#but those interests have lulls

[lyriumsings]

keep trying to get myself to use twitter again but like hmmm i mostly just check it for news on media i follow now a lot of my mutuals just use discord anyway for chatting so i’m seeing the point of it less and less

[bharv]

Feeling. Lonely.

[gravegoer]

ok ok hiiiii hope your doing well! Um this may be odd, but, imagine an au where fem reader sleeps in the same bed as best friend sevika but place a few pillows between each other because fem reader believes she's not into girls despite her best friend being an absolute hottie 😞

My Best Friend ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

this is ALSO one of my fav tropes, so thank you for this.. and yes I'm doing well ty summary: sevika could treat u better than he can !!! never let a man stop you from finding your wife. thats the moral for tday.

masterlist , new fic, sevika is your dads best friend..

Sevika has been your best friend for a few years (although she would never admit it) and shes seen you through your best and worst.

After breakups with shitty men, she knows to find you at the last drop, laughing at your drunken state before dragging you home.

This was one of those nights.

She had you slung over her shoulder while she keyed the lock on her door, grunting at your head that lulled on her shoulder, "Are we home..?"

Sevika nodded, dragging you through the doorway and sitting you on the couch gently. She grabbed a glass from the kitchen and filled it with water for you. Her heavy shoes thudded on the wooden floor as she made her way back to you.

Sitting beside you, she held your chin, pouring water into your mouth, "I don't like seeing you with those blunder-heads."

You gulped down the cold water greedly, attempting to soothe the dryness in your throat. You held her by the wrist to steady her hand.

Sevika scoffed, and you knew she was referring to your exes. You giggled at her seriousness, "I don't think I like being with them."

You felt the pressure lift from your head, feeling more sober. Clinging to Sevikas arm, you sighed, looking up at her. "You're lucky you dont have to deal with boyfriends."

Her features twisted, contorting into a sour look, "You don't have to either."

"Hm?" You hummed, mindlessly tracing the rim of your glass.

"I mean, you could always try women."

You laughed and said teasingly, "Like at the brothel?"

Her eyes widened, and her brows furrowed, lips almost pulled into a pout, "No, no, like a girlfriend."

"What? Are you volunteering?" You smacked her on the arm and laid back further into the couch.

She smirked, Sevika’s cocky demeanor returning to her, "I wouldn't mind teaching you a few things."

You made a fake sound of disgust but laughed afterward. Although you couldn't deny she was beautiful, her thick arm was warm in your hold, and the angles of her face softened when you spoke.

Sevika treated you like no man ever had before. She was sweet in her own way, ans actually listened to what you had to say. You know she would never do anything to hurt you, and infact she was the one that picked you up after you got hurt.

You had never been interested in women, but Sevika definitely piqued your interest. Maybe it was all the memories you shared or the way she treated you. But maybe it was the way her V line connected to the waistband of her pants, emphazised by the warm light, the way her hair stuck to her sharp jaw that clenched under your gaze.

She interrupted your thoughts, "It's late, you should get to bed."

"Already? You aren't going to stay?"

She smirked again, revealing the flattering gao between her teeth, "All you have to do is ask, doll."

Heat rose to your face at the nickname. Maybe it was just the alcohol in your system, but it was starting to get hotter. You bit your lip, looking up at her through your lashes, "Please stay Sevika, I'll even make you breakfast before you leave in the morning."

That was music to her ears. At that, she stood up, grabbing your waist to take you with her. Eventually, she got tired of your stumbling and slowness and picked you up, arm under your legs, and prosthetic on your upperback.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck, throwing your head back dramatically. She shook her head at your playfulness while kicking open your door.

Sevika tossed you onto the bed as gently as possible, and your eyes widened at the suggestive position you were in. She loomed over you, shadowing your body. Your knees were slightly bent and legs spread, almost inviting her between.

You could imagine her crawling up to you, hands pushing your knees apart to draw your face into hers. Instead, she sat beside you, leaning against the headboard and lighting a cigar.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled the blankets over you and laid facing away from her. She snickered at your mood change and patted you on the shoulder, "I want pancakes."

You didn't respond, humming at the thought of food. For the next several minutes, you could hear her mindlessly flicking her zippo top open and closed, flame flicking on and off.

You imagined her thick fingers against the cool metal, fire illuminating her always-bruised knuckles. Then, you imagined her fingers on your waist, then in your hair—

You groaned, shoving your face in the pillow, attempting to drown out the thoughts. The sound of her zippo halted before a small tiss, was heard.

You could feel the weight shift behind you as she moved to lay down, resting a hand on your back. Shimmying away from her touch, you rolled over to face her.

Sevika's eyes opened, and you immediately missed the peaceful look on her face. Now her brow was cocked and her lips curled downward.

Her grey eyes bore into yours as you spoke, "Only my girlfriend should be touching me in bed like that."

You mocked her words from earlier, but without any harshness. Her lips drew into a tight line, "I get it. You aren't into women. Im not trying anything funny."

She didn't have to say it because you knew she wouldn't. But a part of you didn't quite mind if she did.

"Okay, then—"

You picked up a few pillows, placing them between your bodies. "There."

She deadpanned, "Are you serious?"

You snickered, not responding, before turning back to your original position. After a few seconds, you heard her sigh and lay back down, definitely facing you. Sevika reached over the barrier to tug the blanket further up your frame, shielding you from the cold.

She treated you better than any man had, and you both knew it. Maybe you'll finally do something about it over some drinks tomorrow.

i laaaaauuuvvvvvvv best friend sevika, idk if ill make a part 2 tho, i have some more fics coming out soon, some kind of suggestive?? and nsfw..????!! so follow for that, all cumming this week

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @kylorey25 @sylencr @jinxjinxjinx12 @morphids

comment to be added <333

[springtyme]

𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 ♡

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Since you and Simon started dating he has, with your help, developed a bit of a dad bod. You can’t help but long for his new figure to fully live up to it's name, and it turns out Simon wants the same...

141 masterlist

You sink deeper into the couch, encased in the warmth of Simon’s embrace. His sturdy arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer while the gentle hum of the TV fills the quiet space. His breath is steady, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a sense of safety as you melt into his body as you lay against him. 

You are not particularly interested in the program he is watching, you just enjoy the comforting feeling of him holding you, his giant body enveloping you, making you feel safe and secure. You smile softly, recalling how Simon’s once-chiselled granite abs have now been padded with a soft, little layer of fat. 

Initially, he was all defined muscles and sharp angles, everything about him radiating confidence and vigour. But as your connection deepened, so did his affection for late-night takeout, cosy evenings spent together,  and especially, for your cooking. 

There is something incredibly appealing about the way his body has changed, making him feel more approachable and warm—exuding a charm that somehow makes him all the more enticing to you.

With a playful smile, you let your fingers trace the lines of his form, feeling the gentle curve of his belly beneath your touch. The way he fills out his clothes now gives him an air of relaxed confidence—it almost makes you feel giddy. He is still incredibly fit, but you have added this little layer of love to him that speaks of comfort and shared moments. 

Each meal you cook for him, each dessert you insist he try, painted a soft layer over the etched definition of his body. It is as if love has woven its way through his muscles, binding him closer to you with every shared bite and laugh.

Simon shifts slightly, adjusting his hold on you, and you can feel the warmth radiate from him. He catches you staring and turns his gaze down toward you, a playful glint in his eyes. “What are you smirking about?” he asks, a teasing tone laced in his voice. You can’t help but giggle, your fingers now absentmindedly tracing patterns against his arm. 

“Just admiring the view,” you reply with a coy smile.    

Simon looks down at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re the one who keeps feeding me,” he quips back, a smirk breaking across his lips. 

“And you love it,” you counter, your tone playful yet confident. “Besides, I can’t help it if I want you to know what real cooking tastes like.”

He chuckles, that deep, rumbling sound that reverberates through your chest and sends warmth shooting through you. “I suppose you’re right about that. But admit it, you’ve turned me into a softy,” he murmurs, his tone light but sincere.

“Only because you’ve made it impossible to resist you,” you respond, glancing up at him with a smirk. The air between you feels charged with warmth. “The whole ‘dad bod’ thing you got going on, is very, very sexy.” Your voice taking on a sultry rasp as you emphasise the words, feeling a flush coursing through your body. 

Simon’s eyes darken slightly, stirring something deep within you. “Is that so?” he replies, feigning nonchalance as he raises an eyebrow. “A ‘dad bod’, huh?” 

You nod, leaning in closer, your breath mingling with the warmth of his skin. “Mhm,” you whisper. The way he emphasised the term made your heart race. Maybe it’s just because you’re currently ovulating, but you have been fantasising a lot lately and this moment only intensifies those thoughts. 

The warmth of him, the way he holds you, it’s all so comforting yet exhilarating. You can’t help but picture him with a little chubby baby nestled in his strong, bulky arms, how perfect he would look in that role. It makes you go absolutely feral. But you have not yet been brave enough to discuss this with him yet.    

“Wouldn’t I have to be a dad to have a dad body?” His teasing tone lingers in the air, and you can’t help but feel a surge of boldness at his question. 

The thought of Simon as a father—strong, gentle, and completely devoted—flashes through your mind like a vivid dream. The image of him cradling a little one, the way he would be so protective and devoted to do everything different from how he grew up, how he would make sure your home would be so full of love, sends a thrill racing down your spine.

“Maybe,” you reply, suddenly feeling almost shy. 

Simon shifts again, a newfound intensity in his gaze. “Maybe?” he echoes. There’s a flicker of something so intense in his gaze it gives you goosebumps. 

“Well,” you begin, your voice falling a touch lower as you muster the courage to speak around the flutter in your chest. “I think I would like you to be… if you want to be.” 

You feel the warmth of your confession linger in the air, both exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of bringing a child into the world together—a small reflection of your love, sharing every joyous moment with Simon—makes your heartbeat quicken.

 You can feel how his entire body stiffens against you. Simon’s expression shifts, caught between surprise and something deeper, a flicker of vulnerability as he processes your words. He opens his mouth to respond, then pauses, searching your eyes as if gauging the weight of this conversation. You take a steadying breath, your heart racing, waiting for his reaction. 

But then he surges forward, his lips crashing against yours, igniting a spark that sends a wave of warmth through every nerve in your body. The kiss is both passionate and tender, a collision of emotions that leaves you breathless. You instinctively melt into him, your lips moving in perfect harmony as you feel the world around you fading away, leaving only the two of you in this intimate bubble.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the charged air. His eyes search yours, reflecting a mix of surprise, desire, and a growing sense of affection that warms you from the inside out.

“You really mean that?” he asks, his voice a low murmur, as if afraid to break the moment. The intensity in his gaze makes your heart race even faster.

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of your feelings settling in your chest. “I do,” you admit, your voice steady despite the thrill coursing through you. “I can’t help but picture it… becoming a family.”

He watches you intently, a flicker of something deep and genuine lighting up his features. “I’ve thought about it too,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper, shimmering with honesty. “I didn’t know if you’d ever want that. Or if I’d be good enough at it...”

Your heart swells at his admission. “Of course you will, Si.” 

“You really think so?” His gaze flickers away for just a moment, vulnerability woven into his expression.

“I know so,” you reply firmly, reaching up to cup his cheek, urging him to look at you.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he says, the sincerity in his eyes igniting a warmth in your chest that feels almost overwhelming. “I can’t imagine anyone better to do this with than you. And you're going to look so beautiful. ” he places a hand on your abdomen like if you already have a little one in there, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the cool air around you. “Can’t wait to see it happen,” he murmurs. 

You feel your core tightening, the idea of him wanting to see you swell with your child makes it pulse between your legs, igniting a fierce desire deep within you, so raw and primal. 

“Then let’s make it happen,” you whisper, feeling a rush of confidence surge through you. Your words hang heavy in the air between you and you can see the fire igniting in Simon’s eyes.

He grips you slightly tighter, as if holding you will somehow solidify the promise of this shared future. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he says, his words laced with a mix of awe and deep, feral desire.

“Then show me,” you challenge Simon’s eyes darken even more, a potent mix of affection and desire swirling within them. He studies you for a moment, as if trying to decipher the depths of your challenge, and then a slow, seductive smile spreads across his lips.

In a flash, he rises with you against him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he turns, pressing you back against the couch. The heat of his body envelops you, his warmth mixing with a potent urgency that fills the air, a dance of desire igniting between you.

The warmth spreads through you, igniting every nerve ending as he hovers above you, his weight a deliciously reassuring presence. You can feel your heart racing, the thrill of what’s to come making every second stretch into eternity.

His gaze is locked onto yours, deep and intense, as if he's searching for something within your soul. “Are you sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, a hint of hesitation lingering in his tone.

You nod, breathless, your body responding instinctively to his every move. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Simon,” you whisper, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

With a growl that reverberates in his chest, he leans down, capturing your lips again in a searing kiss that sends sparks shooting through you. His hands explore your sides, drawing gentle lines along your curves, igniting every nerve as he takes his time, savouring every moment. Each stroke of his fingers feels electric, each press of his body against yours reaffirming the connection that has been building between you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes against your mouth, his hands moving to cradle your face as he pulls back slightly to gaze deep into your eyes, as if he can see every unspoken thought and dream reflected there. The sincerity in his voice settles warmly in your heart, making you feel cherished and adored in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

“Simon…” the sound of your voice is thick with emotion. His name carries promise, a blend of want and affection that binds you tighter, pulling you both closer to the precipice of a shared future.

He lowers his lips to your neck, trailing soft kisses along your skin, igniting a trail of heat in their wake. The sensation makes you gasp, every muscle in your body tightening. His kisses turn more fervent, his hands wandering, exploring the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips as you arch into him, craving contact.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, his breath hot against your skin, sending delicious shivers coursing through you. The primal need in his voice fuels the fire between you, stripping away any lingering doubts.

“I want you,” you confess, instinctively lifting your body in response to his presence, wanting him to know just how much you crave him, body and soul. “I want all of this… with you.” Your voice is sultry, dripping with desire, and the rawness of your confession sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s a fervent dance as you shred each other of your clothing. Simon’s hands are rough yet tender as they explore the contours of your body, mapping every curve with a reverence that sends waves of pleasure rippling through you. He watches you with a fierce intensity that makes your heart race—his gaze trained on you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the universe right now.

With a predator’s grace, Simon shifts his weight and captures your lips in a fiery kiss, his hands roaming over your thighs as he revels in the softness of your skin. The kiss deepens, igniting a wild need that surges through you, compelling you to wrap your legs more tightly around his waist, pulling him even closer as you lose yourselves in each other.

 His hands grip your waist, guiding you, as he presses against you, every inch of his body fitting perfectly against yours. His cock, teasing the entrance of your dripping core, sends a shockwave of desire coursing through you. You feel the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, a spiralling intensity begging to be unleashed.

“Simon,” you breathe out, the need in your voice raw and palpable, each syllable laced with impatience.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze piercing into yours, searching for any hint of hesitation. But all he finds reflected back at him is an insatiable yearning. “Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice a low growl that sends a thrill through you.

“You have no idea,” you whisper, your body aching for his touch, the chemistry between you two electric. “I want you—now.”

With a low chuckle that rumbles in his chest, he leans in closer, capturing your lips with a fervour that steals your breath. He kisses you with heat, fervently devouring your mouth as if trying to consume all of your essence. His hands grip your thighs, squeezing gently as he positions himself against you, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock.

A shiver runs through you at the sensation, a blend of anticipation and need coiling tighter within you. You arch your back instinctively, craving the fullness of him, the connection that promises everything you’ve dared to dream of.

“Please,” you murmur, the intensity in your voice barely a whisper, yet it hangs in the air like a charged promise.

Simon’s eyes darken, a primal hunger flickering in their depths as he leans closer, brushing his lips against yours with a teasing slowness that makes your heart race. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” he rasps, his breath warm and throaty against your skin.

“Then show me,” you repeat, your voice dripping with unabashed desire, a challenge that both excites and terrifies you.

With a low growl, he accepts your challenge, guiding himself into you slowly, allowing you to feel the exquisite stretch as he fills you. The sheer size of him ignites a fire within you, every inch sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body as well as a dull yet delicious sting. You gasp, arching your back to meet him, instinctively wanting more, needing every part of him to complete you.

 Each inch pushes deliciously against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating throughout your body. A mix of pleasure and relief spilling from your lips as he finally sinks fully inside, filling you completely.

The way Simon holds you feels primal—a perfect intermingling of strength and love. Your breath hitches as you adjust to his size. The sensation is overwhelming, a rush of pleasure that sends stars dancing behind your closed eyelids.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. “So tight, so perfect. I’ll never get used to how perfect you feel.” 

He holds still for a short moment, letting you adjust to his presence, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. The connection between you two feels electric, an unbreakable bond woven from both desire and emotion. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low and husky, a hint of concern mingling with the raw desire that fills the air.

“Yes, just… need you to move,” you breathe, the heat coiling within you so tightly it threatens to snap at any moment.

With a nod of understanding and a feral glint in his eyes, he begins to move, each thrust controlled yet fervent, each push connecting you further. He knows your body, knows how to tease and draw out every moan, every gasp. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, the waves of pleasure rolling over you like a tide as he fills you completely.

“God, you feel amazing,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your face, as he gains a steady rhythm—hard yet gentle, igniting every nerve in your body. You can feel the overwhelming desire pulsating between you, the intoxication of your shared intimacy washing over you like a tidal wave.

With every thrust, the world outside fades; all that matters is the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his body against yours, and the connection deepening with every moment. Your bodies move together, entwined in a dance of passion that feels almost primal, a testament to the bond you’ve built and the love you share.

“More,” you plead, your voice laced with urgency as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. The tension coiling in your stomach is like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap. “I need more, Simon. Please.”

“Say it again,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips, anchoring you as he drives deeper, his body moving with an unyielding force that sends you spiralling further into desire.

“More,” you whisper, your eyes locking onto his, a fire igniting in your core as his thrusts come harder, more urgent, every movement precise and electric. You feel yourself losing control, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. “Please, need you to give me a baby, Si,” you cry out, your toes curling

“F-uuck, baby,” he groans, his voice low and gravelly as he leans closer, his lips brushing against your neck, planting gentle kisses that heighten the sensations coursing through you. “I’m going to make you mine,” he growls, his deep voice laced with insatiable desire. “You want that, don’t you? Want to feel me buried deep within, filling you up until there’s no turning back? You want me to make you a mother, huh? To let me become a dad?” His words are raw, thick with longing.

“Y-yes,” you gasp, unable to resist the overwhelming heat in his tone. “Please, Simon, just please...”

He responds with a low, primal sound that ignites your senses. His movements grow more insistent and powerful as you clutch him tightly, your nails digging into his skin while he drives into you with a force that steals your breath away. Each thrust sends electric sensations coursing through your body, making you hunger for more. The room is alive with your shared moans and the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, the air saturated with the intoxicating mix of sweat and passion.

You can feel the tension building within you, a delicious pressure ready to burst. “I’m so close, Simon. Please, don’t stop,” you whimper, your voice trembling with longing. He’s hitting that perfect spot inside you, pushing you ever closer to the brink of bliss.

Simon becomes a whirlwind of energy, his grunts transforming into primal growls as he responds to your urging. Each thrust sends his intensity soaring, his body connecting with yours in a rhythm that feels utterly consuming. Your world narrows to this moment, this feeling, every sense heightened and electrified. The pressure within you tightens, coiling like a spring ready to snap, and with each thrust, Simon drives you deeper into euphoria.

“Doing so good, baby” he praises, his breath hot against your ear. “Taking my cock so fucking perfectly.” His voice drops to a husky whisper, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his heartbeat pounding in time with yours, a primal rhythm binding you together.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” you gasp, the heat pooling at the base of your stomach, making you dizzy with need. Simon’s hands grip your hips possessively as he pulls you closer, anchoring you to him.

“Good,” he growls, the very sound embodying all the desire swirling around you. “Let it happen. I want to see you shatter for me. I want you to come on my cock before I give you my baby.”

With one final thrust, the coil within you snaps, and pleasure explodes through you like fireworks. Every nerve ending ignites as waves of ecstasy wash over you, pulling Simon with you into the abyss of bliss. You cry out, the sound raw and unfiltered, matching the intensity of the moment. Your cunt squeezes tight around him, milking his hot release as he groans deeply, as he keeps thrusting rope after rope of warm cum deep into your womb with a fervour and desperation that matches your own. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you wrapped in this intimate moment of heat and desire.

As the waves of pleasure subside, you both collapse, breathless and spent as he pulls you tight against his chest, his cock still inside you. The room is still thick with the remnants of your connection, the air heavy with warmth and satisfaction. You can feel Simon’s rapid heartbeat against you and how it’s slowly slowing to a more steady rhythm as he holds you close, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your naked skin.

After a few moments of silence, you finally find your voice, a playful smile creeping onto your lips. “So, you really want to become a daddy, huh?”

He lets out a strained sound, something between a chuckle and a groan and you feel how his, by now half softened, cock twitches slightly inside of you from your words. Simon’s eyes flash with a possessive glint as he tuck. “Mhm, and I want to make you a mom. You’re gonna look so fucking beautiful carrying our child.” His voice is low and thick with emotion, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You can practically feel the heat radiating off him as his words sink in. The deep longing in his voice, mixed with the raw intimacy of the moment, tightens your chest with a mix of excitement and vulnerability. “Really?” you ask, your tone teasing yet laced with genuine curiosity. 

Simon’s gaze sharpens, his grip on you firm and reassuring as he nods. “Without a doubt. And I’m going to take so good care of you. His tone is sincere, laced with a vulnerability that draws you closer still.

The gravity of his words wraps around you like a warm blanket, filling you with a sense of safety—a promise of a future you hadn’t dared to imagine before this moment.

Thank you for reading! ♡ if you enjoyed this please consider reblogging

[reignpage]

Basketball Captain!Toji

Detroit Pistons: reaching for the ball

Warnings: 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni, bts of a modern au!smau (part 2 of Toji's series), can be read as a standalone but makes most sense with the context, cursing, mentions of blood and violence, general stupidity at a party, just one long foreplay really, not proofread

You really shouldn’t be here. 

Not a party full stop, not trying to enact petty revenge against your shitty ex, and certainly not with Toji Fushiguro, captain of the basketball team, and resident fuckboy. 

He’s taken you by surprise at every given turn. You hadn’t expected him to ask for your number from his friend, you hadn’t expected him to reach out just to complain about his placement on the List of the hottest men on campus, and especially did not expect him to let you into the gym just because it was raining, though he did shrug off your incredulous look with a nonchalantly delivered jab. 

“Y’ were ruining my view with y’r ugly crying face.”

And somehow, you had let him convince you to use him to make your ex jealous, to show him what he was missing out on. 

Now you, the girl who never drank, never wore short skirts, never stayed out too late, followed every rule to the letter, is now sitting firmly on Toji’s lap, slotting in perfectly like a puzzle piece, at a frat party. 

It’s like you’ve somehow ended up in an alternate universe or woke up in someone else’s body. Maybe you’re in a dream. Except the searing brand of a heavy hand on your bare thigh is disproving any of those theories. 

“You enjoying yourself?” His voice is low and gruff, you feel it vibrate against your body, lulling you into a sense of comfort. The rough denim of his jeans is warming your skin, his solid chest keeps you grounded, and his thick arms have you all wrapped up, balanced securely and protected from the night air.

You nod, head buried in the crook of his neck. Once in a while you inhale his musky aftershave, relishing in that freshly showered scent he always had. “My sources say Gojo throws a party at least once a week.”

“Guy likes to party,” is all he says.

There have been flashes of his white hair around the large house, disappearing among the crowds and into different rooms. He had greeted you when you first walked into the garden to make your way to Toji with a beer in hand like your partner in crime had instructed you. 

Gojo was nice, very friendly, a little loud, but you knew that already. As the writer for the gossip column, you know every thing there was to know about everyone worth knowing. Which is ironic since you’re nobody and you knew none of these people personally. But the frat president knew you. He had greeted you like you were long time friends and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hey, look who it is! My favourite person in the world.” He slung an arm over your shoulders and cheered with everyone else, seemingly oblivious to the heat rising on your face. “Thanks again for putting me top of the List. Nice to know people have taste.”

And then Toji was grumbling and wrestling you out of the rowdy guy’s grip to a quieter part of the house. He told you to explore the place, get familiar, freshen up your makeup ‘or whatever else chicks need’, and to text him if you find your ex first. 

Now, here you are, making yourself comfortable on his thighs, goosebumps rising along your skin at the feel of his long fingers creeping up your leg and just teasing the hem of your ridiculously short skirt. 

Some people would come over, once in a while, to talk to Toji. They’d say hi to you but they were mostly interested in knowing how the captain feels about the upcoming games. A few girls would stumble over, giggling and twirling their hair but they leave pretty quickly once they see Toji’s eyes fixated on you. 

You have got to give him credit; he’s totally committed to the bit.

Perhaps a little too committed with how he’d frequently whisper right in your ear, warm breath trickling your neck. 

“You look damn good tonight, ma.”

The way he says it, the low groan that he teases you with, makes you press your thighs together. It’s a completely inappropriate reaction; you really should not be feeling tingly from his flirtations. He doesn’t mean them. Toji is just playing the part, trying to goad your ex into a fight so he can ‘ruin the vibe’ at Gojo’s party. 

Because, for whatever reason, Toji had beef with the man that seemed completely one-sided, if the hug the frat president tried to throw to the basketball captain was anything to go by. 

You stutter out a ‘thanks’ and ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. 

Toji huffs a laugh, tightening his hold on you before he leans back in the patio chair, taking you with him so you’re resting on him. Your skirt’s definitely ridden up your ass by now, but his large hand wraps around the flesh there like second nature. 

Despite the chill in the garden, you’re content in his arms. The man runs hot.

It’s easy to get lost in his body; the man is built like a Greek god, all muscle and strength, carved straight from marble. And it’s precisely because he’s so firm and hard beneath you, that you forget your ex is just a couple metres away, leaning against a brick wall with a red cup in hand, glaring at you two. 

“Dunno why Gojo let that guy into the frat when he’s so fucking ugly,” Toji grumbles. 

You laugh. 

Once upon a time, you thought you were lucky to be with him. That he was the catch and you were punching up; he certainly made you feel that way. Always reminding you that he could have any girl on campus, that the barista at your local coffee shop had given him her number with a smiley face, and that as a member of one of the most influential fraternities in the country, he could have any job he wanted. 

But as you throw a glance at him, you realise all of that was false bravado. A Napoleon Complex, most likely. 

And not once, since Toji picked you up, have you felt less than. He compliments you so frequently, so spontaneously, and so earnestly you can’t help but believe him. 

“Why do you hate Gojo, by the way?”

The captain glances down at you, a slow smirk emerging on his face and you gulp at the sight of that scar stretching. You want to know more about it, simply because you’re a journalist, it’s in your nature to be inquisitive, and definitely not because you want to trace the skin there whilst feeling his voice rumble through his body and into yours. 

With a shrug, he lifts his beer to his lips, and admits, “Don’t really hate the guy. Just wanna knock him down a peg or two.”

“I stalked Gojo for about two weeks just for a statement one time, y’know.” You stare at the people hooting and hollering over a table of beer pong, watching their jumping bodies, so light, so free like there isn’t a whole world of problems beyond the frat house’s territory. “When I finally cornered him after his lecture, he laughed and said I didn’t have to do all of that. I could have just texted him.”

Toji huffs an amused laugh. “That’s what’s annoying ‘bout the guy. He’s nice. Real fucking nice. But — and this is off the record, doll — guy’s got problems. And yet he’s always smiling. Just pisses me off, sometimes.”

And to that you just nod. You get it. There are some people out there who just seem to have it all, and you resent them for it, but they never hold it against you, and you resent them even more. 

“How did you become friends with him anyways?”

“Just kinda happened.”

If you have to hazard a guess, you’d probably say it happened through the fact that they all run in the same circle. Big personalities like him and Gojo and Sukuna, are hard to miss. They’re the kind of people want to be around. Everyone knows Sukuna and Toji have been roommates since first year, allocated on a random basis at first, and they hit it off instantly, opting to room together since then. 

With a sweep of the backyard, you enquire, “Where is Sukuna?”

“Somewhere, I’m sure. Guy doesn’t really like parties, actually.”

You gasp. “But my sources say he attends most of them.”

Toji places the bottle in your lap and you cradle it like it’s a treasure. He runs a hand through his hair and leans his head back with his eyes closed like he’s soaking up the moon’s rays. Earlier, you had told him you felt bad you were holding him back from enjoying his night, but he just patted your ass and said ‘it’s good to slow down, sometimes.’

“He does, but I think guy just likes to know all the drama. Likes to cause them too, the prick.”

You poke his chest. “Sounds like someone I know.”

He peeks at you with one eye, small grin on his lips.

“We’re a match made in heaven, doll.”

The conversation fades and you just rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart and desperately trying to ignore the shiver that threatens to wrack up your spine with the graze of his thumb against that sliver of skin between your skirt and top. 

Toji’s holding you like he’s been holding you since the dawn of time. There’s no awkwardness, no uncomfortable shuffles to accommodate your weight, and he doesn’t even look the least bit bothered that sometimes people will point and whisper at the star basketball player and some nobody cuddling up in the corner on a swinging bench. 

You sense movement in the corner of your eye and spot a girl cozying up to your ex. He looks at you with a smug face. 

“How did you know my ex would care?”

You stifle a gasp from the sudden clench of his hand over your waist. It was forceful but gentle, invoking flashing images of him towering over you, wrangling you into position. He could easily bend you over and take what he wanted. Toji is big and muscular, yes, but he’s also an athlete. There’s no doubt in your mind that he has the stamina and endurance to go all night and not break a sweat. 

Shaking your head slightly, you bring the beer to your lips absentmindedly, taking a swig that leaves you blanching. How anyone could drink this, you’d never know. 

“No guy wouldn’t care that his ex moved on pretty quickly. Plus, insecure little shits like him need to think that they got the better end of the deal. He needs to know you’re all sad and stupid over him so he feels important.”

Wise words. 

It surprises you slightly. 

Of course, most students at Eden are smart — being one of the top universities in the world means having high standards. But no one would ever go to a frat-party attending jock for advice, much less dating advice, and expect insightful revelations. You feel guilty for underestimating Toji. He’s actually pretty smart. 

“Look, he’s got a girl on his arm and yet he keeps looking at you.”

It’s true. 

You can feel his leery gaze sweeping up and down your body, and it makes you want to throw up. So you shuffle closer to Toji, impossibly closer, and he lets you. 

“You look hot, doll. Just gotta own it, yeah?” His breath fans over you and it sets your skin ablaze. One hand rubs at your thigh, relishing in the soft, smooth skin and the other is gripping your hip. And beneath you, there’s something you’ve been giving your best shot constantly to pretend isn’t there. 

Toji Fushiguro is hard. 

And big, by the feel of it. 

You already knew that, of course. You get lots of anonymous tips through your ‘Insider’s Line’, as you like to call it, voicing in exhilarated pants about recent escapades. It’s a hotline anyone could call. You’re the only person who has access to the voicemails that get left behind. And it’s never usually a tedious process to sift through the prank calls and the boring confessions to get to the juicy details about the ongoings on campus. 

Many of those voicemails are to do with Toji. Whether that was about how he ‘so hot’ they could just ‘die or, like, combust’ or variations of ‘oh my god, that dick is fire, for real.’

You are not a prude. 

You have too much exposure to much more graphic descriptions of people’s adventures to be shy about sex, not to mention, you’re an adult. A virgin, but still an adult with friends who are not shy about their sex lives, to put it mildly. In fact, you’ve got a certain art student friend who loves to rant all the ways she’d like a certain vandal to ‘paint’ her with his ‘artistic essence.’

Whatever that means. 

And yet, despite all your pieces on the wildest, most inappropriate topics like ‘the hottest sex position right now’ and ‘is six inches really enough?’, you find yourself blushing at the realisation that the captain of the basketball team is sporting a boner that he doesn’t care to hide. 

You clear your throat and with a whisper, you say, “I hope I’m not making you…uncomfortable.”

You wince at the awkward wording. What are you? A child?

Toji grunts. 

“You referring to my boner, ma?” When you nod embarrassed, he taps your thigh with two fingers. “It’s your fault so you gonna lend a hand or what?”

If he was anyone else, literally anyone else, you’d be outraged. No man should talk to a lady like that and insinuate that they have a responsibility over someone else’s bodily reactions. It’s backwards and uncouth!

But…

Toji Fushiguro is not anyone else. 

You know he’s joking; he doesn’t seem to have any qualms in making stupid jokes with you because he knows you write filthier things. He’s tested your boundary many times in the past couple days and you’ve grown accustomed to his humour. 

And even if he isn’t joking, you have no problems with taking the opportunity. 

You shouldn’t.

You just got broken up with the other day and it’s unwise to get personally involved with a person you write so frequently about. Bias must not be tolerated is your mantra. 

Yet, your thighs are pressed tightly together, your nipples are poking through your top and you know he can see them, and if you were to slide a hand between your legs, you’d likely find wetness that is unbecoming of a lady. 

Wait. 

Among hundreds of voicemails, didn’t you receive one about how a guys likes girls sitting on his lap so he could feel their pussy?

Can Toji feel your pussy clenching, moistening and fluttering on his thigh?

You tilt your head up with a panic and you’re aghast. He’s already looking down at you with a challenging raise of his brow and a smirk playing on his lip. He knows what you’re thinking and he sees the question in your eyes. 

Toji flexes his thigh in an answer, pressing it harder against you, and the friction is delectable. It leaves you reeling, hand clutching his chest for stability. His arms tighten around you, and he’s sitting up, no longer lazily lounging, but now drawing closer, muscles tense despite his calm expression. Green eyes flicker up and down your face, settling on your lips with a hunger you surely match. You’re entranced. He smells clean and fresh with a hint of something burnt, a maturity you want to explore. His scent is filling your head, washing away the smell of cheap liquor and weed. 

Then, a foghorn like whoop pierces the mist. 

Some guy had climbed the balcony and is threatening to jump into the empty pool. Everyone crowds around, laughing and cheering. 

The moment is lost between you and your new friend, but he doesn’t let you up. In fact, he isn’t even looking at the idiot — not like you are, thinking about piece you could write about party culture — but rather at his stupid roommate, who stands on the other balcony, leaning against the railing as he looks on at everyone in disgust. 

Perhaps it’s the sheer fact that they’ve been friends for a while, and so he knows Sukuna’s inclination for inciting violence and general nonsensical behaviour for his own sick satisfaction, that makes Toji so damn sure this is his doing. Or maybe it’s the fact that he knows his roommate has developed a fascination with pushing a certain someone’s buttons. 

And when his phone pings and he receives a text from his pink-haired teammate, he knows it’s both. 

If the fucker stains Gojo’s pool with his blood, you think he’ll complain to the Prez?

Toji doesn’t bother answering, he just pockets his phone again with a tsk. He’s totally gonna hide the guy’s car keys in retaliation later for ruining his moment. He was so close to getting a taste of a certain gossip columnist and the opportunity was gone and excusing herself to go inside for a blanket. 

When she disappears from sight, weaving through the crowd still egging the loser on, the captain groans into the sky, squeezing his throbbing cock to adjust it. It’s gonna be a long night, he thinks, but then smiles to himself when he notices your dumbass ex still glaring with as much hate as the little guy can muster, and he knows he saw the whole thing. 

Now, all he can think about is you returning as quickly as possible so he can pick up where he left off. He’s gonna push all three of you as far as possible tonight: the ex will know he’ll never be man enough for a woman like you and that’s why he couldn’t get you wet; you’ll learn to let go, trust the pleasure and embrace it; and Toji?

Well, Toji’s gonna learn that the quietest girls are usually the ones with the most to say. 

[hanasnx]

closure

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: sexual content | booty calling spider-man :)

PETER PARKER doesn't understand why he keeps letting you do this to him. Over and over again you tell him friendship is all you want, yet at the late hours of the night— since you know he's already up— you ask if he can afford a break. Like an idiot, he swings by. Doesn't even get the chance to take off the suit before you're shoving him down into a seat, straddling him to rub yourself all over his bulge.

"Hey, easy," he tells you, "you're gonna leave a wet spot." To protest you, his gloved hands cup the plush flesh of your backside, lifting you over him. That spider-strength has you weak in the knees, eagerly latching onto his neck over the cloth. A gasp emits from him as he maneuvers his erection from the confines of his suit and you mouth at his pulse point.

"Want- you, Spider. Need you." At the invoke of that nickname, he lulls his head back and you bite onto him in your enthusiasm. A delicious and low groan pours from his throat, from both the sensation and anticipation of being inside you again. Obediently, he lowers you, nudging your entrance with the head of his cock until he feels a give. You suck in a breath to feel that stretch, no one stretches you like Peter does.

"Fuck," he drags out the word, slowly reintroducing you to his every inch. Impatiently, you push down, as if you could ever hope to overpower him. The man has lifted buses. "Wait a second, baby, wait," His fingers dig into your skin, warning you that you're going too quick for your sake.

"I can't wait any longer, you took so long getting here," you whine, burying your nose into the crook of his shoulder. You can smell his sweat through it, the musk of recent exercise, prowling the streets of Manhattan looking for trouble. "Just fuck me already?"

Pete can't believe this is working on him. Yet again bowing to your whims because he's that desperate for your attention, that desperate for your touch. He can't lie, your impetuous begging for him and his dick strokes more than his ego, length twitching while half-seated inside you. "You want it that bad?" his tone betrays his hope.

"Yes! Yes, please, Pete," With your plea, your grip on him inflects with your syllables, rutting your body against him for any kind of friction, while his halt remains infallible. No matter how you wiggle, he won't let you sink further. At first it was to keep you from hurting yourself, now it's because he likes hearing your bargain for him. Those addicting lips glide up to his ear, and he can feel your breath on the shell of it through his mask. "Need my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

"You're gonna pull that card? Seriously?" his indignant question is adversely punctuated with a buck up into you and you cry out. It got you fucking wet. It spurs him on, working himself up to a steady pace as he fucks you. He can hear the sounds of the city through the open window, if sirens flew by right now he's not sure he'd have the strength to leave you.

Putty in his hands, your body acts as fluid as he uses it, and you're so grateful you reached out to him. Fucking a superhero is thrilling enough, but fucking Spider-Man has a perk you can't pass up. That spider bite may have gifted an extra couple inches to his cock, but you're more interested in his power to fuck you like a sex toy. Along for the ride, you bounce on him because he's moving you. Like you're nothing. Out of instinct, your lips clumsily find his on the cloth as you brush noses. Your tongue peeks out, the felt drying the tip and his lips shift under your touch.

Breathless and amused, he asks, "Are you trying to french me through the mask again?"

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods II

masterlist - part I - part III

Pairing - Caracalla x f!Reader, Geta x f!Reader

Summary - It is no longer possible to hide in the shadows. The emperors are determined to learn every bit about you despite any objections you may have.

Warnings - minors dni, forced proximity unedited, power imbalance, fight to the death, blood, brutality

Word Count - 2.7k

A restless night did nothing for your nerves. You awoke the next morning with the previous night's encounters still playing on your mind. You tried to dismiss your anxiety. You lived in the palace, it was natural that you would come across the emperors sooner or later. In fact, it was odd that last night was the first time!

Still, you had been disturbed with the weight of their full attention. Light and dark eyes that carried the same heaviness. It felt as though a layer of your skin had been peeled back, revealing pieces of yourself that you had no interest in sharing. You were concerned that they had not been pleased with what they had found.

Never had you been struck by such paranoia. It burdened you all morning, as you washed and got dressed, as you headed to start your daily tasks in the kitchen. It clung to your back, hissing conspiracies and exaggerations in your ears.

 Lack of sleep did not help. You had barely managed a few hours before having to get up to prepare the day's food. Such an important task demanded that you woke several hours before anyone else even stirred, creeping from your shared room and into your familiar workspace.

That morning, though, you were grateful for the time. You were not alone but those that accompanied you were grouchy and sleepy-eyed and so had no interest in idle conversation. That was fine, you liked it that way. You could pretend that there was nothing but you, the wood table in front of you, and the days work ahead of you.

The rest of your day continued in a similar fashion. Your familiar routines helped soothe you, helped ease the paranoia from your shoulders and draw you into a relaxed lull. The folding of dough, the washing of fruit, the preparation of trays. Your work brought you comfort.

It wasn't until the sun began to ease herself from the sky that things began to sour. It started with the presence of a cup-bearer in the kitchen. Usually they did not venture this far back and were supplied with what they needed elsewhere. You took note of her from the corner of your eye and did your best to immerse yourself in your work.

The Gods had different plans for you. The girl headed in your direction, watching you inquisitively but silently.

Then, she called your name. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but. . .your presence is needed in the entertainment hall."

Deep, intense dread settled in your stomach. "What do you need? I can send -"

"No," she cut you off, "you specifically."

You had only ever been in the entertainment hall a handful of times. Only once was during an event, where you found yourself quickly overstimulated and desperate to return to the kitchen. The other times had been after events, when they needed the extra pair of hands to clean up. Neither times had it been you specifically that was required.

It felt as though all the air was sucked out of the kitchen at once. All the smells, sights, sounds, gone. Only you and this inescapable demand.

Something in your face seemed to alarm the girl and she clasped her hands together and begged, "Please, just come. I do not know what they want but I do not want to be the one to refuse them. Please, they'll - just please."

They. You shuddered, feeling cold to the bone. It seemed you had let your guard down earlier. Now you were headed to the entertainment hall, most likely to be the entertainment. Whatever that entailed.

"What do they intend to do with me?" you asked, wiping your hands on your apron and slipping it from your head. You did not know what to expect. Part of you would have felt better knowing, the other part preferred to dwell in the uncertainty.

"I do not know," she said, voice pleading. "Don't make me go back up there alone."

You could not do such a thing. Besides, what other options did you have? If you said no, the Praetorians would likely come storming down and drag you out of the kitchen themselves. The only other options would be to drop everything now and bolt. Not that you would get very far but it would maybe feel better than potentially marching yourself towards your own doom.

For the first time in a while, it dawned on you just how little choice you had. Your parents had died long ago, leaving you scrabbling for shelter and food. You had found both in the imperial palace, and had fooled yourself into thinking that you chose this. You chose the back-breaking work, the long hours and constant terror. In reality, what else could you have done? Remained on the streets and starved? Would you go back to them now, just to give yourself the mere illusion of choice?

While these thoughts raced through your mind, your hands busied themselves folding up your apron and leaving it in it's usual place. You hoped you would be there to retrieve it again tomorrow morning. You heard yourself letting the head cook know that the Emperors had requested you, and you were not sure when you would be able to return.

She looked at you with a mix of pity and annoyance. If you did not return then she would be out a worker, but she was well aware of what usually went on in the entertainment hall. I did not chose this, you wanted to scream, it is not my fault.

You could have cried over the unfairness of it all. You had served the emperors well for many years, doing so out of sight and out of mind. Why could it not have remained that way? You had been loyal, hardworking and good. Was that not enough?

You stared at the cup-bearers back as you trailed after her, up the winding stairs and into the main part of the palace. There, the opulence hurt your eyes and made you stumble back. You felt like a dark stain on a pale dress. Out of place and obvious. There would be nowhere for you to hide tonight.

The girl kept glancing back at you, twisting her hands. "It's fine," you told her, mustering a smile. "It's not your fault."

"It's not your fault either," she whispered back. "What could women like us do against those who are chosen by Gods?"

Nothing, you thought. All you could do was summon some dignity and grace and face whatever was to come head on.

Torches lit the way to the entertainment hall. You kept straining for some hint of what you were heading in to. It was not loud, so no gathering could have been taking place. It was not until you got closer that you heard the groaning and thumping of flesh and you began to go sweat.

When you entered the room, you expected to see a writhing pile of flesh and hot bodies. That was not the sight that greeted you. Instead, there were three men circling the edges of a small space, all three equally as bloodied and bruised and covered in filth. Even with the torch light flickering you could make out various wounds and blood dashed all over the marble.

The emperors sat on the most luxurious chairs you had ever seen. Reds, golds, blues. The clothing they wore was more luxurious still. There was a scent in the air, something that reminded you of oranges, likely to combat the stench of spilled blood.

Caracalla looked far less frazzled than the night before, though it seemed the unhinged grin was a permanent fixture. His hair was less rumpled and he wore jewels throughout the red curls and in his ears. They glimmered every time he giggled, reminding you of your basic dress and worn sandals.

Geta wore his white paint and dark eye makeup, distinguishing him clearly from his brother. He seemed older despite the fact that they were twins. His eyes were light, a sign he was enjoying the fight before him, and his posture was relaxed. His tongue occasionally swiped back and forth across his lips, the color startlingly pink against the white of his makeup.

It seemed an interesting habit. The color of his tongue was the same as yours and it reminded you that although he and his brother had been chosen by Gods, they were still ultimately human.

The cup-bearer lead you to the them. "My Emperors," she called softly, "I did as you asked."

Caracalla sat up immediately, the boy behind him almost slipping from the chair. "It is you," he said, eyes snapping about your figure as though you were about to disappear. "I almost thought I dreamed you. My brother told me I did not."

You blinked, feeling hopeless. Maybe if you had been quicker in leaving Caracalla's chambers, Geta would not have seen you and you would have been able to slink back to the kitchens undisturbed.

A breeze caressed your hot cheeks, bringing you back to the moment and forcing you to leave the 'what ifs' behind. They were of no use to you now.

Geta's eyes flickered from you to the girl. The white of his eyes stood out against the dark makeup surrounding them. Despite what he had told his brother it felt as though he was surprised to have you standing before him. He seemed pleased.

"You are dismissed," he announced, coldly, cruelly.

The girl blinked, hands dropping to her sides. It was clear they meant her. "I - I'm sorry, what - "

"You are dismissed," he repeated, waving a hand as if to shoo her from the room. "Go. I do not care where but be swift."

That was all it took. Was she dismissed from this moment or from the palace? Did she have a job or was she now homeless? You could see all these questions flash across her face but she dared not ask. The moment must have lasted less than five seconds but it felt like an eternity. Eventually the girl turned and left the way you came, eyes empty and downcast.

That left just you. You could hear the primal noises from the fight still behind you but it seemed both emperors had lost interest. It had been bad enough dealing with them one-on-one last night but the weight of both their gazes made you feel as though you were sinking into the floor.

Geta broke the silence by holding out his cup. "More wine, woman."

You allowed yourself a second to be confused. Then you shot over to the small table and picked up a hefty pitcher, not unlike the one you had carried last night. Geta held his cup steady as you poured a healthy helping of wine into it. He leaned closer than necessary, warm breath dusting along your forearms. His scent was clean with some sort of oil layered into him and it surrounded you until you were dizzy.

Caracalla's eyes darted between the pair of you before he fumbled for his own cup and held it out. "Mine as well!"

"Of course," you nodded blankly. It all felt like some sort of dream sequence that did not make sense and would make even less sense when you eventually woke up. You thanked the Gods that you did not spill any wine as you attended to Caracalla.

He stared up at you as you filled his cup, eyes landing on your eyes, your mouth, your breasts. You shifted as though it would somehow conceal you from his gaze and he giggled wildly before settling back in his chair.

You turned to place the pitcher back on the table, desperate for any distance between you and the twins. The entire thing almost slipped from your hands when you felt Caracalla reach out to grab at the fabric of your dress.

"If you are to be our cup-bearer, you shall need something different," he announced, rubbing the worn fabric between his fingers. One of the warriors let out a wet rasp as another slid a knife into his gut, spilling his insides across the floor. The red of him was a stark contrast to the polished white of the floor. The room was pungent with the stench of waste and iron.

Caracalla continued, oblivious, twisting his fingers into the fabric of your dress. You could feel the heat of him inches from your thighs. "What is the color you are most fond of?"

"Yellow, Emperor," you lied, full focus on the hand that still had not let go of your clothing. Alarm was beginning to make your head spin. The previous cup-bearer had worn almost identical clothing to you. Why have you wear something entirely different?

"You'll wear blue, sometimes red," Geta announced, tilting his head to look directly up at you. Irritation flickered across his face and he suddenly stood. He was significantly taller than you and he leered down at you, seemingly happy with the difference. "Whatever we decide."

"Of course, Emperor Geta," you dared not look him in the eye.

Smooth fingers gripped your chin and tilted your head up. You gulped and prayed it was not audible. Geta's eyes searched your face and then he let go, satisfied with whatever he saw there.

"You'll sleep up here now, close to my quarters" he said, taking another long sip of his wine. "It is only appropriate if you are to serve me."

"Serve us," Caracalla interjected, irritated. "I saw her first."

You previous life was crumbling in your hands, insignificant and wasted. You thought you had known fear before but it was nothing compared to this. Caracalla held out his glass again and you filled it immediately. Their interest in you was bizarre and terrifying. If you were to survive you would have to do your best to comply.

"Please, mercy," one of the last men in the ring cried out.

Your heart clenched and you found yourself unable to look away. He was bloodied beyond recognition and the other warrior held a filthy sword to his throat, unflinching. Perhaps there were worst fates than yours.

Caracalla flung his cup across the room, wine sprinkling the floor and concubines. It landed with a clatter and you cringed, imagining the intricate design damaged. The men in the ring did not move.

"What did I say?" he screamed, "no mercy! You fight to the death or I shall kill you both myself!"

You felt faint. The pitcher trembled in your grasp. The stronger man did not need to be told twice. He swiped the sword across the other man's neck. His body thudded to the floor, his life's essence seeping out of him like he was nothing.

Caracalla laughed. "Fun, is it not?"

Your mouth was too dry to respond. Geta surprised you by laughing, "She is not used to such entertainment, brother. She will come to love it in time, I am sure."

It seemed impossible. Then again, so had almost everything that had happened since last night. Since then your life had been one big uncertainty, and you were too afraid to put your feet down lest they land in the wrong spot.

"Clean it up," Caracalla turned and yelled at one of the concubine. The sudden change in mood was startling. His cheeks became ruddy and his eyes raged. "Clean it up now."

The concubine rose swiftly, eyes frantic as he took the bucket of water waiting by the wall and began to swipe frantically at the mess. The water made the scene all the more horrific, blood reaching further than before and swirling around the remaining man's feet. You were nothing before these men.

Geta dismissed the man before returning his attention to you. "Go, retrieve your belongings. I - we - shall expect you ready and waiting tomorrow morning."

He reached out and traced careful fingers around your jaw. You waited for him to say something else but he only grinned, not so different to the manic look of his brother. They were twins, after all.

Caracalla looked as though he may argue but then sang your name, waving cheerily as you backed away from the pair of them.

You attempted a curtsey and scurried from the room, feeling every bit the little bird they had accused you of being. You were well aware that if you were a bird, they were hungry lions. You stood no chance against them or their demands. The two men lying on the floor were reminders of that.

Please reblog, like & comment if you enjoyed! Its been 4 years since I last wrote so every bit of encouragement helps 🥰

banners by @enchanthings

taglist: @doodle-with-rhy

[letorip]

aline

“et j'ai crié, crié "aline!" pour qu'elle revienne, et j'ai pleuré, pleuré, oh j'avais trop de peine”

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pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: sometimes you’d talk about dying to wednesday, though it was something an addams couldn’t ever really fear. that was, until the person being lost was you.

warnings: erm you die lol, major character death, wednesday being sad, mentions of blood, self sacrifice, maybe a little contrived way to die but too bad

word count: 1.6k

A/N: i promise im okay but this was truly an interesting plot line to follow, and i couldn’t bear not writing it down. if it made you sad, don’t worry, because i have more fluffy stuff on the way. it was something short i had considered doing for a long time, so even if this flops i'm completely happy with how it came out.

===+++===

===+++===

"Wednesday?" you asked, eyes on the wooden ceiling of her room. From the way her head rests against the warm plane of your chest, she can feel the smooth skin move as you say her name, heart right under her ear. It nearly lulls her to sleep, had it not been a question.

"Yes?" she purrs, lazily propping herself up on her arm. There are heavy weights on her eyelids, but the line of your mouth tells her something is troubling you. You’re too saturnine, much too glum for what you and Wednesday just did, and her eyes soften imperceptibly, her thumb going to your side to quietly stroke itself back and forth there. “What’s plaguing you?”

You can’t help but shudder at the contact of her hand and the goosebumps the pads of her fingers leave in their wake. “Are you... do you...," you attempt, the question falling flat on your tongue. She furrows her eyebrows at your hesitation.

"Say your thoughts,” she says, forehead creased in concern. It's almost funny, how caring and soft she is, now that she's given up on trying to seem aloof and apathetic towards you, her skin warm against your own.

The Addams Curse to love someone with every fibre of their being had taken hold of Wednesday entirely, and she looked at you sometimes like you held her beating heart in your hands, or at least like she'd cut it out for you, if you were to need it. She raises a hand, gently brushing a few hairs from your forehead.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

Her eyebrows furrow even further, scanning your face for any indicators of harm. “Where is this coming from? Has something been done to you?”

But you shrug, finally looking down to look her in the eyes with softness. “I was just wondering… are you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I’m an Addams. Death is a friend, not a foe. Fear of that serves no purpose. Only cowardice from facing a fight. Only to make you weak.”

Your eyes flit away. “Hm.” There’s no hiding of disagreement in your tone, and it has an embarrassing amount of power over her, how she itches to know what goes on in that head of yours.

“What?”

“I think… I think my fear is what makes me strong. I’m afraid of losing those I care about. And so I fight with every bit of sweat, blood, and tears that I have. Your loss is my deepest fear, Wednesday. My deepest.”

She stared at you momentarily, then looked out the window to the stars. “How is one to fear death when it is far from the end? Death may take me from your sight, but it cannot take me from your heart. There I live, vibrant and whole. Forever.”

===+++===

You’d never even realised how much blood the human body could actually hold, until you were standing there in the centre of the quad with an arrow straight right below your heart, its steel tip poking from your back. Your own blood coated your hands where you cupped it, dribbling down the splintered wood and splattering in droplets to the cobblestone in thick, dark red splotches.

The blood— your blood— is coming out even more now, and you turn to look at Wednesday, where you had shoved her out of harm’s way. Her eyes are wide in horror, like she's seeing something straight from a nightmare of hers, and you take a clammy step towards her, frigid and burning at the same time.

“Wens—” you stammer, and suddenly your knees are giving out. She rushes forward, trying to catch you in her arms, but you're too heavy, deadweight that tugs on her. You fall onto them, your knees, clutching at the newly opened maw of your chest with a gasp, and before you know it you’re falling forward towards the floor.

Wednesday follows you down, catching you before you can land, and she holds you tight, turning you over onto your back as the arrow sticks straight up from the heart she cherishes so much. The wood is already splintering, nearly falling apart, and her hand goes to your wound as if trying to put your blood back into your body.

It’s uncomfortable, with the metal tip of Xavier’s arrow sticking from the back of your chest and lightly prodding at her front, but she squeezes you tightly against herself, hands frantically travelling the length of your torso and raking over your arms, anywhere she can reach. But there’s nothing she can do. It’s a thought she refuses to confront, but Wednesday specialised in dealing with dead things; she was unfamiliar with how to keep things alive, no matter how much she needed you to stay that way.

Crackstone is cackling from his belly, a toothy sneer spreading itself out onto his leathery face as he looks at the damage he’s done, stomping towards you. “Hey!” Bianca yells from the opposite door, and the pilgrim whips around, as Xavier takes another shot at him. It lands in the pilgrim’s arm but he pulls it out like a twig, snapping it and tossing it to the ground, before he makes his way towards Bianca.

Your white shirt is completely soaking itself in your blood, droplets running down Wednesday’s fingers where she tries to hold the wound and apply pressure. But there was no saving a skewered heart.

"No, no, no," she coos, voice barely above a whisper and tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. You're crying out in pain as the arrow shifts within you, fingers scrabbling at Wednesday's arms where they hold at you. Your fingernails sink into her skin, and she winces but doesn't pull away.

"Wens," you say again, infinitely weaker than before. "Wednesday…” It’s like your mouth won’t move coherently with your brain, like words mean trudging through ice and slush to come out, even the red-hot ones you need to say. “H—Hurts,” you spit out, and with it comes a small stream of blood from your mouth as you cough and air becomes less and less available.

She nods in a rush, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’m aware, I know,” she’s completely crying now. “We will get you care, cara mia, just hol— just hold on for a little while.” But you’re shaking your head.

“Don’t have— I don’t have—” you’re coughing up more blood, and she wipes it from your chin with a shaky hand. There’s just too much of it, everywhere. You had once gifted her some as a token of your devotion and it was a prized possession of hers, but now there was so much and she would have given it back in a heartbeat if it gave you any more of those.

She can vaguely hear Bianca and Xavier yelling on the other side of the quad, and various fires rage on in their chaotic yet vibrant corners, tickling against her skin in large crackles, burning in the reflection of your eyes that stare up at the sky. Your head is leaning against her shoulder, and she raises her hand, stroking through your soft hair as you heave in her arms.

“You must live, I promise you,” Wednesday insists fiercely, “I promise you, if you die right now, I will kill you.” But its tears that streak down her face, her jaw clenching and dark eyeliner running down her cheeks. She’s squeezing you right against herself, feeling the pain of the sharp arrow poke at her own skin.

“Vibrant and wh—whole?” you said with a smile, feeling your voice begin to slow down and with it, the beating of your heart. The blood has pooled in a sick puddle around your body.

She’s shaking her head. “Cara mia, we don’t need to do this, we will get you to a doctor. You will be—”

“—Wednesday,” you interrupt. Your voice has reached an eerie calm that sends a shiver down her spine, and it snaps her from any sort of hope. “Vibrant… and whole?”

She looks down at you for a moment, tracing the features of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the colours of your eyes and the wryness of your smile. Wednesday swallows. “Forever. You know that. You must always know that.”

You nod, letting out a small laugh. It hurts, she can hear you wheeze right after you done it, but you sit in silence for a moment, and she can feel you get slower and slower, and your shirt gets redder and redder. The tears are uncontrollable, now, as she sits there with you. Her friends are losing in the corner, but she's losing something unthinkable, and she's so damn scared the entire time it's happening.

"The stars look beautiful tonight," you whisper so only she can hear it, your voice cracking at the end. In seconds, you're gone. She can feel the life, the glorious life, evaporate from you, your head lulling back against her and your weight becoming a hundred times heavier, but she doesn't move, squeezing you against her.

She's unsure how long she stays like that, but when she can no longer take it, she shifts, laying you down on the ground. You look peaceful, looking up at the stars, and it takes an effort to close your eyes that Wednesday had never felt with the dead before. She gently closes them, shutting the door on the eyes that used to captivate her very heart. It's almost like she could convince herself that you're only resting for a moment, and she leans over you, placing a meaningful kiss upon your forehead, just like she would when she snuck out after a night of sleeping over, and there were no prying eyes there to watch.

"Vibrant and whole," she whispers like a promise, turning back to the fight with a piece of the sword in her shaking fists. "For you, cara mia."

===+++===

well that was sad... anyways more happy stuff coming next time

[kissedsuns]

SLEEPING WITH THEM, F1 BOYS.

INTRODUCING THE GRID: oscar piastri. lando norris. charles leclerc. max verstappen. carlos sainz.

CW: fem!reader, teasing, kissing, established rel . . .

— OSCAR PIASTRI (81)

no matter how long you've been together, oscar's shy nature never really fades. the moment you climb into bed beside him, his heart starts racing, and a light blush quickly spreads across his cheeks. even though he has spent countless nights with you, the simple act of your body curling up next to him still makes him feel dizzy—something you find so endearing about him. when you plop your sleepy head on his chest, he stiffens slightly, unsure of how to respond. should he wrap his arm around you? is he being too forward? eventually, oscar can't resist the urge to hold you close. he lets out a small sigh and slowly he wraps his big arm around you. as he settles into the moment, oscar instinctively nuzzles his face into your hair. the sweet scent of your shampoo fills his senses, and it's enough to lull him to sleep. on nights when you're wearing thin pyjamas, oscar finds himself wanting to be even closer to you. he'll gently slip his hand under the fabric, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

— LANDO NORRIS (4)

lando is naturally touchy, no doubt about it. from the moment you both climb into bed, his arms instinctively reach out to wrap around you. it doesn't matter how you're positioned—he always manages to find a way to drape himself over you, his hands gliding up and down your back in soothing strokes. it's a habit of his, one that never fails to send you into a peaceful sleep. there is just something about the way his hands move. no matter how much you toss and turn throughout the night, you always seem to wake up in his grasp. it's almost like he has a magnetic pull towards you, his arms never straying far. sometimes, you'll wake up to find him clinging to you like a koala, his head resting on your chest or his legs slightly tangled with yours, as if he's afraid to let go. and while he might joke about it in the morning, saying how he must have been cold, you know it's just his way of staying connected to you. as much as lando loves holding you, there are nights when he craves a bit of extra attention himself. on those particular nights, he'll gently nudge you, signalling that he wants to be the little spoon. you are more than happy to oblige. his curls are ticklish against your face, and you can't resist burying yourself in them. your fingers also naturally find their way to his hair, twirling little strands between them before it sends you to sleep. lando absolutely loves to sleep, and because of that, these scenarios tend to happen often.

— CHARLES LECLERC (16)

once the two of you have crawled into bed, all charles wants is to hear your soft, soothing voice which puts him to sleep easily. he likes to have a quiet conversation with you about your day, listening intently as you talk about the little things that happened, genuinely interested. and he also takes these vulnerable moments to spice things up by mentioning all of the gossip surrounding the paddock, or somethings that happened over the race weekend that you may have missed. occasionally, charles will press a kiss to your shoulder or the top of your head, murmuring sweet nothings in french. if you ever wake up in the middle of the night, you'll often find that charles is right there, still holding you. sometimes, he's already awake, just watching you with a sleepy smile. he'll ask if you're okay, and if you need anything. he is more than willing to get up and help, whether it's fetching you a glass of water or simply holding you tighter until you fall back asleep.

— MAX VERSTAPPEN (1)

when you first get into bed, max is usually stiff and almost a little shy, but you can tell that he's just waiting for the right moment to pull you close. he's not overly cuddly by nature, but he'll often hold you firmly, and if you happen to stir or move away in your sleep, max will instinctively tighten his grip, drawing you back to him without even fully waking up. he will naturally gravitate towards you, his arm draped over your waist. he's not one to sprawl out; instead, he prefers to be as close as humanly possible. even if you start off with some space between you, max inevitably ends up shifting closer during the night. however, he does have this habit of bringing racing magazines to bed with him, flipping through them with concentration. to you, it's kind of funny—he almost looks like a teenage girl absorbed in the latest gossip magazines. you can't help but tease him a little when you catch him squinting at the pages, totally engrossed that you have to stifle a giggle. "are you reading up on your rivals again, max?" you might ask with a smirk. sometimes, you might also jokingly ask him about who his 'favorite' driver is in the magazine, just to see how he'll react. max will play along, maybe flipping a page and pretending to consider your question seriously. "this one," he'll say, pointing to a picture of himself, "he's the best looking, i think." but if you dare tell anyone that he reads formula 1 gossip magazines before bed, you might just find yourself on the couch for a while.

— CARLOS SAINZ (55)

carlos is a natural protector, and that instinct carries over into how he sleeps. he loves to wrap his big arms around you, holding you close to his warm body. carlos also has a habit of tangling his legs with yours, especially when you're lying face to face and get to see that giddy smile of his through the moonlight peeking through the curtains. but, we can't forget his playful side. before the two of you settle into the soft sheets, he might attempt to tickle your sides just to hear you laugh, or trap you in a bearhug that can be surprisingly easy to get out of given his sleepy state. another adorable thing about carlos is that he loves to not only intertwine legs, but also hands. carlos always wants to be holding your hand, even when you're both asleep so he will often reach for your hand, linking your fingers together and keeping them close to where his heart is.

© kissedsuns

[see-arcane]

Our good friend Jonathan Harker is getting ready to leave for his business trip, Mina Murray is picking out a new journal, Lucy Westenra is charming a gaggle of smitten suitors, Abraham van Helsing is wrapping up his lectures, and Castle Dracula is prepping the guest room for a very long stay.

Which must mean that Dracula Season is here again!

 ‘Dracula Season’ being a catchall term for the voracious reading, memeing, writing, illustrating, analyzing, and general fun-having that’s ensued since Matt Kirkland’s project, Dracula Daily, caught on with us back in 2022. The Substack had already been running before then, but it sparked a conflagration as time went on and readers old and new to Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the actual novel, not Coppola’s fanfiction—devoured it in a way that scratched an itch none of us knew we had. Stoker wrote the book in epistolary fashion, clumping sections together as needed for the pacing without perfect adherence to chronological order. Matt went ahead and put all the events in order and proceeded to set up a lovely chain of emails that delivered entries on those correlating dates.

This style of organization and pacing turned out to not only make the virtual book club that much easier to engage with, but left space in-between to stew on the story and relate with the characters themselves. Every day of waiting in the book feels weightier when you have to pace and sweat and worry in tandem with poor Jonathan trapped in the castle or Lucy wasting away or Mina running out the clock before she loses the fight for her own humanity. And while we sat with the story or the lulls between Dracula Seasons, some of us found ourselves craving more of that ghastly gothic horror goodness to the point that we figured:

“Well. Why don’t I make something?”

And then we did! Tons of creative works have been churned out in the wake of Dracula Daily’s high. I figured that while we’ve still got a bit of time to wait for May 3rd, we should check out all this new stuff in the meantime. (Plus a handful of neat stuff that just clicks with the Dracula itch overall.)

So, in the interest of Dracula Season pregaming, let’s take a look at…

FICTION

Blood of My Blood – A recent addition to the Dracula Bad Ending AU pile, and definitely one of the most harrowing and addictive group-produced narratives I’ve ever come across, Blood of My Blood is the dramatically gothic currently-WIP work of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush’s devious design. Give or take a heap of other fascinated folks (hello!) adding ideas to put more Horror into the Horrors that our cast has to face. The premise:

The Transylvanian climax went fatally sour and the Harkers were forced to shelter with Dracula himself, including their half-vampire son, Quincey. Cut to two decades later, and Quincey finds himself out in modern London, smitten with Lu, adopted daughter of Arthur and Jack, and diving into certain bloodstained old documents that detail the real history of how his parents came to live in the castle. Said revelations coming not a moment too soon, as a storm is coming for him straight from the Carpathians…

Dracula Daily Sketch Collection – An array of illustrations that captures every entry beat by beat, the Dracula Daily Sketch Collection by Georgia Cook, alias @georgiacooked was dished out over the course of the last Dracula Season. Some of the most fun character designs out there.

Fanfiction Spotlight: BlueCatWriter – With a whopping 99 works devoted to the novel Dracula (so far, the number may have gone up since I blinked), @bluecatwriter is one of the most prolific and talented fanfiction scribblers out there. Romances, nightmares, and overlaps between the two seem to crop up the most, give or take a crossover. Seems fitting that those blue paw prints have contributed to BoMB too.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk – An ongoing comic in which all your favorite characters from the Classics section get together and tackle some perils ranging from the mundane to the monstrous. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit, with a spotlight on the two couples leading the League. Namely, the Harkers, ala Dracula, and the Nortons, ala Sherlock Holmes,’ “A Scandal in Bohemia.” Mina and Irene are the driving investigative and steering forces here, and still deeply in love with their likewise-infatuated husbands, just like in their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Without spoiling the full character list, just know there are going to be a ton of familiar faces roaming around before you finish reading the first arc. Said arc having conveniently wrapped up just a few days ago! Give the comic and its bonus silliness a look if you’re in the mood for a new comfort-adventure epic.

Re: Dracula – Probably the most well-known and incredible thing to come out of the initial Dracula Daily wave. This podcast is a full audio drama that follows the same format as the Substack, with episodes coming out in time with the entries themselves. And it has an unfairly cool soundtrack. They have a Tumblr with @re-dracula, a site and a Patreon to check out before the series kicks up again on May 3rd. (Also, keep an eye out for their next work, an audio drama in the same style with Carmilla.)

The Soldier and the Solicitor – Another treat from @ibrithir-was-here, this one involves a bit of time travel trouble. Quincey Harker has stumbled out of World War I and into the same dark forest where his father once fled for his life…then runs into the man himself, on that same night. Jonathan Harker, young and starved and lost, who has no choice but to trust this stranger while the Weird Sisters are at his heels…despite said stranger having no shadow. It’s a tasty emotional trek, already complete on Tumblr, but now it’s turning into a Webtoon. While Ibrithir is juggling a number of other stories, she’ll be redrawing spruced up versions of the comic and adding a few new scenes as things unfold.

Substack Stack – You know what’s better than one emailed-out public domain book club? A mountain of them. Just. So, so many of them. You’ll see that a lot of these are finished, but some are still ticking along. Either way, they’re all great picks if you’re craving some more old school lit to fill the void between undead emails.

Frankenstein Weekly – Frankenstein

Jekyll and Hyde Weekly – The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Voyage of the Nautilus – Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Letters from Watson – Sherlock Holmes

The Invisible Mail – The Invisible Man

Letters from Bunny – E.W. Hornung’s short stories of the eponymous Bunny and Raffles

Letters Regarding Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster short stories, including the novel, Right Ho, Jeeves

…

……

………

…The Beetle Weekly – The Beetle (NOTE: Do Not Read This.)

The Vampyres – A novella I finally wrenched through the gears of self-publication as of March this year. Starring a petite but powerful paranormal cast, The Vampyres, centers on an unscrupulous undead fellow who finds that the revenants of the world are being mowed down by an entity known only as ‘Quinn Morse.’ Between trying to save his neck and figure out where the shadowy bastard came from, the Vampyre in question crosses paths with a new paramour and handy human shield in the form of a grieving Good Samaritan. He’s even polite enough to invite the Vampyre into his home while he’s in dire straits! Surely this will end well. All the info is available here and a little author site is over here.

What Manner of Man – This is the one made for everyone who started out hoping there’d be a real love story with our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Count when he was at his most charismatic. Where that sea of wonders dried up into a mire of horror, What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling keeps things firmly on the romantic tracks. This Substack stars the letter-writing priest Father Victor E. Ardelian as he finds himself meeting with one enigmatic Lord Alistair Vane. It isn’t long before interest turns into intrigue and intrigue into undead intimacies.

The entire novel has been completed—along with multiple epilogues in the author’s Patreon, allowing readers to choose for themselves just how the uncanny romance plays out in the end—and the Substack now has a number of other gothic goodies piling up in the meantime.  

NONFICTION

Dracula Daily: A Unique Reading Experience: This one comes courtesy of @realwomenofgaming. It’s a short and sweet piece that amounts to a fun snapshot of the entire Dracula Daily ride. A cozy couple-minute read.

‘Dracula Daily’ is the One Substack You Need a Subscription To: Features my favorite Matt Kirkland interview. @mattkirkland, if you’re still floating around on here, thank you for dispatching our vampire newsletter again this year.

Dracula Daily is Tumblr’s hottest new book club: Alright, the ‘new’ part is worn out by now, but this one is still a delightful article to swing back around to. Two years on, this Polygon piece is a time capsule of those early months when people outside our bookworm bubble realized we were all happily receiving letters from our favorite classic gothic horror blorbos.  

“How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” – Princess Weekes, if you ever read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending oceans of love and millions of rewatches to your video essay. If you haven’t seen it yet, “How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” is one of the most refreshing and well-made breakdowns of both the title subject and numerous other issues that have proliferated in the public view of Dracula’s cast and plot as adaptations endlessly warp or outright bastardize the actual novel. An incredibly cathartic watch.  

Literary play gone viral: delight, intertextuality, and challenges to normative interpretations through the digital serialization of Dracula: A mouthful of a title for an even more elaborate article about the Dracula Daily phenomenon. This one is a full-on study that analyzes just what happened within the big bloodsucker book club surge and how its ‘wandering reading practices’ enriched the experience for participants.

 “The Undying Undead: An analysis of the Dracula Daily community for a theory of online community formation and interaction” – We have a thesis on here! Look at that! @sirangelothebestest’s MA thesis used our vampiric book club as the bones for a massive brick of an academic piece that definitely deserves a look.

…And I think I’ll go ahead and cap things here.

This isn’t everything I got recommended, but if I had squashed all of it in here, I think folks’ eyes would start to fall out of their head. I hope you can find something cool to comb through here. Or, if there’s something great I overlooked, tack it onto the list! We’ve got just two weeks to go until we’re off with Mr. Harker. Let’s enjoy our respite before those castle doors close behind us.

[nerdykeppie]

Holiday Shopping that fights period poverty for college students? Yep! Read on. :)

After the success of our June/Pride 2024 sales goal, where we managed to eliminate a lot of the debt we accumulated while I was unable to work earlier this year & stock up cash so we didn't have to borrow for payroll during the fall lull and also donate to @queerliblib, we were considering where to focus on this year when a conversation I had with my mom pointed me in the direction of our charity for Holidays 2024: the East Stroudsburg University Warrior Food Pantry, and specifically, stocking menstrual products at the pantry.

Without getting too much into the weeds about the details - which I'll talk about under the cut for those of you who are interested - here's the pitch: we need to hit a gross sales goal of $45K in December in order to pay our bills and payroll basically until Pride starts up. Businesses like ours are very much feast or famine, and we've got to eat and we've got people whose paychecks depend on us having the cash to pay them.

If we hit that goal, we'll donate the equivalent of 1% of our net profit from the month of December in period products -- tampons and pads, specifically, by request of the food pantry, and possibly reusable pads and menstrual cups, if the pantry wants that from us. (At the end of the day, this is about taking care of people the way they need, and we'll listen to the pantry staff about what people are requesting.)

We've currently got our Bottoms & Tops sale going, too, so you can buy 2 tops or bottoms from the linked collection & get 69% off the 3rd item from that collection.

Okay, so for the long version whys and wherefores:

My mom taught math at ESU for 35 years, and she and Dad now volunteer running the food pantry along with a couple of other people. ESU is a state school, and as such is one of the few remaining vaguely affordable schools in Pennsylvania. A lot of its students are self-supporting for one reason or another -- many are "non-traditional"/adult students, have kids, or don't have families that can support them while they go to school. Mom & Dad have pushed to expand what the food pantry offers to personal care items, which has been difficult due to a bunch of boring stuff about money and state entities and also people thinking 'that's not food,' but Mom is stubborn about it, because -- to paraphrase her -- how can you focus on class when you feel gross? This struggle has been especially difficult for menstrual products, and way more so for tampons, because it's a rather conservative area and... yeah. People get weird about it.

I've been really broke, with a young kid, and reliant on food pantries, which rarely, if ever, have any menstrual products, let alone tampons. Period poverty is very real, and it sucks.

Plus, I gotta tell you, if we can send a bunch of boxes of tampons and pads to the food pantry, well... Rumor has it this will help my mom win an argument over whether those items should be carried at all, because what are they gonna do, throw them out? They're here! They've been donated! Wasting them would be terrible. :)

So that's the pitch, guys. Help me make a direct, measurable difference in the lives of people at the school where I went to winter swim team, the school that fed me growing up... and help my mom win an argument about making people's lives better... and get your holiday shopping done while you do. ;) We start counting sales from the minute I hit post. :P

[sleepyangelkami]

ONE DRUNKEN NIGHT b.blake

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.6K

BELLAMY BLAKE X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - the group gets a little easy with the booze, leaving you sloppy and drunk, falling over your own two feet onto your boyfriends lap.

 ☆ WARNINGS - alcohol consumption, drunk!reader, slurring words, finn + clark (idk their ship name lol), reader menioned shorter than bellamy, nudity (not sexual), petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

the smell of liquor and booze suddenly filled the nostrils of bellamy blake. though it were all around him, even in his own glass that he was drinking out of.

he'd drank quite a bit more than you, still keeping his composure while you tripped over your own two feet.

perhaps that was the very difference between you two.

the boy's lips quirked up at the sight of you, sloppily trying to make your way over to him. you had a smile on your face, cheeks tinged a pink due to the heat and your feet criss crossed over each other, unable to walk in a straight line.

however, it didn't take long for you to crash in your boyfriends lap, grinning as he used the hand that wasn't holding his cup to wrap around your waist. "hi." you giggled, pretty smile on display.

"hi, princess." he grinned back. he was spinning though only slightly. he'd built up a tolerance for alcohol whereas this was perhaps only your second time drinking ever.

your hands pawed at him, holding him as close as you could. bellamy discovered such from the first time that you'd gotten drunk, you quite liked to be as close as humanly possible to him.

your lips met just below his ear, smiling and puffing out a giggle while trying to muster the words, "'m a little drunk." unable to keep your composure for the sentence seemed to be the funniest thing you'd heard all day.

"mm, i can see that." though he didn't seem angry or annoyed with you. on the contrary, his eyes traced your face even when you couldn't keep it still, smile dancing on his lips.

a campfire surrounded you all, a bonfire, if you will. everyone messed around with one another, jumping on each others backs, yelling out and drinking booze, probably not the best way to spend the resources in a time like this but no one seemed to care.

if you were to be trapped on earth without adults, things were bound to go wrong.

he watched as you nuzzled into him, almost like a dog. his hands soothed against your waist, dropping his glass on the cement next to his thigh, hands against your body, lulling you softly. "now, who let my girl drink all that booze?"

your head popped up again, the slyest grin on your face. "i can't tell you."

the boy feigned offence, lips parting but by the smile still unwavering, you could tell he wasn't truly offended. "you're keeping secrets? how could you?" his hands dropped down, gently squeezing at your waist and making you yelp with a drunken giggle. "tell me baby, who's responsible?"

you grinned, a whisper leaving your lips. "octavia."

he wouldn't have expected anything else.

his lips parted again. "octavia?"

but you pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him while he tried to stifle his laughter at you. "shh." you spoke. "she'll hear and she'll know i told. have to keep it a secret." you unformed him, slurring your words.

"a secret?" he whispered back, large hand engulfing your smaller one by his lips, slowly retracting it from his face.

you hummed, nodding.

"can i tell you another secret?" your voice was below a whisper, barely audible but he was so close that he could hear you just fine, even behind all the screaming belonging to the others. he slowly nodded, awaiting your secret. "i saw clarke and finn kissing!" he gasped again, watching your eyes light up as he took interest in what you were saying.

it was the little things, egging on this type of conversation, entertaining the drunken idea of things. it was those things that made you so engulfed by him.

he could see you on the back of jasper jordan, yelling out and holding around his neck or jumping to a song with monty, hands in hands. there was no jealousy behind bellamy's adoring eyes. for he knew, no matter what, you would always come back to him.

"but―" you were cut off with a hiccup. "but you can't tell anyone because clarke will kill me." you pressed a finger to your neck, dragging it across as if you were having your head chopped off.

"she can try." he answered back, arms suddenly wrapping around you. "but she'll have to get through me first." you squealed as the boy hoisted you up, standing on his own and carrying you with him while you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "y'gonna dance with me, sweetheart?"

your feet dropped onto the floor, distant sound of the group making songs by singing and tapping their feet against the ground, clapping even, doing whatever it was to make the sound of music flow through the camp.

you tilted your head at him, straining your neck to look up with a smile. "thought you don' dance."

he tilted his own chin upwards. "something must have persuaded me."

"wonder what." you grinned.

"wonder what." he repeated.

your hand was already in his, dragging him towards the middle where the rest of the group stood, dancing and singing (horribly, i may add). but it didn't matter to anyone, all that mattered was the smiles littering across everyone's faces.

bellamy took your hand in his, twisting it above your head and twirling you. you were grinning, a giggling mess as you danced with the boy who'd swore he'd never dance with a girl ever.

something about that night would forever be engraved in your brain. even after you two separated into the crowd, bellamy's eyes never left your pretty face. jasper had you stuck between he and monty, everyone had formed this kind of circle, leaving bellamy at the other side next to miller. you jumped up and down, as did the rest of the group, chanting a song that would forever be framed in your memory.

it wasn't until the party had began to dull down and the singing quietened and the booze drained that bellamy finally had you in his hold again.

people still cheered and danced though at least half had left.

nobody could even be angry with the others who continued to sing until all hours of the morning, all they could do is wish they had the same energy as them.

speaking of which, your energy had gotten over it's spike, dropping to the ground as bellamy lead you back to your shared tent.

blankets were littered about the tent, tattered up mattress on the ground where he gently laid you down, stripping himself of his shirt. next, he knelt down against the bed. "c'mon, princess, help me get this off."

with the slightest of whines, you sat up on the bed, helping him strip you of your clothes. you found it was better to sleep nude and not sweat in your clothes anymore than you had to. "like when you call me that." your eyes were struggling to stay open, words a whisper.

"yeah?" a smile spread across his cheeks. they'd hurt hard from the entire night, smiling so much until they ached. and you were the entirety of the reason.

"mhm." you placed your head against his bare chest as he slipped off your cotton socks. "like a lot about you."

he rolled his eyes at this, never being one for taking compliments. "yeah, like my awesome dancing?"

he climbed into the bed, allowing your head to sit on his chest as his fingers gently danced down the delicate skin of your spine. "you don' dance." a yawn left your lips, silence becoming ever more apparent throughout the camp. "but you did because you wanted to make me happy. y'sweet like that."

he knew it was both the tiredness and the drunkeness talking but the softness of your tone, pretty words falling from your lips, the genuineness of your words was enough to have him holding his bottom lip between his teeth, fighting another smile of the night.

"y'think 'm sweet?" he questioned to which you hummed, nodding. "i think you're the sweetest girl the world has to offer."

your chin landed on his chest, tilting your head up to look at him, you swore his eyes sparkled when he looked at you. he swore yours did too. "i have another secret."

"yeah?" tilting his head at you. "tell me."

and you didn't miss a beat, your tone never wavered. there was nothing but absolute certainty in your voice when you spoke the soft words, "i love you."

his lips reached down as if on command, pressing against your own. he swore you were the softest being there was. he sometimes wondered how you could love something as rough and tattered as him. but that was how he knew, you didn't see him as such. a patch here and there, but through your eyes, everything was soft, beautiful. and he just so happened to be so lucky to be the centre of it.

"i love you too."

a sudden whistle of fabric was heard as you both turned upwards at the noise, brown curls falling into sight. bellamy, as if on command, quickly held the blanket further up your body so the intruder couldn't see you.

however, the 'intruder' soon proved to be jasper jordan who's goggles that usually sat on his forehead, now sat over his eyes. "oh, this isn't my tent." though he was giggling wildly. "are you guys reciting poetry?"

"what do you want, jasper?" bellamy's usually soft tone with you turned harder, deeper.

"look, can i just―" he was slurring his own words, hiccuping along the way. "can i just crash here with you guys?"

"no."

"no."

"well, you guys are lucky i know when i'm not wanted around."

and with another swish of fabric, the boy was gone.

you giggled into the chest of your lover. "i feel bad." you spoke truthfully.

"yeah." bellamy paid no mind, moving your body so that it sat against him, pushing your weight on him. "he'll get over it."

main masterlist/bellamy's masterlist

[tiyawnyana]

Hi. I saw u have requests open and i wanna request Vander x neutral reader making outtt …. maybe perhaps :] have an awesome day

Lowkey adored this- had so much fun writing for younger Vander since I've been dying to oop

A/N: i headcannon that Vander was a FLIRT when he was younger bc look at that man and tell me he doesn't know he's a hunk

Characters: Younger! Vander x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: slowish build up, making out, maybe a teensy bit ooc but honestly? No i think he was a flirt

Children DNI

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Vodka Tonic

You had met Silco down in the mines originally, you were lost and he had helped you find the rest of the group.

That same evening, he had invited you out to have drinks with he and his friends.

That's where you met sweet Felicia, with her soft voice and cute dances, and Vander.

Vander, all muscle and large and gorgeous. Smooth, deep voice, that quite honestly could lull you to sleep.

"Got yourself a buddy now, aye Silco?" He has said eyeing you for a moment.

"Found him down in my section of the mines," Silco nods, patting your back.

You nodded weakly, a slightly strained smile on your lips as you wave awkwardly.

Felicia paid it no mind, smiling all too friendly at you as you walk in behind Silco.

"What's your poison?" Vander had asked, and you quirked a brow in question.

He lifts a bottle of liquor wordlessly with a faint smirk.

"Oh! Oh- uh," you think for a moment,"Vodka tonic," you managed to murmur under his curious gaze.

He nods with that same smirk,"You're after my own heart," he had stated, turning to make the drink.

Your cheeks warmed much to your dismay before shaking your head quickly.

You attempted to make conversation, but ended up just listening to Felicia talked about, well, whatever she was talking about.

You couldn't get your eyes off of Vander.

Vander with those thick arms. Vander with his gorgeous eyes. Fuck.

Over time, your presence became a constant. You had cooled yourself down, insisting that Vander wouldn't take interest, you were Silco's friend. Therefore, Vander's friend.

Until you found yourself alone in their little apartment with none other than Vander- Felicia wasn't feeling too hot and Silco.. well, Silco just sometimes disappeared, figuring out work or other things alike.

You almost left, feeling awkward and bumbling out apologies but Vander patted your back. Kind as ever. Insisting you stay and have another one of his drinks like any other night.

"C'mon, I don't bite," he has teased with a smirk,"Hard-"

The last part was muttered as he turned around to walk over to their liquor cabinet, and you did a double take, not believe he had said it.

You let a snicker tumble out and Vander grins over at you, relieved that his joke stuck.

The night had been... surprisingly nice.

He had joined you this time, nursing his own vodka tonic as he sat beside you at their little bar.

He asked about you. Your childhood, your upbringing. Turns out you had basically grown up of opposite sides of the Lanes, just associating with different kids and teens.

Vander kept eye contact, listening with his entire being as he cracked jokes or laughed about something you said.

You had ended up entirely too drunk, leaning against the bar and blatantly flirting with him.

Your cheeks were rosy, and Vander was chuckling as you complimented his eyes.

"You're drunk," he laughs, patting your knee.

"Doesn't take away the fact that you're handsome," you drunkenly chuckled.

"I'll take you seriously when you're able to tell me sober," Vander fixes you with a teasing pointed look as he stands. He stretches, a little sliver of his lower stomach showing as his shirt lifts before he's grasping your elbow and helping you up,"You can crash here for the night, can't have ya leavin' like this."

"Oh- it's okay, I've been piss drunk and made it home," a lie,"I'm fine-"

Vander doesn't say anything besides another pointed look, not leaving you any room for argument.

You grumble beneath your breath before being dragged off to a small room with an old, worn mattress.

He's quiet and it's almost serene. Intimate, even, when Vander hands you one of his worn shirts to wear for the night.

Laying in Vanders bed- alone, wearing his shirt, gazing up the ceiling as your vision swirls about gives you ample time to fantasize about the man currently crashing on the small couch out in the living/dining/main area.

The next day, you had woke with a shock, a thumping ache in your head as you sit up with a groan.

The sound and smell of food has your stomach rumbling.

You rub the sleep from your eyes as you step out of the room to be greeted with Felicia animatedly chatting away with Vander who seems to be cooking up some breakfast- eggs and bacon?

Felicia must have heard you, eyebrow raised as she turns before smiling in delight as she calls your name with a side hug.

"I'm sorry- feeling a little sick-ish, didn't want to give ya any illness," she suddenly smirks as she eyes the shirt you're wearing,"Nice shirt."

You look down in confusion before the memories of the night before rush to the surface, a hot blush of embarrassment covering your cheeks.

"Oh- um," you clear your throat before grinning sheepishly,"Thanks."

You watch Felicia wander into Vander's view and smirk at him as if she knows something.

You idly stand there for a moment before deciding to sit, feeling woozy.

You lean forward, elbows on your knees as you rub at your temples while willing yourself not to dart out of the small apartment.

Vander wanders over, old socks coming into view as he places a plate of breakfast on the small table.

He crouches before you as you lean back in surprise,"Got a headache, aye?"

He's there- unbelievably kind eyes peering at you as he hands you a glass of water.

"Yeah," you murmur, taking the glass with a thankful albeit awkward smile.

He stands, going back to the food and asks Felicia if she wants any before she's declining with a smirk, taking her leave.

After a moment, Vander comes back, pulling a small stool up to sit across from you with his plate in hand. It's almost comical, the stool is so small beneath him and the plate looks equally small.

"Food will help," he hands you a fork.

You take it, nodding in thanks as you begin to eat quietly.

You find your gaze trailing over to him as you both eat, quickly averting them when he looks back at you.

He carefully takes the plate from your hands when you're done, going back to the sink to clean them off.

You're moving to the bedroom to fetch your shirt, carefully folding Vanders as you step back out.

"I'm.. gonna go," you murmur awkwardly,"Got a shift down at the mines at noon."

Vander swings his rag up onto his shoulder after drying his hands, turning to look at you and leaning against the sink.

He eyes you for a moment, taking in your awkward fidgeting as you hold his shirt.

"Please don't... feel awkward about last night," he reassures carefully,"You were drunk. We can.. chalk it up to that."

You swallow thickly, nodding in embarrassment.

Taking your leave was even more awkward, somehow; placing his shirt down on the small table before nearly darting out, as if your tail were between your legs.

A week passes. Silco grows annoyed with you as you respectfully decline his invites to Vanders and his place.

You throw yourself into work, working longer hours until you hit a pipe, a burst of the grey shooting straight into your lungs.

You're dragged out of the mines, told you're to rest and take a few days, much to your dismay.

Silco hears of it, meeting you on the surface and scolding you.

On the second day of rest, Silco finds you at your dingy apartment, dragging you out and ignoring your groans and before you know it, you're at a bar.

The Last Drop.

You don't recognize it, finding it brand new and nearly empty, save for Felicia and Vander who converse at the back of the building by the bar.

"Hey!" Felicia waves to you both with a grin, patting your arm with a softer smile,"I heard what happened in the mines, I'm glad you're okay!"

Vander looks over at you, surprised to see you after a little over a week of nothing.

You're sheepish under his gaze, embarrassment written on your face.

"Glad you're alright," he says softly.

Felicia talks about her job, groaning about her sector of the mines while cooing about her spouse. Silco remains quiet as usual, writing into his journal and sipping the whiskey Vander had poured for him.

Wordlessly, Vander places a glass in front of you. Vodka tonic.

"Thank you-" you manage to say genuinely.

He smiles and nods at you, turning back to listen to Felicia.

After a little while of nursing your drink, Felicia yawns, stretching her arms above her head before side eyeing you, then Vander.

"Silco- can you walk me down to the Lanes? Connol works later at the mines tonight," she murmurs with a pointed look.

Silco looks at her in confusion before something dawns on him, nodding as he downs his drink and closes his journal.

Felicia kisses you on the cheek, bidding a Goodnight as she leaves with Silco.

You open your mouth, preparing to leave too- until another glass is placed in front of you.

It's not a vodka tonic, much to your surprise.

You look up at Vander in confusion, shock wracking your belly as he leans closer to you from across the bar.

"Try it," he nods to the drink.

You hesitate before shrugging, surprised at the taste- warm and light, a drink you're unfamiliar with.

"That's my favorite drink," Vander murmurs, eyeing you carefully.

You raise a brow,"Thought vodka tonics were your favorite."

Vander smirks slightly,"They're... good, but not my favorite."

You hum in response and he continues before you can say anything.

"Said it was my favorite to connect with you," he says that softer, turning to grab another glass and pours himself a cup, ending up with a vodka tonic.

Your eyes widen slightly in confusion,"wh- huh? Why?"

He fixes his gaze on you again then walks around the side of the bar to sit on the stool beside you.

His thigh brushes against yours as he settles in, resting his elbows on the bartop.

He sighs, shrugs, lifting his drinks and sipping it as he side eyes you.

Your cheeks warm, a feeling of almost hope bubbling up beneath the surface. You don't dare say anything.

"I told you- that night- that I'll take you seriously if you tell me sober," he murmurs, eyes locked onto his glass.

You clear your throat,"Yeah- I remember.."

He only gives you a narrowed look as he turns to face you. His thighs frame yours as he turns you in the stool to face him.

"Well?" He smirks.

You narrow your gaze in disbelief.

Curse Vander and his kind eyes, his gorgeous face and large hands that now hold a soft grip over your knee.

You swallow thickly, cheeks reddening.

"I- uh.." you struggle to speak, laughing in surprise,"Wha-at is happening-?"

Vander just gazes at you wordlessly, a faint smirk on his lips.

You're unable to speak- wishing you could form the words that you know you said when drunk-

Luckily, it seems Vander understands your trouble.

Suddenly, he's lifting his hand towards your face. You flinch slightly, and you don't miss the hesitation in his eyes but he licks his lower lip as he gently cups your cheek.

"Easy," he murmurs as he carefully tugs you closer, free hand taking your clenched one off your thigh and thumbing your fist open, thumb rubbing your palm soothingly.

"Vander-"

"Tell me to stop," he locks his eyes on yours, waiting.

You don't say anything, your eyes flicking down to his mouth before trailing back up to his eyes.

He smirks. Then leans in, slotting his lips over yours.

This kiss is awkward, initially. You're stiff, surprised and still in complete disbelief.

Vander pulls back to look at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and lidded gaze.

He brushes a strand of hair from your forehead. His palm moves down from your cheek to the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your pulse point and that smirk returns as he feels your heartrate.

"You alright?" He murmurs, gaze flicking back down to your lips.

You lick them, nodding quickly before moving closer, nose brushing against his as you begin to breathe the same air.

He chuckles and fuck, it's attractive, but he finally presses his lips against yours again.

You sigh into him, nerves rattling into your bones but he feels good.

Vander leads the kiss, gentle and sweet, typical.

His thumb moves to your jaw, pressing slightly to silently tell you- open up.

You listen- mouth opening just enough for him to press his tongue in.

"Nnh-" you hum softly, shivers rolling down your spine as his tongue tangles with yours.

You're almost squirming in the barstool. Free hand clenched into a fist perched on your thigh, other in Vanders grasp. Spine straightening then slouching.

Vander sighs into you, turning your head slightly to kiss you deeper. A low moan escapes your mouth and you almost pull back out of embarrassment but he hums a 'no,' refusing to stop kissing you.

You lean closer, unclenching your free hand and placing it on his thigh.

He releases your hand, now carefully gripping your thigh, thumb rubbing back and forth higher up. A tingle blossoms in your belly- dozens of butterflies spawning in as Vander groans into your mouth, panting softly. He pulls back for a split second, just to tilt your head the other way and he's back to pressing his tongue into your mouth.

You inch closer, hand rising up on his thigh with a surprised moan as he nips your lower lip-

Suddenly the barstool wobbles and you yelp, pulling back from the kiss and he grasps your elbow, stabilizing you.

You gaze at him- your lips tingling and breathing slightly ragged. You manage a soft laugh, tilting your head forward and leaning against his shoulder to cover your blush.

He cups the side of your neck, urging you back with a fond smile.

"Want to crash here tonight?" He asks softly, gaze lingering on your eyes.

You peer up at him before returning his soft smile with a nod,"I'd like that."

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A/N: yippeeee!!! Lmk if you wanna be added to my tag list :)

[sorcerous-caress]

Early morning cuddling pt.2

[Fluff, wholesome, nb!reader]

[Halsin, Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale]

Part One

Halsin

You'd think that you married a fairytale princess by the amount of small animals you wake up each morning to, cuddling by your side and nuzzling against Halsin's warmth.

Not that he seems to mind. If anything, he seems the happiest sharing his bed with all those willing. His strong arm keeps a hold over you during the night, keeping you close and secure to his chest while he easily falls into a state of meditation. He prefers keeping the window open and listening to the wind outside, swaying of leaves and chipping of bird in the morning.

You did wonder what exactly does he think about during his meditation, and he confessed he replays his favourite memories. Reminding himself of what's worth fighting for in this life.

His palm cupping your face so gently, rough from centuries of tending to plants and magic practice. You can smell the earth embedded in his skin.

Who is worth fighting for.

If you're the type to sleep in during the morning, he happily indulges you as you cuddle closer to him. Resting your head on the rise and fall of his chest.

Letting the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into the land of dreams, just for a short while, maybe five minutes more.

feeling his hand draw circles on your back soothingly. You catch a glimpse of a whispered prayer to the father of nature, Halsin asking him to protect you, keep your soul and heart pure, keep you by his side for as long as this cycle of life allows.

♡

Astarion

You only realise the worth of love after having experienced solitude.

Astarion came to realise how much it meant to have someone just hold you in bed, nothing more, a simple body laying next to him in blissful sleep.

To have someone relish in your company so much, feel safe around him so much that you'd willingly want him to stay by your side while you were the most vulnerable.

It feels strange in his heart, a twing or guilt, even shame.

What did he do to deserve this?

How are you so peaceful next to a vampire? This isn't a camp on some ditch in the backside of Faerun anymore, this is your home that you've willingly and foolishly invited a vampire into.

But maybe he was the biggest fool, for he kept holding you close, fangs tucked away as the smell of blood was the least of his interests at this moment. The living really has a captivating way to steal one's attention.

what dreams do you have?

Each night is like a trance, and before he realises, it ends so suddenly when glowing lines of light just below the thick curtains peak on the floor.

It's morning already, but it felt like a second, he wants to hold you for a lifetime, hug you for a century, kiss you for a decade and whisper your name as if it was his last breath.

He wants so many things, he has so many conflicting emotions. Astarion doesn't want to get attached, you're fleeting, mortal, alive and so loveable.

And he is none of these things, at least not in his views.

But after so much misery, he deserves to steal one good thing from the living, you. It doesn't matter if he has earned it or not, you willingly chose him, loved him.

Embraced him as you woke up, eyes sleepy as nuzzled into him further with no regard to how cold his skin might be in contrast to your warm blanket.

"Darling, you know I'm supposed to be the nocturnal one in this relationship, right? Or did you grow fangs during the night." He voice was laced with an unusual softness, a stranger to his own ears.

You grumbled as he pulled away, chasing after him with adorable slow speed with your hand as you attempted to bring him back.

He's not a sadist.

Okay maybe he is.

But torturing a sleepy you, is becoming one of the highlights of his days. It makes waiting here all night worth it.

♡

Shadowheart

Her eyebrows scrunch into the most adorable glare when she first wakes up. The children of Shar and Selune have never been morning people, present or past.

The tips of her ears slightly twitch as the cold morning reaches her after you manage to steal the blanket in your sleep, wrapping the soft thing around you and leaving her to the mercy of the chilly weather.

Stirred from her sleep, she has a half mind to acknowledge how endearing you look besides her. Peacefully in your slumber and unaware of the crime you've commited, letting your beloved freeze to death in the early morning.

With a sigh, Shadowheart reaches over to untangle tha blanket edge from your iron fist as she squeezes herself inside the makeshift cocoon you've assembled. Instant warmth and comfort greeting her the more she pressed her body onto yours.

Despite how heavenly you feel, sleep has already evaded her grasps. Once she wakes up, she's the type not to fall asleep afterwards. Doesn't help how much of a light sleeper she can be at times.

So she closes her eyes and basks in the moment, fully enjoying the presence. The quietness of the morning where the people haven't woken up yet, the stillness of the air, the slow rhythmic breathing as your chest rises and falls.

She wants to trace your face with her fingers, she wants to admire your eyes, but she doesn't want to wake you up so instead her arms gently hug your body closer to hers.

Safety, comfort and love, things she was taught were a sin to desire, things assumed to make her weaker.

But being weak has never felt so good before, if what she's doing is wrong in the eyes of any god, then she might as well embrace her spot in the hells with your arms as her grave.

♡

Gale

He's changing you slowly, and you're not sure if it's for the better or worse.

What started as you teasing him over his cotton pyjamas with cat paw prints, turned into you wearing a matching one after he bought you one and sweetly coerced you into it.

You look so silly. You can't even deny it as you watch your reflection in the mirror. Watching in real time as your dignity evaporates into thin air while your lover is searching for his reading glasses under the bed by using magic to lift it in the back of the mirror reflection.

Turning around, you feel your lips tugging into a smile as you notice the pair of reading glasses pushed up on his head while Gale is scratching his said head and mumbling about how he just had it close by.

Where could it have possibly went, you wonder.

Calling him over, you watch as he adorable walks over to you with a hopeful look that you've somehow found his glasses like you usually do. As if you were the wizard in this situation who'd make it appear out of thin air rather than the academically acclaimed professor Dekarios in front of you.

Your hand cups his face, and he leans into it without question. Planting a small kiss on his lips, you lower his glasses back onto his face as you pull away. Gale's delighted expression rewards you with a second kiss, calling you his hero.

The two of you fall asleep with a dim light illuminating the room, stray magical star enchantments making the bedroom just bright enough for Gale's midnight reading, or midnight paper grading.

You either learn to tough it out or use that equally silly eyemask that came with your cat pyjamas.

Gale's usually the last one to fall asleep, except on weekends when he's in bed by 9. But since tomorrow, he has to be guiding the future generations of wizards in Faerun, you get his wandering hand playing with your hair or massaging your neck as you drift off to sleep.

By the time morning comes, he's tucked in a blanket by your side. Glasses crooked on his face for he forgot to remove them, again.

Reaching over, you gently take them off of him and set them on the bedside table. Giving his forehead a soft kiss as you check the time and see that you still have a quarter of an hour before he has to get ready to leave for work.

You wrap your arms around him, and he leans into your touch. Even while asleep, his body has complete trust in you, recognising your warmth and letting you cuddle him.

It would've been a very romantic early morning cuddling for the two silly people in embarrassing cat pyjamas, wasn't it for the scratching of paws on the locked door of your bedroom.

The sing-song yelling of Gale's last name following shortly, courtesy to Tara announcing to the whole world how you're a minute late to delivering her morning meal and the carrier pigeons outside are starting to look more and more like grilled chicken wings by the second.

[sungiescheotluv]

can i call you tonight? ⭑.ᐟ park jisung

pairing: park jisung x gender neutral reader

word count: 1.5k

tags/warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, hidden feelings, incoherent writing of me being soft of jisung 🥹

summary: they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. in your case, your night-time calls with your long-time friend, jisung, reveal a lot more than the darkness of the sky.

notes: wow, wow, another post! wasn't expecting to post so soon, but i was writing for another project i'm working on and saw this post and said what the heck, let's give this a go! ☝🏾🤓again, this may be incoherent because i don't proofread this until later on (sorry for any errors) and because my feelings are a bit all over the place lmao. anyways, hope you enjoy and hope to see you soon! much luv <3

A lethargic film coats your eyes, the familiar sting of exhaustion winding your eyes shut. You should go to sleep. Quit this charade and call it a night. And yet, in the darkness of your bedroom, you pat against the soft expanse of your sheets, feeling around for a phone so bright you squint when brought to eye level.

No new notifications.

You huff into your pillow, definitely not pouting. Your long-time friend, Jisung, is away, chasing his dreams with his closest friends, NCT Dream, who are currently on tour. A busy year filled to the brim with schedules make it hard to keep in touch, much less meetup, but Jisung makes the effort. Whether it's at the crack of dawn or late into night, you can always rely on a call from him, explaining his day's events and asking about yours. You work odd hours, sleep odd hours too, so in a way, despite the distance between you, things still work like they had all those years ago.

From what he last texted you, he’d be able to call you in three hours - after the concert. It's a battery in your back, lighting up from a long day at work. It’d be late for you, but it didn’t matter. You wanted to hear from him -  his muffled chuckles at your lame jokes, his endless interest in what you were up to (even if it was never as interesting) and have his deep voice lull you to sleep. It was like he was right there with you, shrouded in the lowlights of your room, holding you close and never letting go. Not oceans away, not out of your grasp and out of your mind.

Just as you’d given up on his call, your phone buzzes against your pillow, the lowtone reserved for Jisung. With a tired groan, you press Accept.

“Did I wake you?”

It’s amazing what years spent together did to you two, no need for words to convey any and all thoughts. Well, some of them anyways.

“No, I was just dozing off,” you mumble. “How was the concert?”

“Good. The energy was threw the roof, the guys and I really enjoyed ourselves,” Jisung falls into his routine, back supported by a heaped blanket with his phone against his chest. “How was your day?”

“Same old, same old,” you huff. “Any interesting signs?”

“None if you don’t tell how your day went,” he argues, and you roll your eyes.

Classical Jisung. Always attentive, always seeing right through you.

You relay your day to him, pinpointing how gorgeous the sky looked on your way back and how he would’ve loved the view.

“The picture I sent you doesn’t do it justice,” you explain.

“Getting to see it through your eyes is good enough.”

You cough, momentarily caught off guard by how much that made your heart flutter. “Anyways, the signs. We were talking about signs.”

Jisung lags a bit, an unconvinced hum coming through before he speaks. “Not any I haven’t told you about,” he hums, the drum of his fingers thumping through your phone speaker. “There was one that asked me to put my ring on their finger.”

“If you gave away that wrapped nail ring, I swear-”

“I didn’t even give it to them, I just took it off my finger and had it in the air,” he chuckles, stirring something warm in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

A wave of sheepishness washes over you, face buried into your pillow as you mumble. “It’s just…a nice ring, is all.”

“You think so? I would’ve thought you’d prefer the Chrome Hearts one.”

“It’s nice, but the nail one's better”

“Oh, I see,” he teases, all-knowing and you hope he’s none the wiser. Hiding things from each other is not your norm, but when they involved feelings that could fundamentally change the fabric of your relationship, you tried to embrace change. Maybe some hope too. That maybe he wasn’t calling you at late hours because you were available, but because he wanted to be with you as much as you did. “That’ll be the first place I visit when I get back.”

“What place?’

“The jewelry store where I got the ring,” he explains, dull fingernails tapping against the surface of his phone. It’s one of the things he does when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, a habit you’re sure he’s totally unaware of. Regardless, it soothes the elevation in your heart rate, tingles running down your back like hot water. “Well, first stop is your place, then the store.”

“Matching rings is a bit..”

“What?” he asks, in that low tone that makes you putty in his large hands. “We’ve got matching shoes, hoodies that I had to restock because you keep stealing mine and matching necklaces. I don’t think rings are much of a stretch.”

You couldn’t argue there. Especially since you curled up in your bed in your latest steal - a simple black hoodie that is oversized and still smelt like him. You couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge how the faint scent of citrus, jasmine and him didn’t force you to count sheep. You also couldn’t bring yourself to admit the eruption of goosebumps over your skin when Jisung clasped the necklace on you, his fingers grazing your exposed skin in the process. It took everything in you not for your knees to give out right then and there.

“You’re only convincing me because I’m half asleep.”

“I see how it is. I’ll take it anyways,” he hums, a closed mouth giggle vibrating off his chest. It’s oddly intimate, being so close yet far away from him. “I wish you were here.”

Something ceases in your chest. Your heart? Your lungs? You’re unsure, but whatever it is has your eyes shooting open, a vague thump of your heart echoing through your weightless limbs. Usually, you’d be able to tread this line carefully, a tight-rope you’ve perfected to a science, but something about the darkness, the late hour makes you more vulnerable. More forthcoming.

You don’t deflect in a joke, or find some way to turn this back on him. You simply answer back. “Me too,”

You hesitate. “I missed hearing your voice.”

“Wow, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in the last five years.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, no - don’t go,” he chuckles, but there’s something in his voice that’s pleading. That makes you stay. “I guess, I just…that was sweet of you. Thank you.”

You turn your head, as if scorched by his loaded gaze. “Don’t mention it.”

A quietness falls between the two of you, one that doesn’t call upon ideal conversation but allows you to gather your cloud-like thoughts, to drift further into your dreamstate where in one reality, you’re able to confess your feelings and get your happy ending.

“If I fall asleep, just hang up,” you mumble, like the words escape you. “No need for an earful of my snoring.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jisung argues, and if you could, you’d roll your eyes. “It’s like white noise.”

“Are you seriously comparing my snores to white noise right now?”

“It helps me sleep, so I’d say so,” and then silence. Almost a deafening one, as if he’d realised the weight of his words and wasn’t sure what to say next. You gulped. “You know,”

“What?”

“You’re the only one I’ll talk to this late, right?’

You shift, suddenly hyperaware of every sensation inside and outside your body. “No.”

He hums, as if to say Huh. “I thought I was a bit more…obvious about things.”

That has your attention, your hand clawing just beside your lit-up phone. “Obvious about what?’

Silence again. And in all the years of your friendship - days spent indulging in sugary ice cream on sunny days playing hopscotch, running through your high school hallways to get lunch first, the prideful smile he had on your university graduation day - no silence has felt this way. Something other than comfortable, like the moment you teetered on the edge of your seat and held your breath for.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?’

And there he is, so sweet and bashful. Probably hiding his beautiful face behind his pretty hands, a downturned smile and flush against his soft skin. Oh, what you’d do to kiss the beauty mark against his cheek.

“Considering I don’t know what it is, then yes. I am.”

You have an inkling, because you’ve spent the better part of your life with him, but you’re not one for assumptions. You’d rather hear it from him.

“When I come back,” he starts, cautious yet earnest. “I’d like to take you on a…real date.”

“Platonically or?’

“There’s nothing platonic about the way I feel about you,” and you can hear it, the smile in his voice. And now, you’re the bashful one, again burying your face against bundled feathers as your cheeks burn like the sun. “What do you say?”

“That I’m glad I didn’t miss your call,” you chuckle, the leaps your heart fluttering against your chest that tickled with delight. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you smile. “Hurry back soon.”

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

And before you know it, he's at your door, smile sheepish and ring in hand. His hands tremor ever so slightly and it melts your heart, your hands folding over his as you lead him inside, a new chapter of your lives together unfolding.

[inknopewetrust]

𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. [𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 𝟕𝐤]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐱. 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 [𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠], 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚+ 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

You weren’t sure when you started to feel this way.

It ate at you—the sensation. Nipping at the bits of yourself that were far too obvious in a mirror. They rushed through you like you were a lamb for slaughter. It was often you wondered if all of those creatures you sought could feel it too, this vulnerability underneath a tough skin.

And you could see it too. In the mirror, passing a reflecting door or window, in the sunglasses of a friend. Every time your image reflected back to you, a wave of self-doubt washed over you.

It was debilitating and something you never voiced aloud. The thoughts simply ate away at you as the days passed on and the world unraveled with it.

Little help came when your daily return to safety came in the form of a mismatched bunker. In it, the glamorous common sections provided a bit of beauty while the corridors were bland and the rooms much more so. There was nothing there to make you feel pretty—let alone beautiful in such an ugly world.

When the bunker was quiet, those thoughts came alive.

Everyone had gone off for the day. It was one of those strange, sitting duck kind of days where there wasn’t a story to chase or evil lurking around the corner to seize a moment. It was quiet, content with whatever lull had formed for the time being. You were alone in your room flipping through an old book on werewolves that was quickly losing your interest.

For once, you just wanted a break to be normal. To feel normal and be normal without a fear of cosmic retribution for wanting to be someone other than what you had become. This… monster-hunting sidekick chick who feels a bit down and out about the cards life dealt her.

Dean and Sam weren’t on the same wavelength as you, you had imagined. They played off their content with this life as perfectly as anyone could.

A knock at your door interrupted your thoughts abruptly. It startled you. Shaking a little jump from your skin, you approached the door with caution as your knowledge had led you to believe you were alone.

But as you cracked open the door, it was painfully obvious you weren’t.

“Dean?”

He gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I thought you’d be—“

“I told Sam to go on his own,” he clarified. Sam went down to Wichita early that morning and with the roar of Baby, you had assumed Dean had tagged along.

“Oh.”

There was something more stirring in the air around your room. The internal self-loathing was misting and Dean’s presence was billowing. For you, all it took was one glance into his green eyes to fall into an abyss of him. Dean Winchester had girls falling to their knees, praying for a miracle that he’d notice them and fall in love with them and end up with them forever.

He never did but it was too notable to ignore.

He made your heart thump louder. The blood stirring the cauldron of doom inside, building a pool of sweat in your palms and your pupils to grow wider. He was a beautiful man—it was almost embarrassing to think that he’d pay more attention to you than he did.

And there was a scorned inside for the scattered moments he did make you feel something more.

It was on days like this: when everyone was gone and fate had found you alone together when something clicked into place, drawing you together like moths to a flame and touch was a burning relief.

Having sex with Dean was an action that lit up the pitting feelings of doubt.

Every time your shirt came off—hideous.

Every time your pants came undone—ugly.

Every time he gave himself—unworthy.

And every time you let go—pathetic.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth and gnawed at it. Dean leaned against the frame but didn’t push. He never did.

“Why didn’t you go?”

He shrugged his shoulders. In his own bashful way, he looked down at his shoes.

“Didn’t want to, I guess,” he said. “Got better things to do than go see a city I’ve seen a hundred times before.”

There was more to do there. There were more girls there to choose from.

“Well it’s not anymore exciting here,” your eyes gave an unfortunate admission. “Just me.”

“You’re plenty exciting,” Dean lifted his head with a scoff. “I figured if you stayed behind then at least it be worth staying behind for.”

When he said phrases like that, it was so casual. It made you roll your eyes in a shallow disbelief he was flagrant with saying your worth anything. Wichita had more than you could ever offer.

You rested the side of your body on the door and clung to the doorknob on the other side tightly.

“I’m afraid you might be wrong on that one.”

Dean’s eyes flinched in curiosity. They searched your face unabashedly for answers it was unwilling to give.

“Why?” He asked. “We never get any time to ourselves. It’s… nice for a change, yeah?”

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just don’t think I’m worth staying behind for.”

He let out a laugh. No smile, just an amused laugh at the suggestion. You weren’t sure if you should feel miffed or reassured.

“Spend five hours in the car with Sam on a Saturday or spend the day with you? I’d much rather be here.”

His honesty was endearing. It was far different from the man you met so many years ago. He had grown comfortable, willing, in that time and if you thought hard on it, it was generally only around you.

For Dean, being vulnerable was cracking his soul open. It was as debilitating as your inability to see yourself as valuable was. But he was comfortable here, alone, and he was content in letting it bleed from every part of him.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Is there a plan I am unaware of?”

Your day was to be spent flipping through books and taking notes of what resolutions could help you all the most.

Dean shrugged again and kicked his foot out slightly. You knew what he wanted, hell, you wanted it too but you couldn’t feel that inside of you.

“I don’t know,” he played. “That’s really up to you.”

Ball, court.

“There’s no one here,” Dean reassured you. You could be loud. You could do what you wanted. You could take your time.

“I know,” you nodded your head. You twisted the knob on the other side of the door.

“We don’t have to,” he backed up with words. The last thing Dean wanted you to feel for him is resentment for propositioning you. “It’s alright. I can… I can,” he cleared his throat, “take care of myself.”

“No,” you said quicker than you meant to. “No.”

“No?”

“You don’t have to take care of it, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded at him as the tone shifted. In your hearts, the beating anticipating was in your throats. You could feel it in the jittering movement of your fingers and toes and the insatiable appetite that manifested inside.

The door you were holding on to opened slightly to gain him entry. He took the signal, brushing past you and not feeling cautious when his hand came to rest on your side as he pushed by.

It dawned on you as he entered that you’d never had sex in your room. It was always Dean’s and the one, singular occasion he caught you in the library on a day like this one and ate you out between the bookshelves.

You shut the door behind you as he stepped into the room and took it in differently than before. He’s been in it, sure, but when the circumstances change, everything changes too.

“You remodel?” He joked, pointing around the room that looked identical to all the others. “Looks nice.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. Leaning against the door, you folded your hands behind your back. “It was a real task, you know? All the painting and laying the wood.”

He nodded with a hum. He patrolled the space before shrugging off his flannel that rested atop a t-shirt.

You weren’t sure what he wanted exactly but you were hesitant to approach him.

Sitting, facing your bed from its place on the floor was a mirror. And you’d be fucking damned if you watched yourself fuck Dean Winchester through your reflection.

It might be the death of you.

And you didn’t want to curse Dean with that memory.

He kicked off his shoes without instruction. Pieces of himself began to unshed before you. First the shirt, then the shoes. His hands went to his belt, flicking it open and unraveling itself in swift motions that your own hands had learned to do before.

Dean didn’t look at you, he didn’t ask you to join him.

His hands went to the bottom of his shirt and as he lifted it up and over his head, you weren’t shameful to ogle him. That was why he was here—for you to feel him, touch him, worship him in ways he wouldn’t get elsewhere.

There were plenty of other girls in Wichita.

He tossed his shirt to join the flannel before looking at you. Dean held out his hand to you, beckoning you.

“Come here,” he said softly. It could have been enough for you at one time, but it wasn’t today.

You shook your head.

“You come to me.”

If you knew Dean correctly, he would, and he did.

Even in your doubts, having Dean near you was comfort. His eyes drank you in. Completely encapsulated by you and only you and he felt free in that space. He was giving and grateful.

So, he stood toe to toe with you. One of his hands creeped up your slides and slotted into the space where your hands created an opening to the back of you. He silently begged for you to untangle your hands, taking one of them in his own as he allowed the position to draw himself closer.

He held on to you in two ways: against you, pressing you into the door as his nose knocked your own, and his and your intertwined hands pressing into your back. You used your free one to cup his face. You hummed in agreement. Dean tilted his head, breathing in deeply as the skin of your face grazed his own. He could play a long time. The hand you let linger on his cheek brushed along the sides of his neck, folding itself around his back and gripping onto his opposite shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch. Dean let his fingers detached from yours and he cupped at your ass to pull you closer. There was nowhere closer than him. Flush against his body, feeling everything but the blood rushing through him and he soaked in the staggered breaths of anticipation.

You tipped your head away from his to look in his eyes.

His short stubble was tough under your palm. Nothing, however, could detract you from the way his eyes bore into you. He had lovely lashes, fluttering and romantic compared to his outward appearance of “tough man.” They complimented the way his eyes changed from welcome to conversation to lust.

Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was enough for now.

“How’s this gonna work?” You asked him, breath fanning his face.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he mumbled. Eyes hooded, trapped on your lips as they wet themselves. “But we’ve got time. We can go slow.

You nodded like he read your mind. Slow, steady, different from other times.

“I don’t need slow,” you murmured. He gripped your ass harder than before, pushing you against him before letting go and running his hand smoothly over the rump.

“But I’ve got too many clothes on.”

“You’re damn right about that, sweetheart.”

Dean needs no true instructions.

Even in your wallowing pitiful despair of self-destruction, as long as you truly couldn’t see yourself everything would be fine. It would be fine. Dean’s hands roamed your body freely with the invitation. Hands large and free, they begged to grip and squeeze what they could but settled on unraveling the fruits of the goal. With every piece of clothes that came undone and piled themselves onto the floor at your feet, you spied Dean’s eyes grow shades of green. Each deeper than before—tantalizing from opportunity and wolfish in a hunt.

His hands met the tops of your bottoms, trading the top of it with his fingers as they grazed the skin of your stomach. You laid your head back against the door, admiring the way he had the smallest sign of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. Something glimmered, something gleamed in his eyes when he looked back. Dean leaned in, planting a light kiss on the edge of your lip but not on them before falling to his knees.

Clad yet in his beltless jeans, Dean ran his hands over the curve of your waist and down your legs. The agony of time made your heart thump. Thump, thump, thump against your ribcage and into your mind and into the place where his head was mere inches from. You loved the way Dean made you feel—you just hated how you felt on your own.

The muscles of his shoulders worked elegantly as he removed your bottoms and re-ran his hands upwards along your skin. Light goosebumps formed along his trail and he smiled, letting out the lightest laugh in admiration.

Dean’s thumbs found themselves on the edges of your underwear and he paused.

“Like I said,” he was gruff, “we’ve got all the time in the world. So, how do you want me?”

There were few men in the world who would offer themselves to a woman. Be freely tasked with whatever she wanted, not he.

But again, you hated decision making. From dinners to motels to books to people, you hated being the shot caller.

“Use your imagination.” You settled on. “I’m all yours, Dean.”

And since he was already on his knees, he supposed he’d start there.

Dean bent an index finger and rested it at the top of your underwear before dragging it downward, slowly watching your eyes and chest as he inched closer and closer to your core. He didn’t stagger as he crossed a threshold of your covered clit and continued further as he wrist turned and his palm rested against the front of you, his fingers pressing into you from above you panties.

He rubbed his hand back and forth, arching his fingers to press inwards but not moving the Fabric away but caressing it into you. Dean shifted his hand upwards and outstretched a finger on your clothed clit to massage small circles on the bundle of nerves. His opposite shoulder knocked into your leg, opening the space for him as on of your hands shot to a dresser top beside the door and the other rested on his head.

He could feel your hand falling with every ministration. He turned his head in the direction of your hand, the heat of your hand on his face pulsing as the blood was rushing.

“Are you gonna keep fingering me like a middle school boy or really make me feel something, Winchester?” You looked down at him.

He stopped moving his finger.

“Well you told me to use my imagination, sweetheart. You gotta be more specific than that.”

“I want you to eat me out,” you clarified. “I want you to use your fingers and then I want you to fuck me before everyone else comes home.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. A smirk, followed by a “yes ma’am” gave him the orders he needed.

In your imagination, you thought it’d be here by the door. He’d eat you out from the floor and then fuck you against the door but for some, god-fucking-awful reason you can’t place, Dean got up from the floor and walked toward the bed.

His reflection of his back toward the bed reminded you of what you didn’t want to see in it—you.

Dean took a second to undo his jeans and remove himself from them. He was strained already against his briefs but didn’t care to take care of himself first or make it the “problem” needing to be fixed.

And like before, he extended his hand out to you.

“Come on,” he called out and it was hard to ignore the order itself.

A wave of nerves washed over you and made you cold. The sudden realization that you were nearly nude, he too, and your brash words of sex were all that was on the table became too much of a reality. His outstretched hand remained cold.

If you hadn’t known better, you could have assumed a poltergeist had appeared in the room. The sudden chill, the bucket of water dropping on reality bursting a bubble of pretend before it was too late. You were self-conscious and it began to leak like a sieve through the floorboards and walls and all it took was for Dean to truly, really look at you to see that something had changed drastically in the minutes it took for him to move, remove his pants, and hold out his hand.

The romance, the lust, or the sex had died in the moment.

Your hand grasped the edge of the dresser tightly and you couldn’t bare to look at Dean. A shameful, whimpering dog-like mentality was embarrassing and you didn’t fathom it would take on this large of a life. It encapsulated your wants and your needs and was now preventing you from finishing a job that you’d become all too familiar with and it should have been easy.

The mirror reflected those thoughts.

“Hey,” Dean closed his hand and his brows furrowed. “Hey.”

He received no response, just a near frozen you. You shook your head no.

“W-what’s wrong?” He questioned in a state of confusion. Things had changed so quickly. You clicked your tongue, shutting your eyes tightly before opening them again and looking anywhere but him and to the left.

“It’s…” you staggered your words. “It’s, I just, I thought that… well…”

You laughed incredulously at yourself. The hand once gripping the dresser flew to your face in embarrassment and over your eyes.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

Dean could only reiterate his “hey” over and over as he approached you calmly. He shushed in reassurance as he tried to remove the hand that covered your eyes.

“No, no, Dean—I’m fine, really, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Dean said quietly. “What’s going on, hm? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you let him move the hand from your eyes yet you couldn’t look at him. “Nothings wrong I just… I just needed a second, that’s all.”

He didn’t believe you.

He never did when times like these flared up. Whether it be about what he knew or didn’t, any time where you, Sam, or anyone else had a sliver of doubt or injury or sadness, Dean would stop his world to help even if it hurt his own.

“Sweetheart, I think we both know that isn’t true.”

“I’m good. Really.”

He studied you for a time. Just looking, watching the way the muscles in your face twitched, the lack of contact you gave back to him. Dean was far from stupid even if he had his moments; he could see through the veil.

“Then come on,” he proposed. “Let’s just sit down and we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” You knew he wouldn’t force you to.

Dean made the slightest move to step backwards and your eyes flashed in the direction of the mirror.

“It’s ok!” Goddamn. How many times were you going to say it?

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him back. “It’s alright!”

Dean shook his head.

“No, it’s not.”

“We can just do it here,” you suggested. It wasn’t exactly the romantic afternoon he had planned out in his head. “Right here.”

“Against the door?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. Your gaze popped again in the direction of the mirror.

Dean caught it this time.

“The doors fine with me,” you restated assuredly. Dean nodded but didn’t make a move to finish what he started before.

Instead, he lifted one of his hands and cupped your face gently. His green eyes bore into you like lasers, prodding for answers he wasn’t sure he’d get but attempting to discover them nonetheless. There was a slice of pity, a lingering disappointment he couldn’t mask but above all else, Dean wanted you to be truthful to him.

He’d spent forever being lied to. Being told that there was only one path to getting what people needed out of life and listening to the directions of people who didn’t truly care what happened to him nor what he wanted. In a small corner of his own personal heaven, he wanted it to be nothing short of perfect even if perfection could never be attained.

And lies were always the cause of its destruction.

“What’s wrong with the bed, Sweetheart?”

You shook your head.

“This ain’t like a… monster-under-the-bed kind of situation, is it?” Dean joked. You scoffed, a smile cracking itself on your face and he could feel the way it grew underneath his hand.

“No,” you laughed. “There’s nothing in here except you and me.”

“Good,” he said lowly. “Then what’s wrong with that mirror on the wall?”

The smile on your face fell.

“Th-the mirror?”

Dean turned his body slightly to open the pathway to the mirror. Floor length and bolted into the wall sat a mirror across from the bed. It was there when you all arrived at this destination and you had never bothered to move it, only growing to hate its location when you got up, got dressed, and when you met the reflection on accident when you were halfway to self pleasure.

“You keep looking at it like it might come alive.”

“There’s nothing in the mirror.”

No real demons, at least.

“Then come to the bed,” Dean offered again. “I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

The ground was too hard even if the idea enticed him. He’d work you to your orgasm and then need help getting up—one too many throw downs with evil and the world catches up with you.

“We could always go to your room,” you suggested.

Dean’s hand caressed your face. You knew he knew you were avoiding something larger than just a room.

“What’s wrong with the mirror, baby?”

Ah shit. Baby.

“Dean—“ you started in argument against him but he wouldn’t let you. He wasn’t letting this go until it was like all other mysteries in his life and it was solved.

“No,” he argued back. “No, and you know you’re not telling the truth. What’s wrong with the mirror?”

“Nothings wrong with the mirror!”

“Yes there is,” his voice was getting tougher, rough around the edges in frustration with not you, but the thoughts swirling within you.

“No—“

“Yes!”

He let go of your face and grabbed your hand.

“Dean—“

Dean took one step toward the mirror and you broke the façade.

“Fine!” You grunted, tugging your hand out of his grasp. “Fine! It’s the fucking mirror, okay?”

“Well—“

“I don’t like it! It’s at the end of my fucking bed and I can’t stand looking in it.”

Dean’s eyes shifted again to a slight sadness and you wanted to throw a brick at the glass.

“Sw-“

You cut him off. “All I see when I look in that reflection is someone who’s… disgusting. I just… I can’t look at myself anymore and I certainly don’t want to watch myself doing something I don’t deserve to do.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean wanted to reset the day. “You’re not disgusting, sweetheart. Why did you say that, wh—“

“You could have gone with Sam and had someone else for the day, Dean. Someone pretty and sexy and fits all the right boxes for you. I don’t know why you didn’t go.”

“I don’t want them” he said your name firmly. “I stayed because I want you. I don’t want them. They don’t know me or what I like and I chose to be here.”

“Because it’s easy or because it’s convenient?”

“Because it’s perfect.”

“It’s not perfect, Dean.”

Dean stood there aloof in his briefs. Across from him, you were the most vulnerable he’d ever seen you and you were beautiful. There was nothing that caused him to feel repulsed or rejected. He was encapsulated by a glow he’d grown fond of and wanted to be held in. You were gorgeous, underwear and all, and nothing you’d say was going to change his mind.

“To me it is.”

Dean’s head tipped to the side in observance again. “I don’t know what you see—I won’t know what you see. But to me, I see someone who checks all my boxes and it takes nothing else.”

“I can’t look at myself.”

“What if I showed you someone else?”

It didn’t sound right to you. Dean could see it on your face as the confusion fizzled the upset and he wanted to walk it back to clarify yet didn’t.

“You’re not ask-“

“No one else is here,” he shook his head as he reproached you. He grasped one of your hands and hesitantly brought you to the mirror.

“But I want to show you someone else.”

You wanted to protest against him so loudly but when he stopped you in front of the mirror and stood behind you, the words died on your lips. You saw the same person.

The vision in front of you was lumpy and frumpy and the choice of underwear was quickly becoming something to regret.

“Who do you see?” Dean asked you. One of his hands rested on your shoulder, digging into the spot where your neck and shoulder met. The other held onto your own and intertwined your fingers gently.

“I have a feeling you won’t like what I say.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I see… an unfortunate woman. She’s not a supermodel and she’s not a celebrity. So… she’s not the standard of beauty. Her hair’s not done and her makeup is well… not ready for the magazines and she chose the wrong day to wear this color bra.”

“Anything else?” Dean listened.

“The man behind her is too handsome for her. He deserve someone who matches what he gives and that’s not the person in the mirror.”

Dean let that sit in the air for a moment. The seconds felt heavy and you wanted to look away from yourself and crawl under the covers and never see the light of day again.

“Can I tell you what I see?” Dean asked you and you shrugged.

“I can’t imagine it’d be any different than me.”

Dean cleared his throat and from his reflection, his eyes crawled along every inch of you that was exposed to him. You were under a microscope and he the scientist.

“I see my best friend,” he started and you knew you were quickly sinking. “I see a woman who is so strong and capable and caring and good. I see pretty hair and pretty eyes and maybe… maybe…the best lips in this bunker. But I may have to take that back when I look at myself.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I see a woman who has the most beautiful body.” He took the hand from your shoulder and slowly ran the backs of his fingers along your spine. “Every part of her distracts me. I catch myself starting at her when she’s not looking and I have to look away before she notices. Every color looks good on her and she looks the prettiest like this.”

“Anything else?” You said quietly.

Dean looked you in the eyes from the reflection. There were a million things he could say.

“How long do we have?” He laughed. The sound bounced off you; his chest vibrating against your back.

“I haven’t always been the best… anything… when it comes to women. But goddamn do you make me want to be someone else, sweetheart. Like maybe I could be a rock star and you can be the most devoted groupie or… or maybe I could be a firefighter and you can be a school teacher who can’t wait for me to get home.”

“I think you’re projecting, Dean,” you chuckled and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you tight against his bare chest.

“The woman I see in this mirror is perfect to me.”

“I wish she could see that for herself,” you said dejectedly.

“Then let me show her how,” he prompted. His mouth at the base of your ear, his breath was hot on the side of your face. “Let me show you how.”

“I do—“

He said your name strongly. “If you don’t face it, you won’t overcome it.”

A half a second you thought he might have read that from his Dad’s journal back in the day. Perhaps it was a statement he had grown up with but no matter that root, he sought the end to the cause.

“What were you thinking?”

“Nothing different from what you had said before,” Dean’s hands began to shift. They curved over your back and to the front of your body. You watched in the mirror was they traced along your sides and over your hips. The slow agony of his glide caught the fabric of your underwear and begged for them to be pulled away, but he let them remain.

“I’m going to eat you out, like you asked,” you caught his eyes in the mirror and blood rushed to your face. Cheeks hot and flustered, you can’t believe how blatant you had been before. “And then I’m going to fuck you like it’s our last night on this fucking earth, alright?”

“And what of the mirror?”

“You’re gonna watch yourself, us, through it from the bed.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Dean.”

You panicked a little inside. But his hands kept roaming and his eyes were changing their shades again, and in it all, all you could feel was him. His hard body, his rough hands, the breath on your face, and words he spoke overtook the insecurities that plagued you.

“You can,” he assured. His long fingers played at the strap of your bra, inching it away from your shoulder and letting it slip down your arm.

“I know you can because you always listen to me,” he whispered in your ear. “So? What do you say?”

The same fingers that let the strap fall moved under your arm and around to the nearly exposed breast. His hand snaked around your body and up to cup the one breast before squeezing the flesh tightly. You shuddered a breath and he knew he had you.

Dean took your earlobe between his teeth and let go with a small ‘pop.’ His hand squeezed and soothed, the other sitting patiently at your hip. Fingers tugged at the exposed nipple and you watched it harden like magic in the mirror.

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me, baby.”

You met his eyes again.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

And he smiled into your neck.

There was something unexpectedly titillating watching Dean go down on you.

It was daunting at first. Dean had led you to the bed, sitting you on the end and crept up onto the mattress behind you. Your reflection stared back hauntingly—dreading yet curious as to what it may appear as in front of you. It was strange, watching Dean and feeling his touch but not truly looking into his eyes. His hands caressed your body and the seriousness of his need to prove your mind wrong was enough to challenge yourself.

He wanted to prove you wrong. Dean wanted to show you how beautiful you were in the throes of ultimate vulnerability and passion.

“Look,” he positioned your head to look in the mirror across the bed.

“I want you to keep looking, alright? Even when we move or I move you, I need you to keep looking.”

“What if I wa—“ You turned your head to the side to look at him but he took his hand and repositioned your head.

“What if I want to look at you?”

“I’m right here,” Dean looked at himself in the mirror. He puffed out his chest slightly, you biting your lip in his boyish confidence that never seemed to leave him.

You knew, however, how much Dean gave to everyone else. One day, you promised, you’d give Dean something he needed too.

“Now,” he rubbed the sides of your arms before moving out of the way and off the bed. “Lay down.”

“But—“

“I’ll tell you how to do it,” he dismissed.

You shimmed up the bed slightly and leaned back. Your back hit the mattress with the thud and you weren’t sure what to do with your hands, so you just folded them across your stomach. Dean scoffed and looked down at you to which your brows furrowed.

“What?” You questioned.

“You’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”

“Well,” you countered. “In a way I haven’t.”

“Yeah but we’ve done this before,” he made a gesture between the two of you with his finger. “Relax.”

You nodded your head and breathed in deeply. You had done this before. You had. He’s done it a hundred times and if you were counting, he actually liked doing it so it was more than a hundred times over the last few years.

Dean knocked his knee against yours, tipping his head in silent order to open them which you complied obediently with. Now, spread before him, your heart was racing.

“Sit up on your elbows.”

You did.

“When I get down,” Dean warned. “You’re gonna see yourself. And if you get too overwhelmed, you tell me and we stop.”

God, you loved him. You really did.

“Okay,” you said in a quiet nod.

Before you could back down, before he went down, he leaned across to you and kissed you gently on the lips.

“I mean it, yeah?”

You agreed. “Yeah.”

Dean hummed and kneeled on the floor against his better judgement. His hands that rested on your thighs went to your hips, catching the fabric between his palms and slowly, he pulled down your panties and helped remove them from your legs. Above his head, you could see yourself in the mirror—the most private part of you wholly covered by Dean’s head and the expanse of his back took up the rest of the space.

He lifted on your legs off the bed and onto his shoulder. He peppered a few scattered kisses on the inside of your thighs as he repositioned himself for the taking. You were right there, waiting. Dean’s own want was growing by the second and all he wanted to do was taste you.

He hooked his arm around your leg and brought his hand to your core, thumb pressing into you with a jolt. And then he pulled his head inwards. Painting a stripe with his tongue, that was all it took to let the fear escape your body.

Dean was at the alter of you; the reflection emboldened your acceptance of yourself and his actions that formed a deeper well within you. He kept going. His head moving, bobbing for every motion he made. His fingers pulled you open as his tongue painted pictures inside of you.

Each stoke of his tongue, of his fingers along the sides and his thumb pressing into your clit made the blood rush down. You throbbed, burning for something more as you watched nothing but the back of his head and the muscles of his back constrict with his ambition.

Dean watched you watch yourself. He was proud of you—how you didn’t truly watch him or fall to your back instead. You mewled, gasping with a jolt as he prompted himself to use his fingers more. He took it as a sign. Instead of palming himself on the outset of his briefs, he took his other hand and brought it to your pussy that beckoned it.

“You good baby?”

He moved the hand that was already there to your thigh and groped it. You split for a moment from the mirror to look at him. His cheeks were flush, chest laboring with a breathlessness he welcomed.

“Perfect. I’m perfect.”

He ran his tongue over his lips as he smiled and your heart skipped a beat.

“Damn right,” he encouraged.

You anticipated him to continue on with his mouth but he sat back on his knees on the floor. Straining in his briefs, Dean just looked at you before rising with a grunt and kneeling next to you on the bed.

“Sit up,” he pointed to the end of the bed and you did as told again.

“Wha-“

“Shh,” he hushed. He sat sideways next to you with one of his legs tucked under him. Dean’s hand reached out and rested on the space between your stomach and cunt and when you looked up, he clicked his tongue at you.

“Mirror,” he redirect you and suddenly, his fingers were inching lower and lower until they were meeting the wet remnants of his mouths product.

Your mouth fell open in the slightest; a rewarding breath escaped your lips as his finger, then two breeched you and met your warmth in an eager welcome. As he pumped his fingers in and out of you and gathered the wetness that built quickly, Dean’s forehead fell onto the top of your head and his body leaned into you.

With every staggered breath he was more rewarded. His fingers relished the sounds your pussy made as he sped up his wrist faster.

“Oh,” you barely mumbled out. “Fuck, Dean.”

Dean hummed and the rumble went through you. He kept his pace and you wanted to close your eyes, stall the feelings building inside of you but didn’t. You didn’t disobey his wants and efforts of helping you get over this self deprecation that was sealing fate before there was a chance to solve it.

“Dean,” you said again but not worried. He didn’t stop at his name.

His fingers curled inside of you, hitting the spot you ached for him to find without cause. The muscle in your leg jolted and your hand went to his arm, tightly holding on as the other dug into the sheets of your bed and formed new wrinkles in its wake.

The heat was fast in its approach. Screeching from an abyss of darkness to only be awakened by the light of him, your end was near. It was greedy to want it all the time yet Dean was more than willing to give forever if it meant he’d feel this way.

“Come on,” he egged you on as you clenched the two fingers. “Baby come on, I’ve got you.”

“F-fuck, Dean, I-Christ,” you writhed in pleasure. He was leaning against you and his eyes closed let the reflection before you come alive in more ways than one. He was all yours—not a single word or person or thing could change it. Completely and utterly devoted to you and for once, when you looked in the mirror, you felt beautiful.

Your breath hitched in your throat and there was little else you could say as the room was filled with nothing but your heavy breaths and the sick sounds of your pleasure.

Those sounds, the mirror, and Dean’s words were all it would take to send you over a ledge. The burning, bright light of relief was striking. It was blistering in its blaze and entirely too much to send words tumbling out of your lips. All you could do was dig your fingertips into his arm and watch your body twitch at the intensity.

It shook your legs; shoulders twitching with the muscles in your stomach convulsing. Dean slowed his fingers to a stop. He held them inside of you for a second before removing them as carefully as he could and he rested the hand above your knee. Your finish on his fingers wet your skin and brought a coolness that hadn’t been there before.

Dean pushed his head against yours. He opened his eyes and met yours face to face, not in the mirror.

As he hoped, there was something inside of yours that changed. There was no regret and the cruelty of your mind was the past for now—even if the evil crept in the shadows around the gleam that surrounded you now.

You were beautiful. You were perfect.

And if you couldn’t vocalize those words yourself, at least he knew you could see them.

“Did you see what I see?” He asked lowly. He wasn’t done with you yet.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I see it.”

“Good.”

“But I don’t want to look at me anymore.” Your eyes weren’t tortured. “I just want to look at you.”

When he fucked you into the mattress, you did. You took in him and only him and when everyone returned when the sun had long gone down, you felt anew when Dean glanced at you from across the table and that glow of renewal hadn’t left you.

As always, comments and reblogs encourage writers the most! I thank you for reading and I am so thankful you took the time out of your day to read what I’ve put out here. Thank you!