's gaze flick to her, his expression one of shocked realization before his features go sentimental in understanding. Aurora, after all, had been one of their mother's many names.

“The light before the sunrise,” Morpheus says softly, unaware of the significance of what May's chosen to call their daughter. “It suits her.”

“Is she…. healthy?” May ventures hesitantly, looking away from her brother to turn her attention to the Endless on the bed. “I couldn’t check for myself, and….” she trails off while Morpheus frowns at her, but she notices that his eyes look wet, as if he’s so overcome with emotion at meeting Aurora that he's almost been moved to tears.

“Your magic is depleted.” It is not a question, but she nods anyway.

“Yes,” she answers aloud. In truth she wants to laugh bitterly at his assumption. Her magic isn’t depleted. It’s bound inside of her, caged within the runes she’d carved into herself to contain it. Depleted almost implies that it might return, and May knows that she can never let that happen. Not if she wants to live. She doesn't have to let him know any of that, though, doesn't have to share this particular weakness with him when she already feels so very diminished. She considers that it might be safer for her if he thinks that her powers will eventually come back, that she will inevitably be able to defend herself again. She's not quite sure why she thinks this, though, and she finds herself shaking her head a little as if to clear it.

Morpheus studies their daughter more closely, his eyes sparkling again while he pulls aside the blanket and washes his power over her. Aurora suddenly screams at him, loud and high pitched, and he appears uncharacteristically startled by it, seemingly unsure of what to do in the face of her infantile ire.

At the sound of her crying, however, May feels a tell-tale heaviness in her breasts and realizes that she might know what's bothering their child. “Here.” She stretches her hands out, unbearably anxious to have her back. “She’s probably hungry.”

Morpheus nods once and relinquishes her, transferring the baby carefully to May, though reluctance at letting her go is clearly visible in the tense of his muscles. He'll keep her forever, some dark frightened part of her mind whispers, he'll send you away again and tear her from you as easily as he tore his love away.

May attempts to will the panic away as best she can, taking several deep breaths as she focuses instead on letting her daughter latch on. Viego had said that Morpheus saved her, and he doesn't seem as if he's trying to keep her from their child now. She glances down at Aurora, trying to calm herself with this reasoning.

“She is healthy and strong,” Morpheus tells her, still sitting on the bed. The relief she feels at this news is palpable, until he ruins it by adding, “You, however, are not.”

May frowns up at him, surprised, while she idly strokes their daughter’s head. “I’m fine.”

Compared to the hellish circumstances she'd just endured, she feels better now than she has in a long time. Her mind, granted, is still a little fuzzy, a little off, but she's not in any pain, which is a dramatic improvement from the past however many months she'd been held captive and... May stops the thought, that of her ordeal in the basement, in an instant, finding herself absolutely not okay with addressing that in any way, shape, or form right this minute.

She doesn’t miss the look that Lucienne and Viego exchange beside her, though, as Morpheus continues on. “We will bring in food, and you must eat. Even if it makes you sick, we must get sustenance in you.”

At the thought of anything in her body, her stomach roils in disgust. “I don’t think-”

“There will be no discussion on this,” he cuts her off roughly before he seems to check himself and forcibly gentle his tone. “I believe the pregnancy worsened the toll of captivity on your body. I was able to heal everything that had been done to you save for the effects of the starvation. Your stomach has completely stopped functioning. It took much to mend and rebuild the decayed muscles of it, and you must get them working again if the healing is to remain permanent. It will kill you otherwise. You are drawing on my power in the meantime to simply breathe, to…. exist.”

May feels herself instinctively rear back a little. “What?”

“You were dying, sis,” Viego says, oddly quiet until now. “I couldn't... really do anything for you.”

She doesn’t know what to do with this information. How far gone had she been? It sounded less like she had been dying and more as if she had already been dead. To link power like that is intimate, and she wonders what might have spurred him to do such a thing. Had Viego forced his hand somehow? Had Lucienne interceded on her behalf? He could have simply let her die and had his daughter to himself, no awkward co-parenting with a much hated ex-lover required.

“You lent me your power once to save me,” Morpheus explains as if he’s reading her mind, his voice strangely soft. “I thought it the very least I owed you to return the favor.”

Tears spring up in her eyes again, and she has to look away from him. Once, she had given much for him, but she didn’t think he cared about that any longer, didn't think that he was still tallying up the moments and deeds between them and trying to figure out what he owed her.

He certainly hadn’t been doing so when last they'd argued and he’d almost murdered her in his anger.

"Thank you," she offers quietly. The gratitude is a stone in her belly, though, too much like indebtedness to him, and she hates it. She wants to leave, to climb to her feet and run away from this realm, to escape all of its bittersweet memories and its ruler who clearly loathes her, but she knows that she can't. Not now. Not with his power keeping her alive. Not with the innocent child between them that clearly needs his protection. "I'll do what I can to… to heal as quickly as possible."

Morpheus nods again, and May feels as if some sort of deal between them has been struck. The shattered pieces of her heart tremble at the thought.

Immediately after leaving the Dreaming and his broken sister behind, Viego had found his way to the estate of Fawney Rig and began his work there. He hums spiritedly now as he wipes off one of his smaller blades, ignoring the muffled gasps of agony behind him.

Like his sister, he's almost fatally realistic about some things, and so Viego isn't ignorant of what he is and what he isn't. He knows he's a monster at his core, that he's objectively a bad person. He knows he isn't good.

His sister thinks better of him than she should. After thousands of years, she thinks that the darkness in him has settled into the nothing of shadow, that he'd started letting go of those nightmarish urges of his in favor of the kind of normalcy that she's always wanted for him. Normalcy that he knows his deep-rooted darkness will never really allow.

Beneath his hand, the human Alexander Burgess squirms in his hold. He's crying again, which is probably the stupidest thing the man could do in this situation. His desperate whimpers of pain are honestly one of the sweetest sounds to Viego, like a fantastic song set to play on repeat.

While May might prefer the gentle swelling arpeggio of creation, he's always enjoyed the discordant cacophony of destruction. And this fucker in particular, the one who'd tortured his little sister for months, who'd nearly killed her, who'd put that fear in her that makes bile rise in his stomach every time he sees her flinch…. his destruction is going to leave Viego a glorious song that he'll relish forever .

"Alex…. I can call you Alex, right?" he asks, personably, like they're new friends chatting over coffee or something. "Listen, man, I really really need to know where you got that youth spell from."

The spell had set his teeth on edge when he'd first heard the tune of it eeking out of the unnaturally young-old man, the melody reminding him a little too much of his home realm. Like an animal sensing danger, Viego had felt his hackles rise at it. He'd had to sort May first, but he'd sworn to return and have a conversation with Alexander Burgess about its origination afterwards.

The aforementioned man, who's currently pinioned to the dining room table of Fawney Rig, clenches his jaw around his gag to keep from answering.

Viego snorts out a laugh, as if his reticence is particularly amusing. He turns his attention to look over the assortment of knives he'd brought for this particular meeting. Debating between the small paring knife (which honestly just seems like an inordinate amount of extra work when he thinks about it), and the one made especially for skinning animals (faster and easier, he guesses, if one enjoys that sort of thing), he finally settles on the latter. He's had kind of a hard day if he's being honest, and slightly easier just sounds better.

The one eye he's left Alex with widens when the light catches the blade. Distraught, he tries to let lose a muffled scream as he pulls vigorously against the tight restraints holding him.

"Let's not start that again." Viego sighs, as if his desperation is particularly irksome. "You think I don't know how to set up some damned ties? What in every hell makes you think I don't know how to do this? It's insulting, you know." He emphasizes this admonishment by neatly and quickly slicing a piece of skin no bigger than his hand from Alex's leg.

The beautiful tune of his guest’s suffering, that shriek of agony blunted by the fabric of a gag, is nothing less than the most wondrous melody.

Viego holds the skin up to the light, displaying it to the frightened man as he tilts his head to the side, looking at it with the critical eye of an artist. "On second thought, you might have a point. That is kind of sloppy. It's definitely not my best work," he says with a grin before tossing the flesh onto one of the stupid pretentious dining room chairs he'd shoved against a wall. It lands with a wet flop. "Maybe I'm slipping a little. Let's see if I can't get it this time."

He's got the whole leg almost cleaned of skin to the thigh before he manages to create something that meets his exacting standards.

"Now that is a perfect cut," he tells Alex somewhat breathlessly. "I guess practice really does make perfect, huh?"

Of course, his only answer is a subdued sob from his rapidly dulling guest. They just don't make evil assholes like they used to, he thinks mournfully. Nine or so centuries ago in Crete, he'd skinned a pedophile murderer all the way up to his neck that hadn't even begged for mercy until Viego had started in on his face. This guy's probably going to pass out before Viego gets to his fingers, which is just super disappointing. But Viego supposes that he shouldn't be too upset about it, given that he does have a job to do in the meantime with getting information and whatnot.

"I'm going to need to know where you got that spell," Viego informs him again, his tone rather pleasant despite all the vitriolic fury roiling inside of him.

Alex finally nods, and Viego carefully pulls the gag from his mouth, mindful of his teeth. Getting bitten is such an amateurish mistake. He hasn't made it since he'd been younger and had first started this little hobby of his, not realizing then the lengths that people would go to for survival, especially vicious murderous bastards. Point being, though, he's not inclined to make it again.

"I'm so glad we can talk, now," Viego tells the man, an affable smile tugging his lips up. "It's the only reason I let you keep your tongue and teeth, you know. This whole thing can get awful lonely without company."

"Please…" Alex rasps out.

The darkness in Viego swells at that, at the audacity of this asshole to dare beg him. He sees the binding circles, his sister covered in too much of her own blood, fear and pain so bright in her eyes she'd seemed like a feral animal. He sees the taut stretch of her skin over bones from being starved to death over and over, the cuts that he'd sewn back up with the librarian during that dreadful, anxiety-ridden wait in the Dreaming. Viego knows his art well, and as he'd looked at the broken body of the only other living person in his very long life he'd ever loved, he had known exactly what this thing had done to her.

"Did she beg?" he asks at last, keeping his voice as mild as he can. "When you tortured her? When you skinned part of her arm?" He pokes Alex's arm with the bloodied knife as if to prove a point. "When you beat her and burned her? When you cut into her? Did she beg for food when you starved her to death again and again?"

"She…. She screamed…. a couple….. a couple times."

Viego nods. It's what he expected. His sister has always been a tough old bird at her core, even when she wasn’t old at all. Even when she had been just a kid, really. "Now see…. If she were here right now, she would order me to let you go." Viego purses his lips. "She's like that. Stupidly kind. I mean, we've had some arguments over it in the past, real blow ups, you know? But she's… not as big of a fan of bloodshed as me."

Alex looks so utterly hopeful in that moment that Viego almost feels sorry for him. Almost. "I still need to know where you got the youth spell, Alex."

"A witch…. she gave it to me for a vial of the… of her blood," Alex tells him hurriedly. "It had to be taken…. taken straight from her heart."

"May's heart?" Viego clarifies, frowning. There aren't a lot of spells that require straight heartblood like that. Most of them have been lost to time, and even the ones that have survived have to be performed by a witch of exacting caliber, of whom there are very few left alive today.

"She was very specific. She gave…. gave me a special needle for it and everything."

"Hmmmm." Maker's blood is unfortunately very potent as is. It'sone reason why their kind had been hunted to near extinction. The first thing he'd done when he'd gotten back to Fawney Rig had been to unmake every cell of his sister's being from that basement, from the blood all over the fucking place to the placenta from Aurora's birth still left in the binding circle. "You know what it was for?"

Alex tries to shake his head, but the strap over his forehead won't let him make the movement. "Not really…. but she said…. Hadris? Hadrus? Something…. Something like that."

"Hadrius?" he demands, suddenly insistent, the cold pinprick of fearful fury spreading over him. "Was it Hadrius?"

"I think that was… it."

He feels his chest clench in that old, familiar terror that accompanies that bastard's name. What the hell would he want with May's blood? And heartblood at that? Whatever it is, Viego knows it likely isn't fucking good.

"Thank you, Alex," he offers the man and means it. He has been very helpful, after all. "I'm going to put the knife away now. He goes to his tools and sets the skinning knife neatly in its place before he grabs a set of pliers.

"No…" Alex whimpers in horror, his eyes flooding with tears, snot leaking from his nose. "No! You said…. You said your sister would make you free me."

"Oh, she would," Viego confirms in clear disapproval. "The problem is, Alex, that she's not here now. She's recovering from all those terrible, terrible things you did to her. Soooo…" He squeezes the man's cheeks, wrenching his mouth open. "It's just you and me…. and now that I know everything I need to know, I think I'd rather you just not talk anymore….. "

Viego tightens the pliers, squeezing them in his hand, his darkness practically dancing in anticipation of the song he's about to make.

It's the last thing he really says to Alex Burgess, preferring to let his work speak for him. His screams of agony, Viego thinks as he works, are like a good song on repeat, and he can’t help but to smile as he loses himself in the melody.

After seeing to the tasks of the past few days, their tending delayed by his involvement in rescuing May and waiting for her to waken, Morpheus is… exhausted. Weary beyond measure, he is walking towards his chambers when he hears the sound of an infant mewling, and it takes him several seconds before he reminds himself that it could be no other than his own child making those pitiful noises, sobbing out of some need. Not bothering to knock, he enters May's quarters, going past the sitting area and hallways as he makes his way to her bedroom within.

There, the little girl, his little girl, cries while May slumbers heavily, and Morpheus hesitates at the threshold of her room for but a minute before coming to a decision and walking over to pick his daughter up, cradling her against his chest. He glances towards the sleeping female on the bed to make sure she's still resting, unwilling to wake her when she so clearly needs it but also worried to have her stir and panic at his presence. He is, unfortunately, painfully aware of the fear that May seems to have of him regarding their new baby. It twists something inside of him for some reason he doesn't understand, that she thinks so lowly of him, that she's so terrified of him, that she believes him cruel enough to even consider keeping their child from her.

Their child , he thinks in sudden, surreal awe regardless, his heart swooping unfamiliarly. Their daughter. When first he'd held Aurora, his world had seemed to tilt precariously at the nudge of his and May's combined power made corporeal in the little one, at the very last remnant of their lost love made flesh in his arms, warm and trusting and defenseless. In an instant, he had known that there was no denying who this child belonged to. Initially, a part of him had hoped that Lucienne and Viego were mistaken, that this baby had been born of another, thinking that May's duplicitous betrayal of him might grant her ease in finding a new lover rather quickly, but it was not so. The shame of that thought now burns. He had assumed the worst of her while she was hurting, suffering horribly because of the babe he had unknowingly put in her, and the blame of that rests squarely on his shoulders.

No matter that he was right to send her away from him, right to banish her, he had indeed left her with child, left her unprotected and unsafe. He still struggles to admit it, even to himself, but he knows that he bears fault for her current condition, that the guilt he feels for not doing his duty by her is appropriately placed. She'd been tortured, starved, and hurt because of his failings, and she'd almost died giving birth, was near enough to death by the time they found her that he could hear his sister's wings in the distance before he'd pushed his own power into her. And that almost hadn't been enough to keep her alive, such was the extent of her injuries. If it hadn't been for Lucienne and Matthew ignoring his orders, they never would have gotten to her and the child in time, which would have seen the two of them surely perishing in that basement.

He knows he cannot change what has happened, though. He can only strive to do better for them both, for May and for the baby in his arms who's currently squirming in fussiness. And he wonders over this personal vow of his. A mere century ago, he likely would not have cared, would not have felt the pang of his transgressions so deeply as he does now. But then, he has changed in some way. Of that he is certain. His own captivity had been a rather humbling experience, and he'd learned in its aftermath how fragile the fabric of the universe around him truly was, how fleeting even the most constant of things could be. It had been May, seemingly kind and good-hearted, who had taught him compassion, who had taught him what it was to truly love, and though he'd eventually discovered that she was a deceiver, those lessons she'd thrust upon him had unfortunately remained behind even after he'd cast her out. Even after he'd learned to loathe her for what she'd done to him, learned to hate her for hurting him as she had.

But that is neither here nor there. Whether he hates May or not, he owes her for this child of his and what she'd been through to birth the girl, owes her doubly so for the way he'd erred in ignoring her summons.

Carefully, he readjusts his hold of his daughter. For all that he's held an infant before, he feels awkward doing so now. He supposes it has been a long time, and his heart clenches as he resolutely tries not to think of his son Orpheus when he pulls this child of his into his warmth.

"Aurora," he says, his low voice soothing, "allow your mother to sleep." She calms immediately in his arms as if she's understood, looking up at him with large wet eyes, nearly perfect copies of May's own when they're lit up with her power, save for the way that they sparkle with his stars.

That magic of hers reaches out to him again, a tiny vining spark that connects against the wall of his own Endless power. "Hello, little one," he greets, smiling tenderly at her. The budding power suddenly shoves hard, pulling a huff of laughter from him. " Now you remind me of your mother. Her magic tends towards such adamancy… as does yours, apparently."

And that's yet another thing he forces himself not to think about as he glances again at the figure on the bed. He tries to ignore the memory of the devastating emptiness he'd felt of her power when he'd healed her. Some part of him, the part that stands out from his shadows, hopes that it isn't gone forever, that it isn't yet another loss for her that he will be the cause of.

He realizes, however, that it might be a fool's hope, that.

Aurora is whimpering anew, and he sits in a plush chair in the room, settling his daughter against his chest more easily this time. "Would you like to hear a story, my precious starshine?"

She quiets at the sound of his voice as if in agreement, so softly he starts to tell her about the formation of the first star that ever came into being. And his little girl, whom he already loves so much that it takes his breath away and makes him inexplicably afraid at the same time, drifts back to sleep in the peace and safety of his arms.

NEXT CHAPTER

#dad!morpheus #morpheus x oc #sandman fic #morpheus as a father #morpheus x pregnant oc #sandman fanfiction #morpheus fanfiction #dream of the endless #morpheus fic #sandman oc #morpheus x reader

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bluandtherestlesshands · 9 months ago

Text

I drew the same character about 100 days apart. Here’s what happened.

During the holidays I was given an iPad for the first time, and a friend graciously paid for me to download Procreate. I was struggling and stagnant using paper and pencil, and a shaky hand was making it very difficult to continue. Regardless, I wanted to keep going.

So I decided my first digital piece on here would be my Pokémon OC Cady - short for Arcadia - because I had a much more solid concept on her than my other OCs. At the time I was happy with the piece, and didn’t let myself get deterred. Clearly I still had a lot to learn.

From there it became about continuing to draw just about daily. Taking my time with the pieces instead of just rushing through to “complete them so I could comm someone else”. Not having to fight with colors and not having the right pencil was also a huge bonus.

Over time, bit by bit, I practiced with the different brushes and how to make different layers work in my favor. Eventually that same good friend who paid for my program also gave me some pointers on how to render soft skin, and I’ve never looked back.

For drawing Cady again, I knew I wanted to show off my anatomy progress and the shaded skin. Maybe mess with transparency of mesh. A lingerie piece seemed the best idea, so I went that route… Aside from a scene it made me think of which worked out to keep motivation.

The end result was this gorgeous piece that I could not be more proud of… The skin shading, flushing of body parts, and the pose telling a story… Muah, chef’s kiss ✨

I know it’s been said time and time again, but when it comes to art… Keep fucking going. You don’t have to finish the piece on the same day, if at all! Have fun with it and keep practicing, one day you will get there. Don’t be afraid to step outside your comfort zone. ❤️

#restlesshands drawing #procreate #100 days of drawing #pokemon #pokemon oc #lingerie #pinup

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peterthepark · 3 years ago

Text

august slipped away

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

summary: peter parker and you spend the last days of your summer together with the intention of saying goodbye, even though you aren’t ready.

tags: umm sad lol, fluff and angst, graphic smut, lots of physical touch, heartbreak, peter is in love and it sucks, mentions of the ocean

notes: SURPRISE FIC!!! based off of taylor swift’s “august.” enjoy lovebirds <3

missing out? ➤ my masterlist

part two: twisted in bedsheets

The sea below Peter whispers a soft ballad as it brings him to a newfound place of tranquility. His clothes billow in the breeze while he pushes off the rail, treading along the crowded pier with his hands in the pockets of his board shorts. There’s sand in his unruly hair, quite possibly in his eyes, and his chest feels sticky with sweat. The heat stings his face, in which he regrets not wearing sunscreen. He can’t help but touch his skin, feeling the whisper of your hands around his collarbones and his ribs, the shape of your lips tattered down his spine.

It’s the peak of August now, and for the first summer in his life, Peter is in love.

Love is an understatement, because Peter could still recall how you chatted him up at the diner one warm night. You could tell he wasn’t a local, moreso you could tell he wasn’t even from California — over a strawberry milkshake, Peter had told you that he had been avoiding home and that he just needed to get somewhere far away for a little while. The New Yorker made out with you in the mens’ bathroom before you even knew his name. Since then, he spent every waking day with you; he’d smell of sex and the ocean, and walk around town decorated in hickeys. Had it been anyone else, Peter wouldn’t have called it love. But with you, it was different. It felt real, and Peter didn’t need years to know who you were. In the months he spent with you, he memorized you like the back of his hand.

But like every other season, summer eventually comes to an end. And with summer comes autumn, meaning Peter has to leave for New York sooner or later. In a hazy late-night argument about wanting him to stay, he had admitted to being Spider-Man; it rendered you speechless, and you understood his reason. The hero didn’t belong here, to which you realized that Peter had much bigger problems than you.

Loving him came so easy, but it hurt so bad knowing that he’d be gone one day. You always wondered what would be more painful: him being erased from your life completely and knowing he was still somewhere, or him never existing in the first place.

Peter’s hands encircle around your waist when he finds you underneath the shade of the ice cream stand. His calluses brush over the exposed skin of your stomach, while his chin buries itself into your shoulder.

“Hey, loverboy.” You laugh, turning your head to kiss him softly on the cheek. You offer him your ice cream cone, and Peter licks at the vanilla scoop with a teasing glint in his eyes. Boyishly, he moans at the taste and throws his head back before winking at you. You shake your head at him with a hushed voice. “You dirty man. What are you up to?”

His lips feel wet against your skin. He gathers your hair to one side of your neck, pushing it away from your face. “Just been thinking about how I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He can practically see the pout on your face.

“What’s up, bug?”

“Last day.” You mutter in a weak and broken whisper, looking out at the waves crashing onto the shore. “Today’s our last day, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter’s smile seams into a thin gloomy line void of emotion. “Last day.”

You don’t respond with anything but a short hum of acknowledgment, slightly swaying in his grasp as you lean against his front. He closes his eyes, moving his arms to wrap them around the width of your shoulders while the bump of his nose nudges against your back. Peter places a hand over your beating heart and reminds himself to breathe. He doesn’t want to think of anything else but you and the saltiness of the sea.

“Let’s not talk about it and let’s just,” You look at him with wide and hopeful eyes that dart rapidly across his features. He could see your desperation masked behind the calmness of your demeanor, to which his heart aches at the sight. “Go somewhere. Away. Are you finally sick of the beach?”

Peter shakes his head, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I like it here with you. The weather is beautiful.”

“Oh, is this who we are now? Talking about the weather?” The warm rumble of Peter’s laugh seeps into you.

He mimics a news anchor, contorting his face into different expressions. “And for today’s forecast, we have a temperature of ninety-eight degrees with sunny skies. The clouds are nowhere to be seen, but if you squint at the skyline, we have a bit of smog approaching from the west.” His voice dips down into a low octave, eyebrows pulled into a serious furrow as he continues. “But, wait! We have breaking news coming to you live.”

“Oh, God.” You rub at your eyebrows with a grin. “Peter, drop it—“

He tilts his head to look at you, his bottom lip jutting out. “You don’t wanna hear my breaking news, Y/N?”

You cup his cheek with a sigh. “Pardon the technical difficulties, please continue.”

“According to an unknown source, a beautiful girl has been spotted on the Santa Monica beach.”

“Oh, has she now?”

“Mhm.” He hums, eyes dancing over you as he fixes the bangs framing your face. “And she’s mine.” He dips down to kiss you, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging. He pulls away for a second. “She’s all mine. My little lovebug.”

His nose bumps into yours longingly. You adore him. His jokes, his smile, his voice. You wish things were different, and the thought of Peter packing his bags after spending many nights and mornings together makes you blue. A sniffle escapes through your nostrils, and Peter’s thumb quickly catches the teardrop by your waterline.

“Can’t we just lay in bed all day and cry?” You laugh through watery eyes, running your fingers through his hair.

He can’t deny how beautiful you look.

“Y/N, you know I’d love to do that,” His expression falters, and Peter can’t help but look over at the ocean again. “…but I think I’d wind up staying.”

“And is that such a bad thing, Peter?”

He kisses you again, refusing to answer because he couldn’t trust the strength of his own voice. But he gives in. Peter preferred the warmth of your own bed rather than the sights of the city. Sunlight peeks from between the cracks in the curtains of your small townhouse. It overlooks the sand, performing its own soundtrack of waves crashing upon the shore. The young sunrise casts over your room and the unmade bed, bouncing off the unfinished beer bottles on the balcony and the drying swimsuits that hang over the rail like a clothesline. As Peter unties the back of your bikini top, his lips find your clavicle, reuniting with a bittersweet hello to the love bite that he had left not too long ago. The sun frames you, and it looks as if you’re glowing from the inside.

Everything about you reminds Peter of the sun.

He thinks summer is his favorite season.

“Peter…” You breathe into his mouth, pulling him onto the bed that still memorized the indents of your bodies. The boy sits with his back against the headboard, and you take it as an invitation. You swing your legs on either side of him, letting your knees meet the mattress. He guides your hands to his shoulders, while his rest on your hips.

“I love you.” He whispers with tenderness.

You want to cry.

“I love you.” He says again, curling his finger against your jaw.

You melt into him and lovingly lean your head against his.

“I love you.”

You capture his lips in a desperate kiss. Your movements are rushed, hurried, and messy; it makes Peter realize that time is slipping. It reminds him that every minute he spends with you will be his last unless he’s ever able to see you again, and his chest feels tight as he follows the outline of your curves with a lack of fluidity. He wants to remember this.

Peter grasps at you as if you’re a lifeline, yet at the same time he finds himself drowning in you.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” He murmurs into your ribs as your back arches. Your head rolls back whilst you softly grind your hips against his lap. You’re covered in the wetness of his kisses and your body quivers at the sounds of his whimpers. “Where have you been all my life?”

Another tear of overwhelming love rolls down your cheek, trailing down your cheekbone and past your neck.

You didn’t know the answer when Peter had first asked that night in the diner, and even now you still didn’t know the answer. You too wondered where he had been all your life. And you wondered why your time together could only be so long.

“I’ve been here…” You rock against him, needily tugging his shirt over his head. You toss it away and let your nails roam down his chest, across his abdomen, then you kiss the scars on his biceps. “… waiting for you.” Peter sits up and his hands cup either side of your face, staring into your eyes fervidly. “And I’ll be here…” He blinks back tears as you press your forehead against his. “… waiting for you like I have before, Peter.”

He guides you down onto the bed with one hand on your lower back, rolling on top of you so that he could kneel between your legs. “Fuck, you drive me crazy.” Peter feels like a lovesick puppy; he kisses up and down your inner thighs slowly, only ever using teeth to nip at the supple skin. His eyes wander over your face, taking in the way you look at him with such trust and devotion. “So warm, so perfect.”

You chuckle at the remark. “Mm, warm? Am I a blanket?”

Peter outstretches your leg and rests it upon his shoulder. He cranes his head to leave open-mouthed kisses along your calf. “Exactly like a blanket. I could stay wrapped in you forever.” He caresses your ankle. “Always so warm when I touch you.”

Your eyelashes flutter at him shyly as he moves to your other calf. “Maybe you make me all hot inside.”

“I think you’re just hot, bug.” His laugh is soft, but his gaze darkens as his mouth travels up your leg again. “Mine, yeah?”

“Yours.”

Peter fumbles with the button of your shorts. His fingers find the zipper, then he’s pulling the denim down your thighs. He discards the material, throwing it off to the side like you had done with his shirt. “I’m so in love with you.” He leans down to kiss at your clothed mound, lips ghosting over the lacy thong as his nose nudged against your stomach. “You make me wanna be a better man.”

Your nails card through his hair, massaging his scalp as you buzz under his touch. “You are a better man, the best.” You send him an air-kiss as he smiles at your words. “My hero. My Spider-Man.”

His eyes find yours when he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties. You nod in approval, watching Peter with eagerness as he rids you of them. You sigh when he presses a kiss to your core, then he’s suctioning his lips around your clit. You moan breathily, spreading your legs wider for him as he nestles between. He’s already hard from making out with you, and you motion for him to take off his shorts.

There’s a wet patch of pre-cum leaking through his underwear, and Peter grows flush as you look shamelessly. You simply smirk at him before the brunette returns his attention to you.

His lips suckle at your folds — he’s gentle, using his hands to soothingly trace the outside of your thighs.

“Oh, Pete…” You mewl when his tongue flicks at your entrance. Peter spreads your folds apart with his fingers to taste more of you. Your fragrance takes over his senses, spurring him on as he buries his mouth deeper into you. You bite down on your index finger, shutting your eyes at the sensation.

“S’okay, Y/N. Let me take care of you.” Peter’s eyes follow the rise and fall of your chest, and he can’t help but latch his lips onto your nipples as his middle finger slips into you. You moan his name again with a loosened jaw. “There you go, baby. Feels good, doesn’t it? One finger enough to make you cum?” You shake your head at him. “Two?” You nod, grasping Peter’s forearm as his ring finger joins his middle. You clench around him, and he groans. “That’s my girl. God, I love this view — my fingers filling you up, pumping in and out of you. Fuck, Y/N. I’m gonna fucking miss this.”

The noises from between your legs are filthy. Juices squelch around Peter’s digits and he licks at your folds with lust-blown pupils. “Shit, Peter… f-fuck.” You gently push his head further into you, pulling at his locks. The motion makes his cock twitch in his underwear, and he can’t help but palm himself for relief. “S-so good with your mouth.”

“Yeah? Tell me more, bug.”

“I love — I love your fingers. The way you stretch me out… oh, fuck… so nicely.” Peter grins against your skin as you shyly look away. He likes hearing this. “But… fuck.”

“Hm? But what?” His mouth hovers over your core, raising an eyebrow.

“I like your cock better.”

The comment sets fire to the pit of his stomach.

Peter cooes. “Oh, baby, I know you do.” His fingers slip out of you, and his hands knead at your ass. “Such a good girl telling me what you like.”

One of your favorite things about Peter is his way with words. Although his mouth usually uttered nothing but nerdish nonsense or even the dirtiest of remarks, the brunette had the ability to praise like no one else. Sometimes ‘good girl’ would turn into ‘little devil’ and sometimes ‘my whore’ would turn into ‘my lovebug,’ and it drove you wild. He knew how to turn you on, and he knew his way around the depths of your body.

“Peter, please.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m just as ready to be inside you.” You suddenly shift onto your knees, mirroring Peter. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good, too.” You gently push his underwear down, and Peter lifts himself up momentarily to join the boxers with your collection of clothing. Your thumb finds the reddened tip of his cock, swiping the pre-cum off his slit. Your hand becomes a fist as you stroke him slowly, and his head falls onto your shoulder in a loud moan. His thighs are sprawled out, muscles rippling as his knees dig into the sheets. “Look at you, my loverboy.”

“You see what you do to me?” Peter ruts himself against your fist, hissing as your pace of hand changes. “God, fuck. You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Cum then.” You whisper against his ear, licking at his earlobe. “Please cum, Peter. It’s gonna feel so good.”

It’s a sight to see; Peter Parker kneeling on the mattress with his face burying into your shoulder, moaning unabashed as you give him a handjob.

The man was nothing but putty in your grasp.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He shuts his eyes, placing his mouth on your pulse point. He bites you softly, and you praise him as cum spills over your fist. His whole body twitches, and you place a steady hand over his thigh as you lean to kiss him.

“Let me ride you.”

“No, no. Lay down.”

“Pretty please?” You lick Peter’s cum off your hand, blinking at him expectantly. The intimate action causes Peter to groan, and he gives in to your request. He moves to sit back against the headboard, and your legs take their place on either side of him once more. “I’ll go nice and slow, yeah?”

“If you get tired, just tell me.” He mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I won’t.”

You take his length into your hand, guiding it slowly into your entrance. You gasp as his tip pushes into you, and you could still feel him pulsating from his last orgasm.

“Take it easy, bug.” Peter whispers as he pulls you flush against his chest. His arms wrap around you, mixing your sweat against his. “Don’t rush. I wanna remember every part of you.” His head rolls back as you fully envelop his cock, grinding your hips in a rhythmic motion once he settles in. “S’like you were made for me.”

“I’m yours.”

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

His large hands cup your ass, spreading you apart as you begin to roll against him. Your pelvis starts to bump into his abdomen, and Peter can’t help but admire the way your tits look. He kisses at the swell of your breasts, taking a nipple between his lips while he looks up at you. His eyes, though hungry and blown with lust, are filled with nothing but adoration and awe.

He loves how your body looks in the sunlight.

“Oh, Y/N.” His voice is garbled, and his gaze shifts to look at how he slips in and out of your entrance. “F-fucking hell, Y/N.”

“I love you so much.” You breathe hard, kissing the bridge of Peter’s nose as he takes over. His hips snap into you; the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. Though, faintly, he could still hear the ocean waves, with their intermixed blues and whites crawl to the doused shore.

Peter thinks your moans are prettier than the ocean itself.

He feels you clench around him and his thrusts slow. His cock reaches deep inside you, prodding against the particular sweet spot that always felt so pleasurable.

You’re nothing but a moaning blubbering mess, scratching at Peter’s back as he coaxes you further onto his length.

“I’m gonna — Peter, fuck, I’m cumming!”

His embrace is tight around you, and his thrusts don’t stop anytime soon. He lets the wave of your orgasm pull you under, and he cums once more at the sound of your moans. You gasp at the feeling of fullness and the feeling of his cum soaking inside you. In a breathy fit of laughter, your forehead hits him, and you stay there with heads pressing against one another. Peter can hear the quickness of your heartbeat; he places a chaste kiss just above your left breast.

Opening his eyes, he looks at you with longing. And your lips pull into a sad smile as your fingertips trace over the smattered freckles on his cheeks. Unspoken words are shared in the glimmer of your gazes.

Peter speaks up first as he helps you roll off of him. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He joins your body to lay on the bed, taking you into his long arms. You think for a moment, reveling in the warmth that radiated from him. You wonder what your life will be without Peter Parker — without his fluffy hair and his soft dark eyes. You wonder if your bed will ever feel the same, if the cheap mattress will still remember the shape of his body and if your sheets will still carry the scent of him. You wonder if your kitchen will always smell like freshly-made breakfast, and if your pancakes will still be made in the shape of a heart.

You wonder what kind of future you could build together.

“God, this is painful.” You mumble the confession into the saltiness of his skin. “I remember when you asked me if this was a one-time thing.” He hums. “And part of me wanted to say yes, but… everything about us felt so right.”

Peter follows your story. “The way you looked at me in that diner made me feel things.”

“Good things?”

He chuckles as if the answer was obvious. “Incredible things. Couldn’t even explain how nervous I got when you asked me to come over.”

“So much for a summer fling.” You scoffed.

“I know.”

“Yet here I am, so desperately in love with you.” Your hands rest atop of his.

“If I could abandon everything… for you. I would. I’m totally yours.”

“We both know I’d never allow that. Not anymore.”

“And the whole Spider—“

“I know, love. The Spider-Man thing. Don’t let me stop you.”

“I want to keep you safe. But at the same time, I don’t wanna go back. And I don’t want to ask you to come with me, because your life is here and — and not there. I’d never ask you to leave this behind.”

“I’ll leave anything behind for you.”

In your mind, you selfishly want to say stay. You wanted to wake up to his face in the mornings, not the memory of him. You wanted to spend every season with him — not just summer. You wanted winter and spring and autumn and everything in between.

You wanted him.

Your voice breaks the silence. “I don’t think I could ever picture Spider-Man in Los Angeles.”

The comment brings a boyish grin to his face. Peter raises his brows, displaying innocent curiosity. “Oh, really? Why is that?”

“The, uh, spandex suit.” You giggled, gesturing with your hands as a matter of factly. “You would die of a heatstroke.”

“I see how it is, smart one. You don’t think my suit has built-in air conditioning?”

“Your suit does not have built-in air conditioning!” You laugh boisterously at him.

Peter wishes he could record that sound and replay it over and over. Sure, he had your number, countless pictures and videos of you, but nothing could beat seeing it in front of his own eyes — it assured him that this was no illusion, but it was real. Everything about you was real.

“Promise to call me?” His voice is unsure now, void of whatever amusement he had earlier. “Day, night, whenever and wherever — just call me.”

“I’ll call you, I promise. I’ll write you love letters, even.”

“I’d like that.” He takes your words to heart even though he knows you’ll eventually grow apart, forget him, his number, his voice; he feels that familiar build-up of tears in his eyes. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you more, Pete.”

The sunrise has shifted into an yellow sunset. It casts shadows over your naked bodies entangled in the sheets. Peter’s head is in the crook of your neck, chin digging into your collarbone. His hands lock at your stomach, and you rub circles along his scarred knuckles with shut eyes.

The room glows brightly, and it reminds you of Peter.

The guy you had met in the diner. The smart New York hero who was too kind for his own good. The boy who loved you at the beginning of summer, and the boy who loved you till its end.

And the one that got away.

Peter Parker had slipped away from your life that night like it was merely a moment in time.

But even though time was against you, and time was a ticking reminder that he was never yours, you loved Peter and that was all that mattered.

He was your August.

And August always came to an end.

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ellewords · 3 years ago

Note

kageyama is 1000% the kind of guy who would not realize he was dating someone until it was pointed out, and he’d just stare at you blank faced, slow blink and all, and be confused as hell with an innocent excuse for every point made

“you guys hold hands everywhere you go????” “i just thought y/n always wanted their hands warmed?”

“don’t you call them love and baby all the time???” “is that not okay for friends to do?”

“but i was there when you agreed to go out with them????” “they asked me out? when did they ask me out?”

he’s totally down to be dating you, but he gets so nervous at the thought that his brain has somehow convinced him that everything you guys do is friendly

from elle! wait no bc i totally see this and I absolutely love it >_< thank you so much for this anon, definitely got my brain going brrrr with a little something to accompany your headcanon hehe

fic notes : timeskip!kageyama tobio x gn!reader, fluff, drabble, wc: ~0.67k

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“wait, you actually don’t know if you and yn and are dating?” hinata’s eyes widen, blinking back at him as if he had just grown another head. kageyama couldn’t actually be serious, but he saw in the way that he hesitantly nodded that he absolutely was. the words take just a few more moments to sink in before hinata bursts into laughter, a hand on his stomach and bending his upper body forward at the sheer force of it.

kagayama pouts. a scoff move pasts his lips, but his heart’s beating has begun to pick up the pace. were you actually dating? he could only dream, there was absolutely no way that you liked him in that way. “what’s so funny?”

“nothing.” hinata grins, wiping invisible tears from the corner of his eye. he takes a few steps towards kageyama, patting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “i think you better talk to yn and figure it out.”

kageyama raises a hesitant hand to your apartment door, taking a deep breath before making three somewhat unsure knocks. how does he even bring this up? does he just straight up say it? what if this ruins your friendship? he couldn’t risk losing you in his life.

the door almost immediately opens to reveal your surprised face, rendering kageyama unable to practice what he was going to say. you take a few seconds before letting him in, unsure if he were actually in front of you.

“this is a pleasant surprise.” you smile, shutting the door with gentle click. tilting your head to the side, you notice him fiddling with his fingers, pacing around your living room, and unable to meet your gaze. a small frown replaces your smile, moving to place your hands on his shoulders to stop kagayama from pacing and forcing him to look at you, “what’s wrong? you know you can always talk to me, tobio.”

he bites his bottom lip, clearly hesitating, which in turn only makes you even more nervous. sure, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve seen kageyama this uncertain, but it still doesn’t stop the ache that slowly creeped its way into your chest.

“are we…” kageyama pauses, taking a breath to collect himself, “dating?”

he gazes at his feet at the very last word, almost as if he were embarrassed to say it. the entirety of kageyama’s face is tinted pink, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would prompt this kind of question and reaction.

“yes?” you reply like he had just asked the most obvious question in the world, and to you, it really was.

his voice is quiet, small even, when he finally replies. there’s a barely visible smile that’s begun to play on his lips, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink. “oh. okay.”

“did you think we weren’t?” your brows shoot straight up, a small tug on your heartstrings despite the softness currently present on his features. “are you seeing someone else…do you want to see someone else?”

“no! i like you! a lot! i want to be with you.” panic overtake his face, taking a few steps back in complete shock. his hands wave wildly in front of you. “i just…didn’t…realize.”

“but i remember asking if we were going out.” you tilt your head to the side, you weren’t particularly mad. really more confused than anything, “and you said yes.”

“i thought you meant just going out to eat or something.” he scratches the back of his head, looking at you with nothing but complete sincerity, “ ‘m sorry.”

it was much too difficult to be upset at him when he looked at you like that. you shake your head and press your lips to his cheek, letting him know that it was okay and the matter was resolved. you hear his breath hitch at the contact.

“i think i’m the luckiest person on the planet.”

you chuckle, sure that kageyama didn’t even mean for the words to be said out loud. “no, i definitely am.”

“impossible.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

send me a hc / or a scenario ! <3 | written on the margins masterlist

#thinking about absolute cutie kageyama tobio <3 #written on the margins 🔖#haikyuu x reader #kageyama x reader #haikyuu imagines #kageyama imagines #haikyuu fluff #kageyama fluff #haikyuu x you #kageyama x you #haikyuu scenarios #kageyama scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #kageyama headcanons

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sweettodo · 4 years ago

Text

best friends dad.

levi ackerman x freader.

includes : dub con - [ age gap ] , smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting. pretty much porn with no plot.

wc : 2,7k

a/n, thank you for 600 followers !!! <33 i love every single one of you.

••

She's your best friend, your closest ally, your soul sister.

She has been there with you through thick and thin, since youth, you two took showers together as children, ate off the same plate, went on countless vacations, share the same clothes. What would your life be without her?

Your behavior prevails to be horrendous.

It catches you when you're alone, or when there's nothing to distract you. Creeping up, lingering around your soul- guilt- quite the foe.

You lay on your bed, shame depleting you the more you remained in silence, left alone with your thoughts. Staring at the soft white ceiling, the sun scarcely pouring through the cracks of the shades, rendering it impossible to fall back asleep.

It was eating you alive, it was driving you nuts, you were so selfish. It was too late to go back on this.

And this isn't even the worst part of it all...

Your fathers are best friends, also close since childhood. Being neighbors, your mothers were close too, you all were practically family.

Hence, it boils down to one thing- one simple, and easy question.

That being, why was your 'second father' mere inches away from you, naked, barely covered by a sheet, and sleeping in your bed?

Yet, as disgusted as you are with yourself, you're turning to face the sleeping man, placing a small kiss below his ear, his arms instantaneously fastening around your frame, pulling you closer to his body, he loves when you wake him up like this, you're both accustomed to this routine.

After all, you did sleep in the same bed more often than you'd like the admit.

Living alone in your apartment made it easier for the both of you to be with each other, though your best friend resided here, she was at college, living in a dorm out of state for extended periods.

He told his wife and other children the ridiculous excuse, 'I'll be back in a week or so, on business' and he'd come straight to you. Always. With take-out dinner, a duffle over his shoulder, and a plethora of condoms in his pocket.

Call it disturbing, but it's almost perverse to give his wife kudos, 'no wonder you tied the knot.' because shit, you wish you could.

No one knows about the infidelity, so it was fun to sneak around; since becoming an adult, that's when family dinners with the neighbors took a turn, your body filled with a mix of excitement and angst almost every Friday.

He always sits next to you, to your right, hand secretly placed on your thigh under the tablecloth. He finds himself unable to resist your body.

The second you turned eighteen he was ready to pounce, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

He's so good at what he does, he knows how to sneak around, he always plays his cards right, he knew you couldn't resist the temptation; the temptation of your best friend's father.

•

How it started was almost too cliché.

•

"Hey, is y/f/n home? We're supposed to be getting ready to go out, she's not answering my texts."

"She's not home, likely caught up at work."

You nod, "how about you come in and wait?" he allows you in, "what's the occasion?" he laughs, plopping down on the couch, you sit on the other side, placing your dress, makeup bag, and shoes on the floor beside your feet.

"A friend's birthday dinner, she just turned eighteen." He smiles, looking back at the television, "she's always making us late." You chuckle, your phone going off at the same time, Levi watching your thumbs frantically respond to the disappointing message.

"She won't be off for another few hours." Levi sighs, "I'll just hang out in her room until then."

"You can stay down here, you're not in my way." He quickly replies, you accept his offer and slip off your shoes.

"How's your mom?" he changes the topic, standing and walking out of the room towards the direction of the kitchen, "and your dad."

"Both good, how about you and-"

"Good." he interrupts, returning with a glass in his hands, likely a glass of whiskey, that was his go-to.

Oddly enough, you felt unsettled being alone with him, something inside of you remained nervous, but not necessarily a bad sentiment.

You didn't spend much time with Levi alone, most of the time it was with your father and y/f/n, so you sat quietly, both watching the screen mounted on the wall in front of you.

Little did you know, he was feeling the same way, awkward and nervy.

"Do you need to get ready at any particular time?" he cuts the silence.

"Uhm, I didn't expect to wait, because I have to shower."

He hums in agreement, "you can shower here if you want." You didn't even bat an eye, standing and saying 'okay', trotting upstairs towards your best friend's room, dropping all your belongings on the floor.

Leaving the room, you're opening the linen closet to retrieve a towel and head straight for the bathroom.

This was your second home, why leave the bathroom door locked while you showered?

His leg tapped in anticipation, he knew now was such a perfect time, he had to do something about how he was feeling.

Levi told himself that this feeling would pass, he was disgusted in himself.

The first time he found himself with his hand wrapped around his cock, making himself cum to the thought of his daughter's best friend.

He had never thought about you sexually, it was almost like a switch was flipped when you came home, stumbling drunk with his daughter the night of your birthday to avoid your own parents, you were now an adult, and that's when things changed.

He thought about you in so many twisted ways, and the fetish only grew- it grew day by day, month by month.

Now, you were only a few months shy of nineteen, in college, in your own living space, independent, he loved it; and every day, he prayed to God he'd stop feeling so guilty about his vices.

But he was trapped, stewing on his thoughts before he went to bed at night, on the way to work, waking up in the morning- he only thought about you. He needed to do something.

He found his feet quickly moving up the stairs, entering his bedroom, and pacing, this was sure as hell a tough dilemma, but he knew he could get you to see it too.

"Levi, I- uh, need some help."

Like it was a blessing, a foot in the door, he's now knocking before you allow him in, you stand there only in a towel, hair wet and your body dripping with water, "the thing won't turn off, I'm sorry."

He could barely swallow, "I'll fix it."

The hot steam made him overwhelmed, the fresh smell of the strawberry-scented body wash that you had after your shower was sending him into a frenzy.

You stood there, watching him turn the hot water off, you acknowledged how close you were to him, naked except for the towel, he was so close to your legs, your wet body.

He stood straight after fixing the faucet, wiping his hands on his shirt, "thanks."

You step around him, down the hall, and towards your friend's room, "y/n," turning, Levi's there, in the hallway, a few feet behind you, "I need to talk to you."

He knew now was the only time he could fix this disgusting fixation he has on you.

You pursued him, you followed him straight to his bedroom, you allowed him to close the door behind you; you felt his hands grab your own, pinning them above your head against the wall.

You allowed him to kiss you, you kissed him back, and you savored the taste of him. It was almost like you didn't allow your mind to register what you were doing.

"I've been meaning to do this." He breathes, catching up on his lack of oxygen.

You didn't say anything, your towel was coming loose, his free hand encircling around the small of your back, pulling you against him, "Levi." You uttered, his head dips down, kissing your lips as he's whisking you off your feet and onto his shared bed with his wife.

Your legs wrap around his waist, his elbows propped up beside your head, his tongue swiping across your lip, you do the same, what the fuck were you doing?

You pull away from him, "Levi- this is bad." Hand pressing against his shoulder, pushing him off of you gently, "this is so bad."

He moves his hand through his hair, "no one has to know."

"I gotta' go get dressed," yet your legs don't move, "fuck- fuck this is bad, she's gonna hate me."

"No, no she won't," he objects, pushing you onto your back, "you want it, don't you?"

Your stomach was doing backflips, nauseated almost. You saw his tight body, you've always loved it- like a father.

You felt his cock between your legs instants earlier, you didn't comprehend just how willing you were; how wet you were between your legs.

"Let me show you," throwing off his shirt, "don't worry, no ones gonna know,"

He sees the look on your face, stunned.

"Don't you trust me?" your head was spinning.

"I do."

Your head is pushed onto his pillow, making sure he doesn't strip you of your towel just yet.

The feeling of performing something so bad, so disturbing, so sinful, it was driving you nuts, your stomach twisted, filled with butterflies as you saw the man strip in front of you. This was really happening.

"Open."

Your legs open, but you hold your towel down, feeling his eyes bore into you, "you can show me."

His hands open your legs, gasping, he's kissing you again, laying between your legs with just his boxers severing the direct touch.

"God, this fucking body."

The towel slipping down your chest, his hands instantly cupping your tits, the now, cold droplets of water from your shower making your nipples twice as hard, he smiles, "you've always been so beautiful- so innocent too, you know that?" his hands trail down your sides, feeling your flesh in his palms, up to your thighs.

You felt so dirty, you wanted more, you wanted him to touch every inch of your body, you wanted to feel secure and full, "you want me to touch you don't you. You want it?" he sees your pleading eyes, he sees how hungry you looked, he brings his hand to your beck, squeezing your jugular, "say it, use your words.”

“I do, but y/f/n, Levi.” Your words meant one thing, but your actions were proving another. You didn't know how much you needed this- how much you longed to be touched by a man who helped raise you.

It made you sick, but fuck, it felt so good, “you want it, just as I do,” he pulls back, taking his hand and forcing open your mouth, “here.”

He wet his fingers with your saliva, ripping the towel that barely covered your lower half. “Look at how pretty, so wet too.”

You hiss, his finger pressing down against your clit, your thigh spasming from the harsh pressure against your nerves, “I’m gonna make you cum, you want that, right?”

“Yes, please make me cum.” You plead, his thumb still pressing hard against your bud, “f-fuck!” your legs slamming around his arm.

“Open those legs, I didn't say you could close them.” He commands, getting a better look at your pussy, his hand moving down the threads of his boxers with his free hand, cock springing from his constraints.

“Spit.” He steals more alive from your tongue, using it to lubricate his cock; he was thick, girthy with few veins decorating up the bottom to right below the tip. His chest heaving, hands pinning up your thighs, your legs wide open for him to see.

You whined, his throbbing tip teasing you by soaking up your slick, he was so painfully hard- the way he knocked against the tight hole in front of him.

“You want my cock? You want your other daddy to fuck you, huh?” You nod, eyes begging with every ounce of your entity.

You nod desperately, “please- fuck me.”

He obeys, gripping your thighs, pressing them upwards as he’s leaning down towards you, slowly sliding past your entrance.

Splitting you open, immense pressure brings you to screams, your eyes screwed shut as you spit out the man's name.

“Can barely fit- fuck.” His shoulders lax, cock seeping deeper into your pussy.

He pushes back and forth into you, the sound of your pussy juicing around his cock filled the room as you two take in the feeling of each other's touch.

“S’big- so big, Levi.” Your tongue lols out, he takes it as a welcome to capture your lips, sucking on your tongue as you mewl against his mouth.

He pulls away from you, “say my name,” he groans, “say it, what's my name?” his cock filling you so well, you could say many things; tears brimming your eyes as he's stabbing your cervix with his tip.

You wail, gasping for air, “daddy- please harder!”

His hips piston into you, slamming against yours as he's speeding up, cock ramming into you senselessly, harder thrusts when he hears you call him by his name, fucking you stupid.

“Go on and cum all over my cock, you're so close- fuck- you keep squeezing me-” he can barely contain himself.

But he keeps pace, the sweet spot in the depths of your pussy being abused, pussy squelching with every rut of his wide hips.

You're so close, inching closer towards release, a mantra of his name rolling out of your mouth, you feel so full, packed to the fucking brim.

The weight of his body on top of yours, cock reaching impossible lengths inside of you, sweat dripping down his forehead, chest glistening with sweat, “so good, creaming all over my dick, yeah? You love it.” He boasts, you whined, mouth agape.

“So close- daddy- so close.”

“Do it, you're so tight- fuck, can't get over it.”

The coil in your stomach tightening, your body going numb as he rips an incredible orgasm out of your weak body, “that's right, squirt all over my cock, God this pussy s’ fuckin’ amazing.”

He slowed down, bearing his high, watching as your cum drips down your pussy, his thighs and stomach soaked with your essence as it drips down his thighs. Amazed at the sight, he continues to steadily fuck into your convulsing walls, you're body shaking from the debilitating orgasm.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your eyes surrounded by a starry white, wet noises driving Levi closer to climax, the sheets below the both of you soaked, “open those eyes.” He commands.

You open your eyes, legs squeezing tighter around his sides, “you’re gonna swallow my cum, right baby?” he sees you nod your head, needy to taste him down your throat.

He provides you with a few strong thrusts, before slowly pulling out of you, your hand quickly wrapping around the base of his cock, rolling out your tongue like a whore.

You take his tip on the pad of your tongue, swirling around, his eyebrows scrunching from the sensitive touch, “fuck, so fuckin’ perfect,” hand coming down to caress your head before dipping his fingers between the- still wet hair from your shower.

He twitches, releasing his load in your mouth, the salty taste tainting your tastebuds, he watches it coat your tongue, catching his breath as he's seeing you swallow every drop of cum, his thumb strokes across your bottom lip, smirking.

“Look at the mess you made, now I have to clean these sheets.” Gripping your hair between his digits, he's pushing your head down to look at the damp sheets, you gnaw on your bottom lip.

He pushes you back down on the bed, sloppily kissing your red and swollen lips once more.

“That cunt is just as good as I thought it was.”

#levi smut #levi ackerman #levi aot #smut #levi x reader #attack on titan smut #attack on titan levi #aot #attack on titan #lemon

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