#echo's favorite pastime

[echosong971]

“With bloody knuckles, you'd follow him anywhere.”

[urhoneycombwitch]

Ok ok hear me out I have a different idea now after reading your phone sex blurb

What about after Eddie comes back from his tour they're out with friends and some other girl is chatting him up, trying to rub up on him in front of reader. And she wants to stake her claim but she can't because he's not hers, not technically; and he isn't into the other girl's attention because he just wants reader, but he can't be too earnest about that bc it'll scare her off.

Do I want them to grind on the dancefloor or have sex in the bathroom? Yeah maybe

foreword: more roommate!Eddie x reader filth. secret situationship fucking at a party style. ty anon <3

wc: 1.8k

cw: secret FWB, Reader with breasts + vagina, femme pet names used, fingering (R receiving), the return of Eddie Cums-In-His-Pants Munson, wee bit angsty, lots of hidden longing

____

This party is the most sound your apartment has ever heard- speakers thrumming bass lines through the floorboards, drunken friends’ laughter echoing off walls.

You and Eddie planned ahead, started plotting weeks ago to bribe various neighbors in the building to avoid catching a noise complaint- scratch brownies for the floor below, some pre-rolls handed off across the hall, party invites extended to whoever was in earshot.

Informal karaoke kicked off around midnight, as the room rose in heat from extra bodies and alcoholic flush; Robin and Steve are bringing down the house on the other side of the bathroom door, charming the crowd with a belligerently intoxicated rendition of a Beastie Boys hit.

Eddie’s got you pressed against the sink, your ass to the unforgiving marble of the counter while he teases his teeth over the skin of your neck.

“No marks,” you whisper, fist seizing up at the root of his hair, tugging. He stifles a moan into your skin while you continue to tell him off, voice just under the protective layer of music. “It’s bad enough there’s only one bathroom in this place. Someone’s bound to notice we’re both gone-”

Eddie suddenly drops to his knees, nosing at the strip of skin above your jeans that he lifts your shirt to reveal. Your breath stutters, and he grins before popping the button with his teeth, chocolate eyes eclipsed by the black-lust of his pupils.

“No one’s gonna hear you, ‘cuz you’re not gonna make a sound. Got it?”

The gush of arousal that meets Eddie’s fingers is invitation enough. You rock into his hand, and he angles his fingers up- you take two of them like a dream, as if your cunt had just been waiting to be filled by those long, dexterous digits, cold rings quickly warming to the skin-temperature of your thighs.

“That’s it,” Eddie mumbles, never more mouthy than when he’s face to face with his favorite pastime. And then, as if reading your mind- “Been waitin’ for me all night, hm? Poor thing. So wet…”

Outside, the song rises into a fast guitar solo bridge, quickening along with your breaths. Hoping there’s enough sound barrier, you brace yourself with one hand on the counter while the other buries itself into the heat of Eddie’s scalp.

Soft, dark curls slip between your knuckles, your thumb brushing gently under the layer of bangs to touch the bare skin of his forehead. It’s too tender, too endearing for what the moment calls, in direct contrast with the way Eddie’s plunging into you, the insistent, budging slope of his nose near the pounding apex of your thighs.

“Becca’s gonna notice.” Your thumb tracks a path to Eddie’s temple, so now you’re just cradling his head as he fingers you into oblivion. “You know- ah- Becca? The girl from down the hall that you invited, specially?”

If it wasn’t for the public setting, you’d take more time to calculate which buttons of Eddie’s to push; as it stands, you’re sort of flailing around in the dark, hitting random ones and seeing what lights up.

Seems to do the trick, though- in one fluid motion, Eddie shoves your jeans the rest of the way down and takes one of your knees over his shoulders, giving himself enough room between your legs to dip forward and latch onto on your clit.

His plush lips suck, fervently, in time with the rhythm of his curled fingers, managing to hit into that gummy spot that buckles your knees.

“Well Becca- isn’t- here, right now,” Eddie says, around lapping mouthfuls of you, hand on your hip near-bruising with the force it takes to keep you upright. “Besides, she invited herself.”

“I dunno… you seemed pretty excited to see her.” The muscles of your abdomen clench, then release, your head tipping backwards to thunk against the mirror.

There’s an arch in your spine, now, enough space for Eddie’s hand to migrate from your hip to low back, pulling you more insistently onto his tongue and fingers.

In response, the spot behind your navel tightens again, pleasure swelling with the music. It’s irritating that Eddie thinks you’ll drop the subject in favor of an orgasm, so you aim for another button, lashes fluttering at the ceiling, voice stretched thin as your resolve- “She gonna stay the night? Use the same bathroom you’ve finger-banged some other b-”

The wet, hot pressure on your clit disappears, a whine of protest crawling from your throat before Eddie can smother it with his palm. Luckily, the living room speakers are kind of shitty, crackling with feedback as the song reaches fever pitch volume.

Eddie’s fingers still within you, stretching to depths that make your eyes roll back as he rises to cover the length of your body with his own. His hand is big and warm over the lower half of your face, breath an angry huff by your ear as he growls, low- “It’s probably in your best interest to not finish that sentence.”

It’s some consolation that you have the option to bite. Tempting as that is, you let your glare speak for itself, brows knitting together as Eddie draws back to look at you.

There’s a bead of sweat running down the side of his jaw, disappearing into the curls he’s let loose for the night. The eyeliner you’d carefully applied for him pre-party is blurred from the humidity and exertion, a rosy flush in his cheeks to match.

Eddie crowds your vision, close enough for you to note the tiny freckle under his left eye twitch, and for a moment, everything is just him- all you can see, hear, touch, smell, dopamine flooding in a head spin of hormones that respond despite your best efforts to tamp them down.

The background noise fades away, and it’s just you and Eddie, panting and straining against the other. A squelch, as he adds a third finger, your breasts pushing into the solid expanse of his chest as you squirm up, mindlessly seeking release.

“Be good and come ‘fore this song is over,” he’s saying, thick fingers scissoring, your resounding moan stifled by his palm. “Then I’ll kick everyone out and let you come again.”

It’s the promise of another that undoes you, thighs shaking with the growing wave, lashes tickling Eddie’s knuckles as your eyes slam shut.

He keeps all the points of pressure that you need, plus more- hips pinning the frenetic rolls of your torso, tips of his fingers coaxing bright spasms from the channel of your cunt, forehead pressed like an anchor to your own as your body sings.

The whole time, he’s talking you through it, deep timbre just for your ears with rasping praise and encouragement. “Oh, fuck, sweetheart, that’s it. That’s it. Good. Let it all out. S’just me here, yeah? Just you and me. Fuck…”

By the time your hearing returns, Eddie’s dotting soothing kisses up the curve of your neck, apparently trusting you enough to let his hand drop from your mouth. You take a few deep, shuddering breaths, hand still buried in Eddie’s hair like a lifeline.

He doesn’t seem to mind, taking his sweet time pulling out of you, disentangling himself with lingering touches to any remaining bare skin.

While he tugs your shirt back into place, you turn to face the mirror, smoothing over flyaways and making sure you look somewhat presentable. You let Eddie’s hands roam as your heart rate stutters, working itself back down to normal while he refixes the button of your jeans.

His chin settles on your shoulder, arms twining around your middle; you let him take some of your weight, relaxing into his hold, eyes catching his in the mirror as you ask, quietly, “You want me to wingman for you? She seems nice. And it’s never a bad idea to sleep with someone who lives in your building.”

Eddie snorts, your dry attempt at a joke working wonders, grin on its way to devastating greeting your reflection. “You seriously think I’m the one who needs help? After the time I just showed ya?”

“Well based on my limited data-” your hips grind backwards without warning, and Eddie stiffens, smile slipping from his face as your own wicked grin takes over- “-I’d say you’re the one who came in his pants just from touching me.”

You wriggle in his arms to turn around, noses bumping, lips hovering in a not-quite-kiss as you whisper, “Say please and I’ll run and get you some new pants. Hand-delivered.”

Even with the wall of party noise, there’s a distinctive click as Eddie’s jaw ticks. He acquiesces, though, stopping somewhere just shy of grateful to grit out, “Please.”

You hum, pleased and thoughtful, leaning out of his space to lift a brow- “I think Becca’s into blue-collared boys.”

This fact, you’re basing off the one time you saw a UPS guy at your neighbor’s door. Sounds a lot better if you act like you know what you’re talking about, though, as if the list of things you know about Becca is longer than black hair and occasionally receives packages.

Distance, safety, one and the same, even though what your body begs for is to get closer, to soak all your senses in Eddie again. You wind a particularly pretty curl of his around your index finger. “Those khakis you wore once to Robin’s grad party and then never again- bottom drawer?”

When Eddie nods, he fixes you with a glare, nostrils flaring like he’s about to tell you off.

Before he can, though, you’ve wriggled from his grasp, reaching for the door handle with strict, hissy instructions about locking it after you’re gone and only opening for your special knock.

He obeys, deadbolt sliding into place, door swallowing the noise of the party in your absence.

It’s just Eddie now, leaning into hands over the sink, breathing hard like he hasn’t already blown a load three minutes ago.

The entire length of his middle fingers shimmer in the light, still coated with your arousal.

Eddie’s mouth waters. He thinks about you; how for a second, you were the only thing on his mind, how rare that is, for him to be so singularly focused.

Then he thinks about Becca. And stupid tight fucking dress pants.

The sink water gushes to a start as he jerks the handle on, sudsy hand soap scrubbing away at the smell of you, carrying it down the drain.

By the time you’re back, dreaded pants in hand, Eddie’s fixed an easy smile on his face, bickering at the ready. Almost normal, and certainly familiar.

It’s just simpler to keep some distance. Close quarters aside.

[permanentswaps]

You Will Possess Me (Pt. 2)

Read Part 1 from @captainmalewriter here.

Yosef continued to exploit the captured ghost, using it as his personal sex toy for several weeks. He took great pleasure in the way it tried to possess him each time he masturbated, knowing that his trusty cock ring would trap it within his shaft. The sense of control and dominance he felt each time was intoxicating.

His favorite pastime became letting the ghost invade his cock. The sensation of the ghost entering him, filling his member and expanding it with its ethereal presence, was a rush like no other. He relished the sight of his engorged, throbbing cock, knowing it was trapped by the cock ring he wore. The ghost's futile struggles and glowing light as it tried to escape only added to his arousal.

Yosef became more and more comfortable with this routine. Each session brought him to the heights of ecstasy, his moans echoing through his apartment as he edged himself with the ghost's presence. He even began turning down Grindr hookups, opting instead for the intense pleasure he derived from his ghostly encounters. The ghost, on the other hand, grew more desperate with each encounter, its attempts to break free becoming more frantic.

One night, while jerking off , Yosef felt particularly adventurous. He edged himself for what felt like hours, pushing the ghost further and further into his cock, relishing the intense pleasure. The pressure within him built up to an unbearable level, the ghost writhing inside his shaft, its glow pulsating with desperation.

Then, suddenly, it happened. With a loud snap, the silicone cock ring, worn and weakened from weeks of use, finally gave out under the immense pressure. Yosef's eyes widened in shock and horror as he realized what was happening.

"No, no, no!" he shouted, but it was too late.

Freed from its confinement, the ghost surged up his dick, filling him completely. Yosef gasped as the cold, invasive sensation spread through his body, overtaking him in a matter of seconds. He tried to resist, but the ghost was too powerful. He felt his consciousness being pushed aside, his limbs moving on their own accord as the ghost took control.

His body convulsed, a mix of pleasure and terror coursing through him. He could feel the ghost's presence merging with his own, intertwining their essences. For the first time, he was not in control. The ghost, once his captive, now held him in its ethereal grip.

Yosef found himself trapped within his own mind, fully conscious but unable to control his body. He watched helplessly as the ghost manipulated his limbs, moving with a confidence that was unnervingly different from his own. The ghost's faint, triumphant laughter echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his new reality.

Desperate to reclaim control, Yosef tried to muster all his strength, but the ghost's influence was too strong. He felt like a prisoner in his own body, his once-strong will now a mere whisper, a faint echo in the depths of his mind.

The ghost, now fully in control, felt the combined horniness and desperation that had been building up within Yosef's body for hours. The ghost reached down, feeling the throbbing, engorged cock in its hand, and began to stroke it with a vigor and intensity that Yosef had never managed before.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" the ghost moaned, relishing the sensations flooding through its new body. The pent-up desire and the ghost's own ethereal lust combined to create an overwhelming wave of pleasure.

But before diving into the full intensity of the moment, the ghost took a moment to explore Yosef's body. It ran its hands over Yosef's dark, thick chest hair, feeling the coarse texture beneath its fingers. The ghost gently played with Yosef's nipples, feeling the hard nubs and sending shivers of pleasure through the body.

"God, this feels amazing," the ghost whispered, its voice filled with wonder and delight. It squeezed Yosef's pecs, feeling the firm muscles and the softness of the hair covering them. The ghost traced its fingers along the contours of Yosef's chest, savoring the tactile sensations that were so new and exhilarating.

The room filled with the sounds of heavy breathing as the ghost continued to explore and pleasure itself. Every touch, every caress sent electric shivers of ecstasy through its newfound flesh. The ghost felt the tension building, the imminent release that both it and Yosef had been craving.

Finally, with a shuddering cry, the ghost came. The massive load that Yosef had been edging for hours shot out in powerful spurts, splattering against the car interior. The intensity of the orgasm was unlike anything the ghost had ever experienced – a culmination of weeks of suppressed desire and the thrill of newfound control.

As the last of the cum oozed out, the ghost lay back , panting and basking in the afterglow. It felt a deep sense of satisfaction, not just from the physical pleasure, but from the knowledge that it had fully claimed Yosef's life as its own.

When the initial wave of pleasure subsided, the ghost sat up, a contented smile on its face. It had experienced so many new pleasures, and there were still so many more to explore. It looked forward to every moment, every sensation, every adventure that lay ahead.

The next day, it decided to experience the world as Yosef. The ghost walked around in Yosef's body, shirtless, enjoying the feel of the sun on its skin and the admiring glances from passersby. It loved the attention and reveled in the sensation of freedom.

Feeling adventurous, the ghost went to the gym, pushing Yosef's body to its limits. Every lift, every strain, and every drop of sweat was a reminder of its victory. The ghost admired Yosef's body in the mirrors, loving the sight of the muscles flexing and the glistening skin.

"Looking good," the ghost said to itself, flexing and posing in front of the mirror. The confidence and power it felt were intoxicating.

Between sets, the ghost took out Yosef's phone and started taking revealing photos, highlighting the muscular physique and toned abs. It sent these photos to the guys on Grindr, teasing them with promises of what was to come.

One message caught its attention, from the guy Yosef had initially ignored. A devious smile crossed its face as it set up a meeting for that very night.

When the doorbell rang, the ghost opened it to find a handsome, well-built man standing there. The man's eyes widened in appreciation as he took in Yosef's toned, olive-skinned body. The ghost invited him in, closing the door behind them.

"Wow, you look even better in person," the man said, eyes roaming appreciatively over Yosef's body.

"Thanks," the ghost replied, its voice smooth and confident. "I've been working out a lot lately"

They wasted no time. The ghost, in control of Yosef's body, moved with confidence and eagerness. It relished every touch, every kiss, every sensation. The man ran his hands over Yosef's muscular chest, his fingers tangling in the thick hair. The ghost moaned, the pleasure overwhelming.

"You're so hot," the man whispered, his breath warm against Yosef's neck.

"Then fuck me," the ghost replied, its voice husky with desire.

They made their way to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. The ghost felt a surge of triumph as it lay down on the bed, the man climbing on top of it. The sensation of skin against skin, the heat and intensity of their movements, was unlike anything the ghost had ever experienced.

As the man entered Yosef's body, the ghost felt a rush of pleasure so intense it almost lost control. The sensation of being filled, the friction, the heat – it was overwhelming. The ghost could hear Yosef's protests, feel his anger and helplessness, but it was too lost in the ecstasy to care.

"Yes, yes, just like that," the ghost moaned, guiding the man's movements. "Harder."

The man obliged, picking up the pace, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through Yosef's body. The ghost's moans grew louder, more desperate, as it neared climax.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," the man groaned.

"Do it," the ghost commanded, feeling the tension build within Yosef's body.

With a final, powerful thrust, the man came, filling Yosef with his seed. The sensation pushed the ghost over the edge, and it cried out as it climaxed, releasing a flood of ectoplasm that surged through Yosef's body and out of his cock, taking Yosef's consciousness with it.

Yosef felt himself being expelled, ejected from his own body in a rush of spectral energy. He hovered above, a disembodied spirit, watching in horror as his body lay there, spent and satisfied.

The man, oblivious to the supernatural struggle, collapsed beside the ghost-possessed Yosef, panting. The ghost, still riding the high of its orgasm, lay there with a contented smile.

As the man eventually left, the ghost stretched and looked at its reflection in the mirror, admiring its new form. It felt a deep sense of satisfaction, not just from the physical pleasure, but from the knowledge that it had fully claimed Yosef's life as its own.

Yosef, now a ghost, realized with dismay that he was invisible, his presence far weaker than the ghost. He could not possess people as the ghost had done to him, but he was bound to watch his former body, now fully controlled by the entity that had taken everything from him.

[jjunberry]

Heyy love your writing, first time requesting.

Could you please do casual dominance with Mingyu and Wonwoo (separately) with reader? Like guiding the reader nonsexually, a hand on the reader's neck when whispering in their ear, helping choose dresses?

Thank you in advance!

casual dominance ⟆ mingyu & wonwoo

mingyu loved helping you pick out clothing. from dresses to lingerie he was always there to offer his opinion and credit card. he stands behind you one hand on the back of your neck the other one zipping up your dress. his mouth dangerously close to your neck, “this looks stunning on you baby,” a shiver rolled down your spine. “thank you gyu, but it’s too much money.” you pouted. his hand snaked around to grip the front of your throat. “now baby, a gentleman never makes his girl pay,” he left an open mouth kiss on your neck and left you alone to go pick out more lingerie. your whole body felt hot after his searing touches.

wonwoo’s favorite pastime was helping his girl pick out lingerie. he didn’t do it to be sexual no, he did it because he loved seeing you feel confident and beautiful. wonwoo’s fingers carefully clipped the bra in place, his hands then taking their place on your shoulders. he leaned down resting his chin on top of your head. “see baby, now doesn’t that look gorgeous?” he grinned seeing your cheeks heat up. “we’re getting it,” he left a kiss on your neck and no room to argue.

🗒️: thinking of requesting? read my guidelines.

author’s note: need them both sooooo badly 😫

love, echo ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪

© jjunberry - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[throneofsapphics]

yes or no

Rhyzriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel walks in to give Rhys a report. 

Warnings: this is actually PURE smut, soft!dom Rhys, kind of switch az, d/s dynamics, voyeurism, wingplay, minors dni!

A/N: apparently I was in a mood today, here’s some absolute (soft?) filth 

Rhys wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you back to rest against his chest. At first, it began sweet - gentle even. You relaxed back into his chest, closing your eyes and sighing. Strong legs caging you in, pinning you in place. His hand slipped under your top, thumb running back and forth over the soft skin of your stomach, idle and lazy strokes. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today?” 

You huffed a small laugh, “yes, you have.”

His knees slipped under your legs, casually hooking yours - spreading you open for him. 

“Rhys,” you murmured. 

He curved to place a kiss on your neck. “Yes?” The smooth voice echoed in your mind. 

“What are you doing?” You replied aloud.  

“Enjoying time with my mate, of course.” More like playing with you. His favorite pastime.

“It is.”

One arm tightened around your stomach, holding you closer. His hand trailed lower, fingering the band of your pants, popping one button open. 

“Rhys,” you sighed, even as your body began to relax in him, eager to feel his touch. 

“Something wrong?” He sounded amused. 

“No.” 

“Then be quiet.” 

Your mouth slammed shut at the order, at the underlying hint of dominance in it, especially as made his way further, back and forth strokes, slowly making his way down to where you wanted him. An involuntary moan left your lips as his fingers finally grazed your clit, hips jolting into his hand. 

“Do I need to gag you?” A rapid shake of your head, but really … you wouldn’t quite mind it. 

As always, keeping your mental walls lowered for him, he heard that particular thought and his hand withdrew. From the corner of your eyes, a small piece of cloth, black and smooth, appeared in his hand. Other hand withdrawing, he hooked a thumb between your lips, gently opening your jaw. 

The cloth doubled over, before slipping between your teeth, tied snugly behind your head. Immediately, your mouth began to water and you ran your tongue over the foreign material. Smooth against your tongue, thick enough for your teeth to bite into. 

Another thought from him, and your clothes disappeared. You had been wondering how long that would take. Dragging his nails up the inside of your thighs, your breath caught as you watched him get closer and closer, before pushing your legs further apart. Two fingers gathered your arousal, nearly dripping down your thighs now. 

“All this for me?” Another nod, mumbling something incoherent. “It better be,” he breathed. 

Hips rolling back, he hardened beneath you, a groan leaving his throat. Gentle but firm lips pressed kisses against your neck, sucking just enough to leave a faint bruise. You tilted your head, opening for him. Surrendering to him. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

You arched into him, embracing his touch, reaching your arm back to touch him - it froze mid air, a midnight swirl of magic catching it before lowering it down to your thigh. You whined in disappointment. It was only him who could get you into this state - the state where you’d whine for anything. Rhys loved this game, the control he had over you and your body. At least in this bedroom. 

“I do love it.” You rolled your eyes, a slap to your core cut that off. “We have a guest,” he warned and your breath caught. Hands tried to cover you, but he pried them back down with his own. A shadow creeping under the door was your warning, and it swung open without hesitation. 

Your body flushed, embarrassment at being caught in this situation. You were tempted to slide those mental shields back up, so he couldn’t hear your - “Don’t you dare.” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

A half smirk came over the shadowsinger’s face as he saw you, the position you’d been caught in. 

“A bit caught up?” His smooth and cool voice seemed to echo through the room.

“No,” Rhys answered. You couldn’t answer. 

Before you could frown, his hand swept back down, the other wrapping around your stomach and pinning your arms in place. Head falling back against his shoulder, your eyes rolled back, grinding your hips into him, a small snarl and nip against your neck stopped that. You didn’t care about the audience anymore, it felt like every part of you narrowed down to him, to the feeling of his fingers on you, the hard planes of his body behind you, legs spreading you wide. Teeth nipped at your neck, and the moan you let out wasn’t stifled by the gag. 

Rhys stilled, and you blinked your heavy eyes open. Azriel was still speaking, giving a report about something, but his eyes were on you. On where Rhys’s hand connected to your body, on the swell of your breasts. Slowly, you raised one hand up your body. Rhys let out an amused chuckle, and allowed it. 

Keeping your eyes on Azriel, you trailed your fingers up, running a knuckle along the curve of your breasts, pinching your nipple between your thumb and forefinger. 

“Do you want him to come over here, darling?” Hesitation. You didn’t want anything that would make Rhys uncomfortable. “It wouldn’t. I’ve had a long time to think about this.”

Fuck. 

“You have a dirty mouth.” 

“I didn’t say anything. I can’t say anything” 

“A dirty mind,” he corrected. “Yes or no?” 

“If you want to, if he wants to” 

“That’s not what I asked,” his tone changed, firmer - demanding an answer. 

“Yes,” even in your mind, you thought your voice sounded breathy. You turned your head to watch Rhys, his eyes glazed over, telling something to Azriel. You heard Azriel moving, and you tried to turn, but Rhys gripped the back of your head and held you in place. You were keenly aware your body was still exposed. 

“What’s your safeword?” 

You swallowed, “Spring.” 

Seconds later, your vision was obscured, another fabric tying tightly over your eyes. You couldn’t see anything, complete darkness. The rest of your senses heightened. The bed shifted, someone was moving - you were moving, kneeling, knees pressing into the soft sheets, hands rested on your thighs. 

“Are you ready?” Rhys wasn’t asking you. 

“Yes,” Azriel’s strained voice came. 

Then, hands were lifting you. Rhys gripped your hips - his hands were familiar, pushing you forwards, but Azriel’s hands, rougher, gripped each of your thighs, spreading your legs out. They worked your body easily, the two of them seeming to know exactly what to do. 

“Breathe,” was Rhys’s only warning, as Azriel - it had to be him, pressed against your entrance. Hands slammed you down, and you yelped - muffled by the gag, a painful stretch as you were fully seated. 

Too much. It was too much, you were too full. 

“You can take it,” Rhys encouraged - this time speaking out loud, he pressed against your upper back, and your hands naturally found their way to his shoulders. You’d never … never been on top of Rhys, at least. Well, not in a while. Rough hands found your hips, encouraging you to move. 

It took you a minute to get your balance, to find a rhythm, but the gentle rocking of your hips, the slight movements, made his heart rate increase, his breaths quickened. Soft, but effective apparently. Gently, his hands ran up and down your sides, brushing over each of your curves, stopping to sweep underneath your breasts. 

Rhys was still behind you, “that’s it,” he murmured into your ear, “you’re doing so well.” 

The little bit of encouragement was what you needed, what you needed to grow bolder. As you did, you were rewarded, and both the gag and blindfold disappeared. 

“Az wants to hear you,” Rhys said with a hint of amusement. 

Az, currently beneath you, watching you with glazed eyes. Faster, you moved faster, starting to push your hips up and down. He groaned as your nails dug into your shoulder, and you had an idea. Not something you could do without permission or asking, that was likely to get you killed at worst, maimed at best. Instead, you eyed the curve of his wing, knowing his shadows would track. You wanted him to invite you, for him to make that choice.

“You can touch them,” he seemed shy - maybe even hesitant. You could feel Rhys’s surprise behind you. “Just don’t stop moving,” he groaned. 

“Be gentle, love,” Rhys spoke to your mind this time. 

Carefully, avoiding any of your nails, you ran a finger over the curve of his left wing, gauging his reaction. He stiffened, eyes closing. Good. Repeating the motions, Rhys grabbed your hips, helping you keep a steady rhythm as Azriel’s eyes stayed closed. 

You liked this, liked that you were both working to bring him here, to give him this kind of pleasure. 

It didn’t take long before Azriel’s fingers were digging into your thighs, stopping you. Sensing it, Rhys pulled you off, just in time for Azriel to finish - all over your stomach.

Rhys disappeared, probably to grab a washcloth, and you moved, trying to give him some kind of space. It wasn’t hard to pick up that was his first time having someone touch his wings - in that way, and you realized the vulnerability in it. Instead, his arm darted out, wrapping around your waist to tug you closer. You let your head rest on his chest, running your hand up and down his arm, listening as his heart settled back to normal. 

This, you wanted to do again. 

“We will.” 

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Family

Benedict Bridgerton x wife fem reader

The Bridgerton household was unusually calm that morning, a rarity in a home filled with the lively energy of four young children. Benedict Bridgerton, known for his creative spirit and easygoing demeanor, had decided that today would be a day for family, free from the usual hustle and bustle of their social obligations. His wife, Y/N, welcomed the idea of a relaxing day at home with a delighted smile, eager to spend quality time with their children.

The sun streamed through the large windows of their elegant country estate, casting a warm glow across the rooms. Benedict and Y/N had designed their home to be a sanctuary of comfort and beauty, a place where their children could grow and thrive surrounded by love and creativity.

In the spacious kitchen, Y/N was preparing a hearty breakfast. The delicious aroma of freshly baked scones and crispy bacon filled the air, mingling with the scent of brewing coffee. Benedict, ever the doting husband, moved about the kitchen with an easy grace, assisting Y/N with setting the table and entertaining their youngest daughter, Emily, who was tugging at his trousers, giggling.

“Papa, lift me!” Emily demanded with a bright, toothy grin.

Benedict scooped her up effortlessly, spinning her around in a playful dance. Her laughter echoed through the room, drawing the attention of her siblings. Alexander, the eldest at ten, walked in with a book in his hand, followed closely by the twins, Charlotte and Henry, both eight, who were in the midst of a playful argument.

“Papa, tell Charlotte that it’s my turn to choose the game today!” Henry protested, his expression a mix of frustration and determination.

Before Benedict could respond, Y/N intervened with a calm, soothing voice. “Why don’t we all decide together what we’d like to do today? It’s a family day, after all.”

Charlotte and Henry paused, considering their mother’s suggestion. Alexander, wise beyond his years, nodded in agreement. “That sounds fair. What do you think, Papa?”

Benedict smiled, setting Emily down gently. “I think your mother is right. Let’s finish our breakfast, and then we’ll sit down and make a plan for the day.”

As they gathered around the large wooden table, the children’s chatter filled the room with a lively warmth. They discussed their options, ranging from a picnic in the garden to an afternoon of painting and crafts in Benedict’s art studio. After much deliberation, they decided on a bit of everything a picnic, followed by a painting session, and ending the day with a family movie night.

With breakfast finished, they set about preparing for their picnic. Y/N packed a basket with sandwiches, fruits, and a selection of pastries, while Benedict and the children gathered blankets and games to take outside. They chose a spot under a large oak tree in the garden, its branches providing ample shade.

Just as they were about to head out, the front door burst open, and in streamed the entire Bridgerton clan. Anthony, the eldest of Benedict's siblings, led the charge with his wife, Kate, and their children close behind. They were followed by the rest of the Bridgerton siblings: Daphne and her husband, Simon, with their children; Colin and his wife, Penelope; Eloise and Francesca, each with their own families; Gregory and Hyacinth, the youngest siblings, rounding out the lively group.

"Benedict, Y/N!" Anthony called out, a broad smile on his face. "We thought we'd join you for a day of family fun!"

Benedict's face lit up with surprise and joy. "This is a wonderful surprise! The more, the merrier!"

The garden quickly transformed into a vibrant hub of activity. The children ran around, playing games and exploring the vast grounds, while the adults spread out blankets and set up a buffet style picnic. Laughter and conversations filled the air, creating an atmosphere of warmth and happiness.

After lunch, Benedict suggested they all play a game of charades, a favorite Bridgerton family pastime. The idea was met with enthusiastic cheers, and they quickly gathered in the large living room, rearranging furniture to create an open space for the game.

Anthony took charge of organizing the teams, dividing everyone into two groups. Benedict, ever the performer, was up first. He drew a card from the pile and glanced at it, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Alright, let's see what you've got," Colin teased from the opposing team.

Benedict began his act, first miming the shape of a rectangle with his hands and then pretending to hold something heavy. He staggered around the room, his exaggerated movements eliciting giggles from the children and knowing smiles from the adults.

"He's lifting something! A box?" Daphne guessed.

Benedict shook his head vigorously, moving on to the next part of his act. He began to flail his arms wildly, pretending to be caught in a storm. The children burst into laughter, their infectious giggles spreading to the adults.

"A boat! No, a shipwreck!" Y/N called out, trying to contain her laughter.

Benedict nodded eagerly, then dropped to the floor, pretending to swim through turbulent waters. He finally mimed pulling something large and round from the water, holding it triumphantly over his head.

"A giant pearl! A treasure!" Alexander shouted, his eyes wide with excitement.

Benedict pointed at Alexander, nodding with satisfaction. The room erupted in applause and laughter, the children jumping up and down with glee.

"You really outdid yourself this time, brother," Anthony said, clapping Benedict on the back.

The game continued with everyone taking turns, each performance more hilarious than the last. Penelope's impression of a horse had everyone in stitches, while Hyacinth's attempt at miming a famous opera singer brought the house down.

As the afternoon sun began to wane, the family gathered in Benedict’s art studio for a collective painting session. The room, filled with canvases and art supplies, was a haven of creativity. Benedict, with his usual charm, encouraged everyone to express their creativity, handing out brushes and paints. Even the most reluctant participants found themselves caught up in the spirit of the activity, creating a large collaborative mural that would serve as a lasting memory of the day.

When evening came, they moved to the living room for the grand finale: a family movie night. Pillows and blankets were spread out across the floor, and the children nestled in with their cousins, eyes wide with anticipation. The chosen movie was a family favorite, a whimsical adventure that captivated everyone from the youngest to the oldest.

As the credits rolled and the children began to drift off to sleep, Benedict and Y/N, along with the rest of the Bridgertons, carried them to their rooms, tucking them into bed with gentle kisses and whispered goodnights. The house gradually fell silent, the peace of the evening settling over them.

Back in their bedroom, Benedict and Y/N reflected on the day, their hearts brimming with gratitude. Benedict pulled Y/N into a tender embrace, his voice soft with emotion. “Days like this remind me of how lucky we are, my love.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his chest. “Indeed, Benedict. Our family is our greatest masterpiece.”

With that, they climbed into bed, the gentle rhythm of their children’s breaths a comforting lullaby. They drifted off to sleep, knowing that while life was often filled with chaos and demands, it was moments like these that truly defined their happiness.

like and comment 🫶🏼

[roosterforme]

Math for Aviators | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: It's your fault that Bradley finds math so sexy now. When he surprises you by sneaking into one of your lectures, he gets rewarded with a little time alone with the professor after class.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2400 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Check out my masterlist

"See you two at the Hard Deck later?" Nat asked as Bradley climbed into the Bronco after work.

"Nah, it's my wife's late night on campus," he replied with a smirk. Calling you his wife had such a nice ring to it, he had all but stopped using your first name around his friends. "I'm gonna drop by. Maybe take a peek at her calculus lecture." 

She rolled her eyes in response. "Tell your wife I said not to forget about brunch on Saturday."

"I'll let my wife know."

He zipped out of the parking lot, still in his khaki uniform, and headed across town to San Diego State University. If there was one thing Bradley never thought would get him going, it was math. But you made it outrageously sexy with your PhD and your slutty little math tattoo. 

The fact that Bradley never got to attend one of your lectures during your first semester teaching in California felt like a crime. He'd wanted to, in the worst way, but your classes ended by six o'clock every day last term. But this time, you taught level four calculus on Thursday evenings. 

He parked and headed toward your building, smiling as some of the college aged girls looked at him as he strolled past. If they thought he looked good in his uniform, that was nothing compared to the fuss you usually made over him. 

Bradley followed a kid holding a skateboard into the mathematics and computer science building and turned left. He was only four minutes late for your class as he followed skateboard kid inside the lecture hall and let the door close softly behind him. The room was quite cavernous, but there were only about forty students in attendance. You always claimed you preferred the smaller classes so you could spend more time getting everyone where they needed to be individually. 

When his eyes met your body, Bradley almost moaned. You were leaning over the long table at the front of the room taking attendance, and you were wearing a white blouse tucked into that wool skirt he liked. Even your loafers looked cute. One of his favorite pastimes was picking on you for your east coast wardrobe, but holy shit, the professor look did things to him. Or maybe it was just you.

As you called out names, Bradley realized he was just standing in the back like an idiot, so he walked up a few rows and took an aisle seat.

"Francis?" you asked, and a girl who looked extremely disinterested raised her hand. "Luca? Alex? Did I miss anyone?"

When you looked up, your eyes found Bradley's almost instantly. The softest smile graced your lips, and Bradley desperately wanted to run down to where you were standing and kiss you. Instead he just winked, and then you were opening two additional notebooks on your table. 

"Before we get started, just a reminder about my office hours," you said, your voice projecting beautifully. Bradley had to adjust himself in his seat, because you were speaking right to him. "I'm always available to spend a little extra time with you should you need it." 

He was well acquainted with your office and the way your voice echoed off the walls when he made you scream his name. He would make it a point to join you for some office hours again soon. But right now, he was going to sit back and enjoy how much smarter you were than him.

"If you recall last week, we talked about the theorems of Green and Stokes. Let's focus a little more on the Green theorem. This is simply the relationship between the macroscopic circulation around the curve C and the sum of all the microscopic circulation that is inside C."

Bradley was already breathing a little heavy. Holy shit. Was he actually married to the smartest person in the world? It fucking sounded like it. And then you ran your fingertips gently along the side of your neck, and he sat up a little taller in his seat. But so did skateboard kid who was sitting in front of him. Bradley glanced around the room, and it looked like all the twenty something guys were hypnotized by you. The looks of open adoration on their faces as you turned toward the white board to work out a problem reminded him of the way he used to stare at you when he was twenty one. If he was being honest, he probably still did.

As you worked out the problem and bent at the waist, Bradley needed to adjust himself again. And when you turned to see if anyone had a question, you looked directly at him as you touched your neck again. 

"She's so hot," skateboard kid whispered to the guy next to him.

"Yeah," he grunted in response. "She's like extra hot today."

Bradley leaned forward, grinning and softly said, "That's my wife."

They both turned around to look at him briefly. Skateboard kid nodded in appreciation, and the other guy said, "Well done."

And then Bradley settled back in his seat and watched every move that you made. When you wrote out another equation in your tidy handwriting, you made the variables spell out B-E-E-R-B-O-Y. Every time you glanced at him, your fingers were touching your body somewhere that he was familiar with. He was itching to get his hands on you. 

It was an hour and a half of pure sexual tension, and Bradley knew you were enjoying yourself. Knowing he was sitting in the lecture hall seemed to be making your voice a little breathy. You were throwing out terms like "gradient, divergence curl, line and surface integrals, and differential equations" that were making him hard. This was foreplay at its finest. 

When you ended your lecture with some reminders about your class schedule, you had your hands on your hips, and your diamond ring was glittering on your hand. Bradley smirked as a line of students, mostly male, formed in front of you once you dismissed everyone. And now he understood why you got home so late on Thursdays. Because all these guys had a crush on you. On his wife.

Bradley was semi hard, and you kept glancing up to make sure he was still there. He wasn't going to go anywhere, you must know that. When you were finally helping skateboard kid with whatever question he fabricated just to have a chance to stand next to you, Bradley glanced down at his lap. Maybe you'd let him have some private office hours right now.

When the lecture hall was finally empty, save for the two of you, Bradley watched as you continued to tease him. You didn't glance to where he was sitting at all as you packed up your bag. And when you erased the board, he could tell you were standing on your tiptoes to make your ass look extra enticing just for him. 

"Professor Sugar," he groaned, rubbing himself through his khaki pants. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder with a devilish look on your face. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to my lecture?" you asked quietly, but he could still hear you perfectly. 

Bradley grunted. "Got dismissed a little early. Just thought I'd surprise you."

"Did you learn anything new?" you asked, grabbing your bag from the table and heading his way.

"Nothing new," he replied. "Just a refresher course on how smart and hot my wife is."

You smiled as you set your bag down next to his seat. "I love it when you call me that." Then you came to stand between his spread thighs and leaned down to kiss him gently. Bradley let you tease him with feather soft kisses for a minute before he was aching inside his pants. 

He ran his rough hand along your pretty neck and asked, "Can I join you for some office hours? I really need them, Professor Sugar." When you giggled against his lips, Bradley wrapped his muscular arms around you and palmed your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a squeal. 

"Beer Boy!"

"Please? I'll be your top student, Baby. Better than that loser with his skateboard."

"You know, I'm starting to suspect that Luca might have ulterior motives for taking my class again this semester."

Bradley chuckled as he pushed your skirt up your thighs a few inches. "Yeah. His ulterior motive is your ass." Then he lightly slapped said ass as you raked your fingers through his hair and straddled him in the auditorium seat. "I know you can feel me, Sugar," he whispered. "Office hours? Or are you gonna make me wait until we get home?"

But instead of responding, you just rubbed yourself against him. If you weren't wearing panties, he would have a pretty, little wet spot to show off as he walked back to the Bronco. You tugged harder on his hair so his head was tipped back, and you kissed him a little rougher.

"I'm in charge in the lecture hall, not you. And I say no visit to my office."

Bradley groaned as you sucked on his neck, and he muttered, "Making me walk back to the Bronco hard?"

"No," you whispered, and his cock throbbed. "I'm going to suck your cock right here." Your smug smile as you pulled away from his neck left him blushing, he could tell. 

"Right here?" he asked, but your hands were already working on his belt buckle and zipper, and he lifted his hips in the seat so you could yank his pants down a little bit. 

"Mmhmm," you hummed against his lips before you walked to the back of the auditorium, leaving him sitting there with his hard cock out. 

"Sugar?" he whispered, covering himself with both hands as he craned his neck to see where you went. You flipped the lightswitch next to the door and peered out the small window into the hallway, and then you strolled back to where he was sitting. Bradley let you take his hands in yours and set them on his thighs as you knelt on the floor in front of him.

You looked so pretty, your skin illuminated by the soft lighting shining around the perimeter of the room. Your eyes were bright and mischievous as you looked up at him and kissed the precum away from his tip. Your pink tongue darted out to clean your lips before gently swiping the underside of his cock, and Bradley had to grip his thighs to keep from thrusting. Because it was clear you were going to take your time right now. 

"You are so hard, Beer Boy, you're absolutely throbbing."

When you took an inch or two between your pouty lips, Bradley's head tipped back. "I love math," he groaned. "It really gets me going. And I love your smart mouth."

You hummed around his length as you took another inch and swirled your tongue. Then you pulled him out with a soft pop, his head snapping back up to look at you. "You're such a good student," you whispered. "Top grades. Teacher's pet. Big cock."

"Fuck," Bradley grunted. "I'm coming to your lecture every week, Professor."

You smiled as you gripped him in one hand and licked up and down along the underside of his cock until he could feel your saliva dripping down his balls. He ran his thumb along your cheek, and then you took him deep so he could feel himself there. He groaned your name as he tapped the back of your throat, and you gagged for him. It was so fucking pretty the way he made your eyes water. 

If you weren't concerned about getting caught, then he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. He'd be lying if he said the idea of a public blowjob wasn't adding to his arousal. Hell, he thought the way you and he went at it in the college library study room was hot, and that door had a damn lock. So this was next level.

Bradley grunted in the quiet room, and the acoustics made the sound carry. You were bobbing along his length, making obscene little noises, and he just couldn't take it anymore. His hands found the back of your head, and after one thrust, your moans echoed around the room. 

"I love that sound," he growled, slowly fucking your face as you sucked on him. You kept eye contact with him as he started to come undone, his hips leaving the seat as he wanted more of you. Now you were gripping his thighs, ready to take his cum like a champ. He was there. He was right there. One more tap against the back of your throat. All your saliva dripping onto your blouse. It was everything. 

He knew you already knew it, but he grunted, "I'm cumming," as he spurted into your mouth and down your throat. Gripping the back of your head, he fucked your mouth with shallow thrusts until he slumped back akwardly into the seat with a long groan that filled the room. 

When you withdrew him, his cock was messy and you were grinning as you stuck out your tongue, showing off his load. "Gorgeous," he whispered with a smirk, watching you swallow him down before licking his softening length clean. "I love being the teacher's pet." 

You giggled as you helped him get tucked back into his khakis. "I only suck the dicks of my students with the highest grades."

"Hey now. You're my wife. You better only be sucking my dick," he rasped as you stood up in front of him and shrugged.

"Then you better keep getting top grades, Beer Boy." 

Bradley was obsessed with you. He quickly wrestled his belt into place as he followed the sway of your ass up to the auditorium doors. "I can't wait to see that skirt on the bedroom floor when we get home," he said as you pushed the door open. And there stood the janitor, about to enter the room to clean it. "Shit," Bradley grunted, still fiddling with his belt. 

But you just waved and said, "Goodnight, Herman," as the janitor smirked at Bradley. 

He didn't even bother with his belt after that. He just took your hand in his and walked with you to the Bronco, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to you once your skirt was on the bedroom floor. 

----------------------

This was written to celebrate the birthday of the lovely @mak-32 ! Beer Boy and Sugar wouldn't even exist without you, Mak! I hope you have the most wonderful day! Thanks for your help and the banner @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

[ellieslaces]

just thinking about the way leon would fuck you after being gone for so long <3 (wc; 643)

he would have been gone for days — weeks maybe — on another covert operation. one you couldn’t have any knowledge of for you safety, and just for the safety of the op and everyone involved.

weeks of lonely days and nights alone in your apartment that you shared with him, the quiet eerie and unsettling because even though leon was a quiet person, he still made the place more alive.

it’d been weeks of getting off on your own — for the both of you. only the thought of each other enough to suffice. not forever, though. you’d spent the nights he was away either sleepless, or fucking yourself with your own fingers, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of yourself until you fell asleep from exhaustion. but of course, no one did it like leon did. no one — not even yourself — could make you cum as hard as he did.

the night he’d come home was like any other of his arrivals home. a mixture of sweetness and lust. gentle kisses and whispers of how much you missed each other. carnal actions and rough touches because this was how you showed your love, how you showed how you really missed each other.

you didn’t just miss each other’s bodies, of course not. no, you missed him. yes, his touch, how he could reduce you to a crying mess within minutes. but he was more than that. you just missed him.

it always started either in the foyer of the apartment, or the living room. there were a few times it started in the kitchen — one night a few months ago he’d managed to surprise you while you were cooking. obviously dinner was long forgotten as he replaced the meal with the taste of you as you laid on the counter, legs thrown over his shoulders as he devoured you with an urgency that should have alarmed you.

but tonight, it began as it usually did. you’d greeted him at the door upon hearing his car in the driveway. as soon as he’d opened the door, you had thrown your arms around his neck, his own strong ones circled around your middle. quick kisses and whispers of greeting were pushed aside quickly and replaced by needy touches and deep, carnal kisses.

it ended up in the bedroom, as usual. your back against the plush mattress, your body caged by leon’s as he kissed down your body, clothes long since discarded so he could have access to you fully. his hands would be practically groping you, large palms running along the warm, exposed flesh of your torso. his fingers — along with his mouth, of course — ended up between your thighs. his favorite pastime, tasting you, as he liked to tease.

his fingers and tongue worked in dangerous tandem, making your mouth drop open, your eyes falling closed as your fingers gripped his hair. before you could actually tip over that impending edge, he pulled back. always keeping you on your toes.

it was then he began to drill into you. needy fervor with a mixture of soft kisses that contrasted with the harsh snap of his hips against yours. sweet whispers of how much he missed you were echoing in your ears, drowned out by the sound of your own whines and moans.

it went on that way — he’d fuck you until you both came, and give you a quick rest before going right back to it. sometimes he’d be on top, other times you’d ride him until your legs gave out and he’d have to thrust up into you from below. either way, it lasted for what felt like forever.

you hated when he was gone, but you’d never grow tired of how insatiable he was when he came home. sweet and loving, harsh and rough all at once. that was your favorite version of leon.

how you can support Palestine! 🇵🇸

[d-targaryenshoe]

Subtle Admiration - Anthony Bridgerton

Word Count: 1176

Summary: When one admires the person they love, would they not also show the world?

Anthony Bridgerton was a man of impeccable standards and unwavering convictions, known throughout London for his sense of duty and commitment to his family.

As the head of the Bridgerton family, his actions were often scrutinized, and his decisions influenced the lives of his siblings.

Yet, despite his formidable exterior, he harbored a deep, unyielding love for his wife, you, a love that he was determined to showcase to his family.

It was a crisp spring morning, and the Bridgerton household was abuzz with activity.

their late father, Edmund Bridgerton upheldThe family had gathered for breakfast, a tradition upheld by their late father, Edmund Bridgerton.

Anthony, seated at the head of the table, observed his siblings with a mix of affection and amusement.

Each one was unique, yet they shared an unbreakable bond.

As Anthony sipped his coffee, his gaze drifted to you, seated beside him.

You were engaged in a lively conversation with Eloise, your laughter like a melodious tune that brightened the room.

Anthony's heart swelled with pride and adoration.

You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of the family, your warmth and wit endearing you to each of his siblings.

"Anthony, you're staring," Daphne teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Do you have something to say?"

Anthony chuckled, setting his cup down. "As a matter of fact, I do." He stood, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

"I've been thinking a great deal about family lately, about how fortunate I am to have all of you in my life. But there's someone here who has brought me an immeasurable amount of joy and fulfillment, someone who has made our family even more complete."

He reached for your hand, helping you to your feet. "Y/n, you have been a beacon of light in my life, and I want everyone to know just how much you mean to me."

You blushed, your eyes shimmering with love. "Anthony, you're too kind."

"No, my dear," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I am simply stating the truth. You have shown me what it means to truly love and to be loved. You've brought laughter and happiness into our home, and for that, I am eternally grateful."

Benedict, seated across the table, raised his glass. "To y/n, the heart of our family!"

"To y/n!" the family echoed, lifting their glasses in unison.

Anthony smiled, his heart brimming with contentment.

He had always known that his love for you was profound, but now, standing before his family, he realized that his affection for you was boundless.

He was determined to ensure that everyone saw the depth of his feelings, not just in words but in actions as well.

Later that day, Anthony took you for a stroll, a favorite pastime of yours.

The park was a riot of colors, the flowers in full bloom, and the air filled with the sweet scent of spring.

As you walked hand in hand, Anthony couldn't help but steal glances at you, marveling at your beauty and grace.

"You're unusually quiet today," you remarked, a playful smile on your lips. "What's on your mind?"

Anthony stopped, turning to face you. "You. Always you." He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. "I want the world to see how much I adore you, how you've changed my life for the better. You deserve to be celebrated every day."

Your eyes softened, and you leaned into his touch. "Anthony, you do celebrate me, in so many ways. Your love is more than enough."

"But it's not enough for me," he insisted. "I want to do more, to show you off to the world, to our family. They need to see how deeply I cherish you."

You laughed softly. "You have a romantic soul, Anthony Bridgerton. Very well, if it makes you happy, I shall allow you to spoil me."

Anthony grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It makes me very happy indeed."

True to his word, Anthony set about planning a series of events and gatherings where he could showcase his love for you.

He organized family picnics, soirées, and even a grand ball in your honor.

Each occasion was meticulously planned, with every detail reflecting his admiration for you.

At one such gathering, a garden party held at Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton estate, Anthony outdid himself.

The gardens were transformed into a magical wonderland, with twinkling fairy lights and fragrant flowers adorning every corner.

Guests mingled and laughed, the air filled with the sounds of music and merriment.

As the sun began to set, Anthony took your hand and led you to the center of the garden, where a string quartet played a soft, romantic melody.

He held you close, swaying gently to the music.

"You've outdone yourself, Anthony," you whispered, your eyes shining with happiness. "This is beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he replied, his voice filled with love. "I wanted everyone to see what I see every day—the incredible woman who has stolen my heart."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "I love you. More than words can say."

"And I love you," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "More than anything in this world."

As you danced under the stars, surrounded by family and friends, Anthony knew that he had succeeded in his mission.

He had shown everyone just how much you meant to him, and in doing so, he had strengthened the bond of your family even further.

In the days that followed, Anthony continued to find ways to express his love for you, both grand and small.

He would surprise you with handwritten love letters, leave your favorite flowers by your bedside, and steal moments alone with you whenever he could.

Each gesture, no matter how simple, was a testament to his unwavering devotion.

The Bridgerton family, too, embraced you with open arms. They admired Anthony's dedication and the way he openly cherished you.

It brought a new sense of warmth and unity to the gatherings, a reminder of the power of love and the importance of expressing it.

One evening, as you sat by the fireplace in your home, you turned to Anthony with a thoughtful expression.

"Do you know what I love most about you?" you asked.

Anthony raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What is that?"

"Your heart," you said softly. "Your ability to love so deeply and to show that love so openly. It's a rare and beautiful thing."

He smiled, his heart swelling with pride. "And do you know what I love most about you?"

"What's that?" you asked, your eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"Everything," he replied, leaning in to kiss you. "Absolutely everything."

As you sat together, wrapped in each other's arms, Anthony knew that he had found his true soulmate in you.

You were his anchor, his confidante, and the love of his life.

And he was determined to spend every day showing you just how much you meant to him, letting the world see the depth of his affection.

[honeykaes]

—𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢

✦ lingerie hc’s feat. alhaitham, ayato, childe, kaeya 

✦ warning: smut, 18+ content, mdni

✦ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns,pretty used as a descriptor, words “cunt” “pussy” “panties” used, consuenual voyuerism (ayato), mutual masturbation (ayato), masturbation (kaeya), panty fucking (kaeya), exhibitionism (childe), semi-public sex, thigh-fucking (childe), office sex (alhaitham), unedited

✦ reblogs and comments very appreciated

One of Alhaitham’s favorite pastime seemed to be messing with you in your office. It didn’t matter with what, that stoic face would always make you cum—on your chair, on the desk, even on the door one time. So, when Alhaitham walked in expecting you to be working, he was surprised to see you on the leather love seat dressed in your favorite lingerie. 

A smirk fell onto his sun-kissed skin as he locked the door and approached you, soon unblocking his own pants and disrobing. His cock, thick and hot, resting on your upper thigh and his hands soon ran up and down your thighs—soon spreading you out wide. 

“You’re already soaked. It’s not as fun if I’m not the one making you this wet,” he grunted, pressing his thumb firmly on your clit. You sucked a breath in as he pulled on the clothed nub, feeling his fingers dampen from your slick. You feel the pads of his fingers press against your folds before you gasp hearing a tear echo out into the room. As the ripping sound slowly pours out, a smirk is rested on Alhaitham’s smirk merely gazing at your embarrassed expression and furrowed brows. 

As he finally rips an opening, he pumped his cock a couple of times—smearing his precum along his base as he lined himself up and slowly descended inside of you. His nails dug into your thighs, stretching you out further until he finally bottomed out—cock deep inside of you. His head hovered over yours, lips whispers away from one another watching you squirm, trying to adjust and get him to thrust further inside of you.

His lips dipped down, nibbling on a sensitive part of your neck before finally thrusting, ripping a loud moan from your lips. His pace was rhymetic, cock grazing against the soft spongy part inside of you as you held onto him tighter. Your legs soon wrapped around his hips in a desperate attempt to get him even deeper, babbling how cruel he was for ruining your lingerie to get a reaction out of you.

Alhaitham merely chuckled, admiring the hickies now on your neck before leaning into your ear.

“Don’t worry, I can always buy you another set, I like that is…”

Ayato absolutely adores shopping with lingerie with you, it’s always on his list whenever the two of you go out shopping in Inazuma City and Ritou. He always walks around the store admiring the lacy, flimsy material decorated around before grabbing something that makes his cock twitch at the thought of you wearing it. Even if you don’t find anything in there, Ayato is sure to surprise you when you get home with the items he specifically picked out for you.

Even as you open his gift, lifting up the lacy thing from it’s ornate bag, he could feel his lips stretching to a smirk—half-hardened cock pressing against his white slacks. He could only bite his lips to try to hide the deep groan threatening to reverberate from his throat seeing your trembling expression as his hand cups his bulge. 

“Come on. Don’t you want to dress up for me,” he cooed—leaning towards your ear—as his hands fell onto your hips, pitching the skin near the bone. As you nodded your head, grabbing the lingerie to get up to the bathroom, Ayato merely caught your wrist—clicking his tongue in fake disappointment.

“Not so fast, lovely. Strip for me. Don’t I deserve a show for spoiling you,” he chuckled. He loved seeing your throat bob, anxiety riddling throughout your body as you soon unbuttoned your pants, pulling them down the legs he finds so enticing and onto the floor. His lips nibble the soft flesh of his bottom lip as you soon lifted your top off, dropping that down as well leaving your vulnerable in your udnerwear. As you remove the final article of clothing, his hip bucks towards his palm—admiring the translucent strings of your slick, shining from the light and sticking to your folds and upper thighs.

As you finally slipped on the lingerie he had bought you, Ayato shimmied his pants down, pale cock slapping against his toned lower stomach. He squeezed the base of it, slowly tugging it up as he watched you nervously stan their finally adorned in the lacy he’s thought about all day.

“Let me see you play with yourself. I want to see you absolutely soaked…” he groaned, leaning his back against the bedframe. Your fingers soon dipped down inside of your pants, fingers gathering up the slick from your folds rubbing tender circles on your throbbing clit. Ayato held his cock tighter, jerking it rapidly as his thumb pressed on the flushed tip of his cock—pad of his thumb soaked with his precum leaking down.

“F-Fuck, that’s right. Just like that, act like those are my fingers playing with your pretty cunt,” he grunted, soon cletching his jaw. His whole body flexed, as ropes of cum shot out, spaining your stomach and some of the fabric with the thick substance as he soon tried to ease his breathing from his high. 

As you stopped, embarrassed by his hazy lavender gaze, he soon found himself ontop of you—half-hardened cock nudging against your clothed entrance.

“Who said you could stop, hm?”

Childe was completely bored, watching you look at one pair to the other in the lingerie store. As he watched the people shopping and chatting, he fought another groan—wondering just where you were exactly. As his patience finally ran out, Childe got up and began to try to search for you within the store. As he saaw the changing rooms, unguarded, he snuck in loudly whispering your name.

Hearing your reply, Childe soon darted into the smal changing room. His dull blue eyes widened, mouth slightly gapped when he saw you adorned with lingerie fitting your figure perfectly. As you questions what he was doing and if everything was alright, Childe put his finger to his lips to try to hush you—feeling his cock beginning to grow. He shifted his pants, cock desperate for any type of friction before his hands soon found themselves to your hips. You looked in the mirror watching his lustful gaze on you.

“Care to make a wonderful memory in here,” he whispered, leaning into your ear before blowing hot air into it. Your body shivered as your thighs rubbed together, feeling the slow burn of your own arousal beginning to pool. Childe soon, undid his belt—the sound of his zipper echoing out before he pulled down part of his pants to reveal his cock. As you try shifting your body and leaning down, he only rought you right back to your position.

You gazed in the mirror confused as a mischievous look fell on the ginger’s expression. Feeling his hard cock pressed against your thigh, you gasped feeling his cock push between your thighs also rubbing along your clothed folds. He continuously thrusted, hands moving towards your chest where he soon found your pebbled nipples and began to tug and pull at them.

His balls smacked against the fat of your ass, as you covered your mouth to hide the moans from escaping out. From how tight you were holding your thighs, everytime he thrusted between them—he managed to hit pressure on yout clothed clit.

“Shhh… you don’t want to get caught do you,” he cooed, grinning at your expression in the mirror. Something about watching his cock disappear and appear as he fucked your thighs, made his stomach churn in delight.

As he groaned in your ear, nipping your earlobe as he went faster—you could feel his precum smearing against the soft skin. His hands eventually weaved back down to your hips, burying his fingernails into it as he finally came—ropes of his cum soiling the lingiere you were trying on and shooting globs of it onto the mirror. 

As you sighed, cheeks hot in embarrassment explaining how you were going to be forced to buy this pair now, Childe simply grinned, ripping the tag off of it and dashing out. Oh he would be buying it alright.

As Kaeya slowly opened his eyes, the morning light pouring in from the window, he couldn’t help sighing in content with you in his arms. His lips slowly leaned into your cheeks, gently kissing you and moving his adornation throughout your neck. Feeling you shift in his grasp, and muttering a good morning to him—he couldn’t help but smirk, telling you to head to the shower as he will make breakfast to try to recover from the festivities you two participated last night.

With a chuckle, you soon got up—blankets shifting down to reveal your nude form before Kaeya leaned over, pressing his hand hard on the globe of your ass as you playfully rolled your eyes and exited the bedroom. Hearing the shower turn on in the room over, Kaeya soon sighed once more before getting up himself. 

His eyes wandered the floor for his briefs or something that could cover him from the cold right now, but he zeroed into something else. Leaning down to the floor, his hand grabbed onto your lacy panties you wore last night—the very pair that managed to seduce him. He grunted seeing his cock beginning to rise and quiver, clearly already nostalgic from being inside of you. Shifting his head towards the closed bathroom door, Kaeya silently closed the bedroom door, grabbing the lingerie and pressing against his cock.

He sucked a breath in, leaning his head back against the door as he tighten his grip on his length and the lingerie pressed against it, his precum soon making the lace shine. A low moan escaped his lips, fingers pressing against prominent vein on the underside of his cock, going faster as pleasure enveloped his whole body. 

His eyes shut tight, reliving the memory of you bent over, your lingerie swiped to the side as he pounded inside of you—feeling your gummy walls squeeze and massage his cock. 

“Fuck…I want to cum inside of you baby,” he whispered out. His lips curled into a grin, hips meeting his pace before shuttering as his climax finally reached him. Thick globes of his cum coated your lingiere, as he softly pumped his cock walking himself down from his high.

With a sigh, Kaeya looked back down to the mess he had made with your panties, before clicking his tongue before throwing it into the hamper and hiding it with his other dirty clothes. He quickly grabbed a robe and left the bedroom to start breakfast.

Hopefully, you’d have no clue what happened to those pair for now.

[venuslut]

tw: violence

I've just been obsessed with the whole strong evil man with an equally, maybe more, evil woman by his side.

Just think about it. Them sitting on a throne and you're sitting at his feet with your head in his lap, and he's running his hands through your hair as he kills off the useless or traitorous people to give you a show.

I would be on an absolute power trip in this position. My favorite pastime? Planning world domination with my man. My hobbies? Bathing in the blood of my enemies. What's my ideal date? Going on a shopping-turned-murder spree and then fucking while covered in blood.

Some may not be ok with participating in the killings and all that and that's ok. But imagine the pure sexiness your man emits when he kills someone. He's covered in blood but goddamn. Just being turned on by him being covered in his victims blood and just smirking so evilly as if he's getting off on it too.

Maybe it's after a major fight and you're both high off of adrenaline. You saw your lover cut down people with little effort and you can't help but shiver at the thought of him bringing his brutality into the bedroom. Him manhandling you like a ragdoll and treating you like a common whore. It sends tingles to your core and makes your enemies afraid of why you seem more energetic and bloodthirsty than before.

Then when you get home, you both can't keep your hands to yourself. Wanting desperately to take each other's clothes off and fuck until your both stupid and drooling. You don't even care about the blood staining your designer clothes or your silk bed sheets. You wanted the blood on you as well, you wanted to taste it as you passionately kissed him, to feel it on your skin as he thrusted his cock into you. As he bit you in different places, drawing your own blood while you clawed at his skin in pleasure, both clouded with overwhelming lust for each other.

Aside from the sex, he would treat you like the queen you are. If they insult you, they're insulting him. Of course, he wouldn't need to put the person back in their place as you were capable of doing so yourself. He would only need to stand on the sidelines and smile proudly while their screams of mercy echo out. He would be so in love with you and shower you with gifts 2417, ranging from new clothes and jewelry to expensive things.

I rave about you fighting alongside him and all that but in hindsight, he wouldn't let you lift a finger. Having you by his side was already a grueling task so he didn't want to run you off by overexerting yourself. Your room would be filled with the softest and lavish bed, and while gone, he would allow you to sit on his throne. You're not always by his feet, sometimes when you find the position to be demeaning you sit on his lap or arm-piece instead. After all, you wanted to get a good view of the impending blood bath or look just as menacing as your lover.

Sometimes, you don't want to be the bimbo or the nice and main girl y/n. Sometimes you want to be evil, cruel, and bloodthirsty. You want to ditch your morals and watch the world burn, and you want to do it with your lover by your side.

Or maybe that's just me.

[hestiaswifey]

Lots of smiles

The air shimmered, then rippled like a heatwave, and then, there he was. A figure with cat ears and tail,

lounging against a marble pillar in the bustling marketplace of Olympus.

His amber eyes, flecked with gold, were fixed on the chaos with an amusement that bordered on cruelty. It was you, the God of Inconsistence, or as Hermes, perched on the edge of a nearby fountain, preferred to call you, 'The Cheshire Cat.'

'Another day, another drama,' Hermes sighed, taking a long sip of nectar. He wasn't particularly surprised to see you here, though. You were notorious for popping up in the most unexpected places, your presence always a welcome, if slightly unnerving, change of pace.

'Oh, it's a delight,' you purred, your voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Hermes' spine. 'But wouldn't it be even more delightful if we added a little spice to the mix?' Your tail twitched, and a mischievous grin stretched across your face.

'What do you have in mind?' Hermes asked with a cautious eye. He knew better than to trust your whims, especially when they involved 'spicing things up.

' You had a tendency to leave a trail of chaos and confusion in your wake, and your favorite pastime seemed to be playing pranks on the other gods, much to their dismay.

You flicked your tail, your entire figure dissolving into thin air. 'Just a little trick, my dear Hermes,' your voice echoed around them. 'Something to keep the Olympians on their toes.'

The next moment, Hermes was surrounded by a dozen indistinguishable figures. All of them had your cat ears and tail, and all of them wore your same sly, knowing grin. But which one was the real you? Hermes was momentarily paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

But then, he heard a familiar rasping laugh. You were already behind him, your hand resting on his shoulder. “You know, dear Hermes,” you murmured, your voice close to his ear, “sometimes it’s more fun to watch the world burn than to join the fire.”

Hermes chuckled, despite himself. It was a ridiculous, chaotic scene, but it was also undeniably entertaining, and, he admitted, kind of exhilarating. He looked at the dozen identical creatures surrounding him, his eyes narrowing. “You know,” he said, his voice filled with playful exasperation, “you’re a terrible influence, you know that?”

You winked, your form shimmering in and out of existence, before disappearing entirely, leaving only a lingering echo of your laughter in the air.

“Oh, Hermes,” you said, your voice a distant whisper, “you have no idea.”

And then, you were gone again, leaving Hermes standing alone in the marketplace, wondering what mischief you were up to next. And he knew, with a certainty that made his stomach flutter, that your next prank would be even more outrageous, even more outlandish, than the last.

Because that was you, the Cheshire Cat. The embodiment of chaos, of inconsistency, and utter, glorious, absurdity. And Hermes, for all his love of order, couldn't help but love it.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Liminal (RL!Mia Winters x MC/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil 8/Resident Lover Genre: Fluff and angst and fluff and angst Rating: Idk T? for blood. kind of. Warnings: Major character death, major spoilers (mainly implied) for Resident Lover, minor violence (not in detail) Summary: Mia's memories layer over each other, nineteen lives and hundreds of different loops, confusing and muddling her perception of the present. There is only one constant: Love. Notes: Less of a series of scenes and more like a lot of musing, with a tiny, tiny "scene" at the end. Most of the Mia/MC vibes are implied (referenced past fwb situation, but it's implied that they had feelings beyond that). References to the MC dating a few of the other characters because loops.

She doesn’t intentionally seek the memories out, doesn’t chase the heart-killer of nostalgia, the wretched thing hiding rot behind a shiny facade. But neither does she spend any effort to avoid the trappings of the past. When the moments come, when deja vu greets her, Mia only ever lets it wash over her. Peacefully. Hauntingly. After this many lives, it is the easiest lesson to heed.

Sometimes the memories come with a smile, a soft exhale that flows into a snicker. The first time she watches you on stage, pouring your heart out as Romeo, she can’t help but remember having to help you cram for your Language Arts final. Recalls the way your lips pouted after a particularly exasperated sigh; she can trace the mental image of the way those lips curled back into a smile at one of her dumb jokes. It’s the joke itself she can’t remember. A jab at Shakespeare, probably, the man an easy choice of target.

There’s a moment (it repeats, by God it repeats, a dozen times over the loops, every instance layered on top of the last) where she sits next to you on a couch meant for three. Instinct makes her legs twitch, yearning to prop her feet up on your lap, not letting anybody sit between you. Instead, she suppresses a smile, and watches as one of your roommates all but sits on top of you. It doesn’t matter which one; in Mia’s eyes, they’re both better than Miranda, if only in this moment, for this purpose.

Other memories make her breath hitch in her throat, words stuck to the sides of her mouth like cotton, another stone to sink in her stomach. These are the ones that blend together the most, twisting further with every loop, muddling her perception of which life she’s in. Most come by accident, echoing the way she’s met you before. A bump in the hallway, papers scattering, both crouching down to pick everything up. Sudden rainfall making you scramble to share an umbrella, going back and forth between who gets most of the cover. Teaming up to take down the reigning asshole at whatever drinking game the campus is currently obsessed with.

“You look familiar- have we met before?” You’ll ask, once in a blue moon of a loop, except this time it’s more than reuniting with a childhood friend. This time it’s reaching out to pluck the heartstrings of your soulmate. One of your soulmates, that is. Mia’s response only ever comes with unearned confidence, mirth dancing on her tongue, deflecting, deflecting, denying- a hint of flirting, maybe, when she can afford it. Getting you to blush had been a favorite pastime of hers, once, twice, many times. Even if it never extended into anything more official than sharing a bed.

Seeing you at parties makes her feel like so little has changed. Always the same drink of choice, always too readily egged on by friends. If she squinted, it would be easy to put herself in Daniela’s place at your side, and so Mia never lets her gaze linger for too long. When the cups get too deep for you, it’s far too easy to stop herself from intervening. She never did before. Even when she should have. Those are the timelines where Angie does more for you than Mia’s past self could ever dream of.

It almost makes up for the time she finds your body crumpled in front of the doll’s car, crimson splashed across the bumper. She stares, only for a moment, wondering when she stopped feeling anything at the sight of your corpse. Then she catches a glimpse of three familiar fanatics in the crowd, makes note of the way their horror differs from those around them. Figures their attempts at keeping you out of the spotlight would go too far, eventually. Figures that the real nostalgia greets her fingers as they wrap around the handle of her knife. Revenge was an old friend- just one rarely visited these days.

Hard for her to thrive on revenge when she’s got the bloodiest hands of them all. Strange how the feelings shifted over time, guilt warping into freeing comfort. The first time she killed you, the first time she brought on a new loop across a knife’s edge, she almost threw up. Stared at the deep cuts and lost herself in the memory of finding Miranda cradling your lifeless body, the end of your past incarnation. It made her stomach churn, made her heart drop, and fully solidified her need to make sure the loop would meet a perfect end (the only way to guarantee you’d never meet that fate again).

By now, the blood flows freely, remorse a trinket left forgotten on dusty shelves. It’s for the best. Better her than someone else, better for her to soak your bond in blood than to let it rot in the open. Ending the loop fills her with relief, with joy, as she invokes her promise to give you not just a happy ending, but the right one. She loses track of how many times she’s knocked you down or out, how many loops she’s filled with blood, how many times she’s allowed you the comfort of bleeding out in her arms.

Ironic, then, that you never accuse her of murdering you, only someone far less important. More ironic yet that the finger of blame forces her to recall the life that bound your souls together. But that memory doesn’t perfectly layer over the present, when she’s not burning by your side, dying with your name on her lips. The way you look at her almost makes her miss the flames (the next moment she focuses on has your hands touch in passing, knuckles brushing up against each other, and she feels an entirely different kind of fire).

There are times where she wonders how much you remember. Not consciously, not truly, but which memories are etched into your soul itself. Now those are the moments that test her resolve, that tempt her to chain herself to pursuing the past the same way that Miranda does. All it takes to make her heart stop is for you to tilt your head to the side, eyes not quite narrowed, a sly smile paired with a twinkle in your eye. Something about that expression always lets her know you’re on the verge of remembering something. Half of the time you’ll follow it up with a carefully worded question, never sure if Mia feels the same deja vu that you do.

Your timing isn’t always perfect; she can’t blame you, not with the way her memories layer over each other, fighting to see which controls her present.

One hand in her pocket, clutching her switchblade, the other placed gently on your shoulder. Now that the election is over (again. how many times have you won? why do you never walk away, even when Bela begs you?), she needs to remove you. But your eyes light up as soon as she touches you. Head tilt? Check. Sly smile? Check. You should be scared by the way she’s looking at you, by the way she has you cornered on the balcony, but somehow your mind has skipped past the familiar danger and right into the familiar flirting. Aren’t you supposed to be in love with Bela this time around?

“Care to dance?” You ask, offering your hand. How long has it been since the two of you danced?... Not since Miranda refused to go with you, a lifetime or two or five ago, long before the loop. Mia had been the one to ask you then. Her expression now must mirror what yours had been that day. Surprise, amusement, and adoration. Of course she agrees.

By the time Bela interrupts, the way she does in too many loops, Mia is grateful. It had been hard enough to avoid kissing you in that past life, it was almost impossible now. Still, the Dimitrescu stands frozen for a moment, her own layered memories not finding any match for the sight. She’s supposed to be tackling Mia, knocking her off the balcony, body breaking in the bushes below. Neither of them move, trying to calculate a route to familiar endings.

Mia misjudges her decision, ruins the feelings, guarantees that you’ll harbor a hesitance to dance with her for all loops and lives to follow. She holds your hand, she holds her knife. She holds your hand, she takes your life. For once, Bela is the one who’s two steps behind, her shove coming too late, even if it still carries Mia off of the ledge.

Death never takes either of you for terribly long. Miranda pulls back the fog of limbo, breaks the rules, makes the void spit you both back out, resetting the loop. One wakes up with memories of everything, the other with only impressions. Lingering pieces of nineteen strange dreams, and a hundred futures cycling over one another with interlocking grooves, the only set pattern being love and love and wretched, bloody love. Mia doesn’t chase the nostalgia, doesn’t seek out the ways she knows will lead to love, to the familiar warmth of your heart next to hers. Why would she? All roads lead back to you.

[shadowdaddies]

Hi:) I'm so happy that I am not annoying you with all the Eris requests, I really thought I was. May I ask for another one? One where the reader and Eris are mates and she is had always desired to dance with someone but she never had the chance and he arranges that. Please🙏

No you have NEVER annoyed me!! I've never been annoyed by requests, it brings me so much joy when you guys enjoy my writing💜 I appreciate you

A/N: oh this made me EMOTIONAL thinking about Eris with a mate where he doesn't care about how others perceive them, he's only focused on them

Dance with Me

Eris x fem!Reader

You were perched in Eris’s lap as he spent another late night in his office, sorting through reports that had him tugging at his flame red hair in frustration. Wiggling on his lap, your nose nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his comforting scent as you pressed a soft kiss to his skin. Eris stiffened beneath your gentle touch, letting out a quick exhale. 

“I need a break,” he announced, hands wrapping securely around your waist as he lifted you from his lap. Eris stood from his chair, smirking at you as he took your hand in his and led you to the open space of his office, between his desk and the fireplace. “I need a dance with my lady, if I am to make it through this evening,” Eris spoke dramatically, bowing to you before he offered his hand. You giggled at your mate’s propriety - he was such a skilled dancer, and you were thankful that he entertained your attempts at the activity. 

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your hand that made you blush furiously before pulling you into his arms and leading you in a silent waltz. Eris’s heartbeat, the crackle of the fire, and your laughter as you tripped over his feet - only for him to catch you in a graceful dip - echoed through the study. Amber eyes glowing with amusement, Eris smiled as he twirled you around the floor.

It was a favorite pastime for him to dance when he was stressed, and you loved learning something new from your mate. You dreamt of dancing in a beautiful ballgown, your mate leading you in front of the courts one day. Eris could tell you were lost in thought, a soft smile playing on his lips as he twirled you. “What’s on your mind, little vixen?” 

You blushed, laughing nervously as you told Eris what you were dreaming about, but rather than laughing with you, Eris stopped the dance. Tilting your chin up, amber eyes looked deep into yours as Eris promised you, “I will not allow my mate’s dreams to remain such. I can think of no higher honor than to dance with you for everyone under this sky to witness.” Melting at his poetic way with words, you broke form, holding Eris close as you slow danced to no music, just the sound of his heart beating with yours.

~~~

Weeks passed, and before you knew it, the Autumnal Equinox was around the corner. It was an obscenely grand celebration in the court - for obvious reasons - and you had spent weeks helping plan the festivities and having fittings for your gown. 

The Equinox was a twenty-four hour celebration, recognizing the equal hours of day and night as the season turned - but the night festivities were the highlight of the year, when the grand ball was held. The ball always began as a formal, civilized affair, but around midnight inevitably devolved into hedonism and debauchery that put Calanmai to shame.

You smirked at your form in the mirror, the shimmering ruby dress adorned with gold-toned leaves accentuating your figure perfectly. A knock on your door sounded, and one of your ladies-in-waiting who had helped ready you for the evening answered it with the excitement that you all shared amongst yourselves. Eris let out a soft laugh though the doorway at her eager expression, but all joking disappeared from his face as he looked to you. 

Eris stumbled back a step as he admired you, the slightest bit of silver lining his eyes as he let out a small gasp. “You look... ethereal, my Lady,” Eris breathed, his eyes never leaving yours as he held out his arm for you to take. 

You arrived at the ball, Eris seemingly still dazed by your appearance as the grand doors swung open to reveal the room of people. Many males watched as you entered, anyone who dared approach you earning a frightening snarl from Eris. You didn’t mind, leaning into his warmth as he wrapped an arm protectively around you and led you through the crowd.

Swiping champagne from a serving tray, Eris handed a glass to you and toasted to the beginning of Autumn. You watched the dancing for awhile, admiring the twirl of skirts and the rhythm of the music as they spun around the floor, all the while Eris gossiping about court politics and scandals that had you snickering in amusement. You had finished your drink, leaning into Eris’s side when the dance ended, and with a wicked gleam in his eye, Eris took your champagne flute, setting it down as he pulled you to the floor.

“Eris! I can’t dance here, I haven’t had enough practice for this yet,” you whispered as he smiled down at you with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll do just fine, vixen. Just like we practiced - and I’m always here to catch you if you fall.” You felt the deeper emotion behind his words, taking hold of his hand as you lifted your chin and settled into practiced form. 

The swell of the violin signaled the start of the dance, and Eris led you in a waltz as the orchestra played, groups of people stopping to watch as you fumbled your way through the motions. “Breathe, my love,” Eris whispered in your ear - just before you stumbled. Holding onto one of your hands, Eris spun you in a perfect circle before catching your waist, dipping you as if your mistake was a practiced maneuver. People cheered from the sides, impressed by your skill while you and Eris continued the dance. You felt like a princess, your own skirt flaring out as you spun around the ballroom with the love of your life. 

The dance ended, Eris pulling you in for a deep kiss as the crowd again clapped for you. The adrenaline from the performance was coursing through your veins, and you hadn’t registered your surroundings until you felt the cool breeze of night air against your skin. Standing with Eris on the balcony, you smiled so hard your face hurt as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss. “This was the best night of my life. Better than any of my dreams,” you whispered, tucking a strand of fiery red hair behind Eris’s ear.

“The night isn’t over yet,” Eris said, a mischievous hint in his tone as he let you go, walking back to take a paper lantern from the staff. You looked around the yard, realizing it must be nearly midnight as you took in the people scattered about with their own lanterns ready. The clock struck, clanging out as Eris lit your lantern with his flame, and you sent it up into the sky with the others. 

You watched the lanterns float away in the night until they disappeared over the horizon, turning to Eris. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you felt his own settle over your back and you whispered, “so what now, my love?” Eris let out a dark chuckle. “After midnight is when the real debauchery begins.” With that, you were winnowed back to your bedroom, Eris looking at you with a deeply hungry expression, tilting your chin to look at him. “And you wouldn’t believe the debauched things I plan to do to you tonight, little vixen.”

[koisuko]

Based on a dream:

Tw: angst, gn reader, mentions of blood, established relationship

“Ghost!” Your voice left your lips in nothing more than a whisper. The name echoing in the foggy nothingness surrounding you, reaching nobody's ears but your own. The space seemed obscured, a strange bluish tint, subtle but still noticeable with a careful eye. The nightlife you would expect seemed dead silent, furthering the unease you already felt. Regardless, you kept running. Your feet thumping against the wet grass beneath you, pumping your legs as fast as you could until the muscles burned and ached. The air in your lungs felt like fire with each heavy breath. Something lingered behind you, looming over your shoulder with the promise of harm. You don’t know what, or who, you were running from, but you know where you were running to. Keep going. Don’t stop, there will be a way, you thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of repeating scenery, you reached the lawn of a familiar homestead. Only taking a split second of a break before running again, tears streaming down your cheeks with each shaky breath in. Strangely enough, the heavy fog still blanketed the area, not once fading except to reveal the house you came across. It almost felt like running on a treadmill, hardly able to discern whether you were going forward or back.

You reached the porch of the small home, taking a breath at the stairs before once again pleading for an answer, “Ghost!” Nothing. All hope is leaking away in an open wound in your heart. Until suddenly, the familiar footsteps approached rapidly. Bursting through the door, he stood, looking off with wide eyes to the darkened woods around him. “Ghost, I found you!” It felt like a chore to speak, your voice coming out weaker than intended. He looked different, his eyes heavy with melancholy and lips plastered with a permanent frown. Bags of sleepless nights accumulated under his eyes, stubble covering his usually smooth jaw. Slowly, you moved to wrap your arms around his waist in a tender embrace. Touching him felt…different, vacant and cold. You sat there for a moment, holding him tight, yet he never reciprocated. Instead, you felt him shiver in your hold, goosebumps rising on his exposed skin. A quivered sigh left his lips, compelling you to lift your head from his chest and meet the gaze of those deep brown pools you love so much. As you did, you were caught off guard by the fact that he wasn’t looking at you. More like, he was looking past you, beyond your figure to the landscape behind you. Cranking your head, you looked to where he seemed to peer longingly, only to see nothing peculiar that caught your attention. “What’s wrong, love?” You asked, your voice was smooth and sweet, a voice you only used with him, your beloved. Nothing. He gave you no response as he turned to leave back inside. Did you do something wrong?

You followed behind him, your brows knitting together in concern of his odd behavior. He may be distant to many, but never has he blatantly ignored you. The thick fog from outside seemed to leak into the house. You found it odd, unnerving even, but focused your attention back to your husband. You watched him move to sit on the floor of the kitchen, leaning his back against the cabinets. His head fell forward, eyes closed presumably in deep thought. “Honey, talk to me.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze as you sat beside him.

You two often did this, sitting beside each other on the kitchen floor, talking for hours on end about shit no one else cared to listen to. It was your favorite pastime, your favorite activity after a hard day. He always gave you his undivided attention, dedicating his time to lending you an ear when everyone else brushed your words off like dust.

Once again, you were met with silence. However, you refused to give up. This wasn’t unusual for him, some days he felt no need to speak, or he was too exhausted to communicate. So, instead of pinning it on him as some form of punishment, you held patience and understanding. “Is there anything I can do?” You uttered, “I can make you some te-“ your words were cut short by his raspy voice beside you, “I miss you..so fucking much.” His voice was broken, a subtle sign of his deepest emotions that was all too foreign to anyone in his life but you. The way he spoke sounded more like a prayer to no one than a statement directly to you. You turned to look at him again, taken aback by the tears streaming down his face, painting his features in a somber display. You realized now, seeing him under the light of the kitchen, that he looked like a broken version of the man you once knew. What had you missed in the short time you were gone?

Truthfully, you don’t remember anything past waking up in the woods. What had happened to you was entirely unknown to you. You decided not to think too deep on it, focusing on the depressing man before you. “Simon,” you gingerly wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “I’m right here, no need to miss me anymore.” He made no attempt to lift his head, his shoulders continued to shake with the sobs racking his body. You moved to place a finger under his chin, in an attempt to lift his gaze to meet your own, only for him to refuse to budge. Almost like attempting to rearrange a statue with your bare hands. This struck you, what did you do to hurt him? He’s never resisted your comfort, despite being a man of few words and an aversion to physical touch. Your mind spiraled slightly, and in an attempt to center yourself, you lowered your lips to his. Curious, it felt more like kissing someone in a dream, tingly and distant, as if your lips never actually connected. Your heart broke as his lips remained fastened in place. You leaned back, tears welling in your eyes as you glanced at him once again. His right hand held the necklace tight around his neck, his head lifting slightly to rest against the cabinets.

The necklace, the one he gave you on your second anniversary. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your neck where that necklace once was, only to find a vacant space of bare skin. He clutched it tighter before speaking, “it should have been me,” he muttered in a voice so heartbreaking. Then, it hit you. The memories came flooding into your mind like a tsunami. The forest, a man, bleeding on the cold forest floor at the dead of night. You were running from him, yet that wound you remember so vaguely seemed to be non-existent.

You stumbled back, landing on your backside as you scoot away in a frantic attempt to collect yourself. It all made sense now. The fog, the endless abyss surrounding you, the echo of your voice into nothingness, how he treated you like you weren’t even there. All this time, it was already too late.

You were already dead.

[stars-n-spice]

Crosshair + his crush on Aragorn Pt. 3

A bunch of comics that are a continuation of this comic about Crosshair finding out about LOTR for the first time with Tech, Echo, and Omega.

Because I love projecting on my favorites and because I think that Crosshair would fall utterly in love with Aragorn because 1) he's got that rugged look about him but 2) he's loyal as FUCK. I mean,, I don't blame him-

Part 1 // Part 2

Anywho, enjoy!

How Crosshair got banned from LOTR Movie Nights:

Movie: He's one of them Rangers...Dangerous folk they are...wandering the wilds. Crosshair: I'd let him wander my "wilds".

(this is pulled directly from something my younger brother said during a rewatch and the Batch's reactions are exactly how my siblings and I all reacted)

To the End - aka the moment Crosshair falls in love

Aragorn: I would have gone with you to the end. To the very fires of Mordor... *LIVE CROSS REACTION: Crosshair, internally: 🎶 Whatta man whattaman what a might good man🎶

This scene gets me all the fucking time. I think about it and cry. That loyalty?? Fucking hot as hell.

"Suggestions" - Sharpshooters Movie Night

Crosshair: You should grow a beard. Tay: ?

Modern AU Tay! Whether or not he has the genes to grow a beard remains to be seen...

Rewind:

Tech: Can you stop rewinding it?! We've seen this scene 15 times! Crosshair: No. Shut the fuck up.

Me too Crosshair, me too. From that day on, Tech refuses to watch LOTR with Crosshair-

Cosplay:

Hunter: Why are you dressed like that? Crosshair: Like what? Hunter: ...nevermind. Wrecker: Looks good!

Crosshair asked Echo to sew it together for him. If you ask him, he's better than Arwen. But that's just his opinion.

Caught Red-Handed:

Crosshair *in Elvish*: Do you like men? Tech: Are you trying to learn ELVISH?! Crosshair: NO!! I'm watching porn! Get out of my room! Tech: We share a room...

no idea how accurate the translation is so don't come for me-

Pastimes:

Crosshair: Did you know Aragorn is canonically 6'6? Tay: No, but did you know I'm 6'6? Crosshair: Shut up, I'm reading.

Crosshair is "borrowing" the book from Tech (he took it without telling him). Tay has competition. The teasing is all in good fun though, Tay doesn't mind competing against Aragon. Crosshair enjoys playing with Tay's hair.

They have a type:

They have a type. What can I say?

Also,, used a picture of my own Aragorn shirt that I have and love for Cross' shirt :)