#fervent scribbles

[starrymothwings]

aside from dragon ball, i also have another fixation…

[azaleaforrest]

it is time to curl up like a worm and delve into the earth

[bunnycvnts]

rafe being told ‘i love you’ for the first time!

pairing: rafe x reader

warnings: fluffy as fuck

his arm was tightly wrapped around you as the two of you lay in his plush bed, the curtains pulled closed, and his LED lights shone a soft purple color. rafes favorite movie played on the tv, but neither of you were paying attention, too wrapped up in the sweet kisses shared between you. your lips felt like warm, soft pillows pressing into his; he could never get enough of the way you kissed him. like if you kissed him too roughly, he’d pull away. you were always gentle, making sure every emotion was felt carefully through your lips, comforting his soul. that wasn’t to say you weren’t fervent sometimes, but you kept a kind of softness he’d never felt before.

you two had spent the entire day swaddled in blankets, switching between movies, sharing kisses and sweet whispers, and making sure you were as close as possible. his hand was either around your shoulder or splayed across your stomach or hips, never letting you far from his reach. he’d been struggling lately, with harmful thoughts and feelings clouding his brain, and his only escape was his pretty little girlfriend, who hadn’t had a care in the world. being with you was like floating; his worries went away, and all he could see was you. a bright light in his sea of darkness.

he wasn’t sure why you were with him and was constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. for you to realize he was psychotic, angry, and hard to be around, like everyone else had. that you’d turn around one day and not look back, leaving him behind without a second thought. he wasn’t shy with his arguments or anger; he was never in the right mindset to hide it from you. but you’d never questioned him, only ever tried to calm him. you’d saved many people from feeling his wrath and saved him so many lectures from his father. you weren’t trying to change him; he knew that. you were just trying to ease the burden he felt weighing on his brain.

days like this were his escape with you. spending hours feeling your soft skin pressed against his, your warm breath on his neck anytime you’d whisper about the movie or giggle at his reactions, your fingertips trailing down his shirtless chest, tracing random scribbles and hearts onto his skin. the way you’d blush anytime his hands crept a little too close to your ass or wiggled their way under your shirt to feel your warmth. it was practically a fever dream for him. no one had ever spent so much time carelessly lying around with him, not worrying about what they’d do next, only enjoying the moment with him. the first girl to make him feel something without having to involve sex.

he was broken from his thought process by your fingers tapping against his cheek.

“whatcha thinkin’ about over there?” a soft smile was on your lips, and he sat up a little to get a better look at you.

“cheesy shit. got my mind all messed up, ya know?” his response had made you giggle—that redness he loved returning to your cheeks. you pursed your lips as a silent gesture to kiss you. his lips met yours with a quick, gentle touch, and he only pulled away slightly to look at you. you were looking right back at him, a look in your eyes he couldn’t pinpoint.

suddenly, you sat up, throwing your leg over his hip to straddle him, and ran your fingers through his hair while his hands met your hips and squeezed lightly. “you’re so handsome.”

your fingertips trailed his cheek, and your thumb pulled on his bottom lip. he groaned and rested his head back against the headboard. his stomach fluttering at your words and the softness they held.

“stop it.” he knew you meant it, but hearing it turned his heart into mush, and he could only let himself be so soft.

“i love you.” the confession spilled from your lips before you could stop yourself. rafes head snapped forward to meet your gaze, looking at you confused. it was your turn to groan, and you pushed yourself off of his lap.

“stop, don’t look at me like that.” you ran your hands through your hair, feeling somewhat distraught at his reaction. had it been too soon? did he not feel the same way? you peeked over at him, doing a double take at his watery eyes.

“hey, i’m sorry; i shouldn’t have just thrown that on you. i can go.” you rushed to sit up and get off the bed, but were stopped when he pulled you into him. he kissed you with all the softness he could muster, both of his hands on your cheeks.

“no. i’m sorry. no one has ever said that to me before. no one i thought really meant it, at least. i love you, too. seriously. as mushy and corny as that sounds.” his confession saddened you but warmed you at the same time.

you rested your head on his chest, pressing small kisses to his skin and muttering little ‘i love yous’ after each one. blood rushed to his cheeks, and little laughs fell from his lips when you’d kiss ticklish spots. he felt emotions he couldn’t describe, but his heart was racing and his stomach felt like a zoo was shuffling around in him.

he pulled you up by the collar of your shirt and kissed you again, whispering something against your lips.

“my fucking girl.”

taglist: @sunkissedrafe @cxsmiclore @mousie101 @ditzyzombiesblog @judessangel

[pucksandpower]

if requests are open, can I pls request baby vettel telling her brothers (the grid kids) she has a "boyfriend" when she comes home from kindergarten one day ??? if requests are closed, please ignore 💗 love your works so much !!

Grid Kids: Cooties

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the grid kids take being big brothers very seriously

Series Masterlist

“No.”

Max’s voice is firm, his face aghast.

Charles, sitting next to him, nods in agreement. “I thought we agreed that you’re not allowed to date until you’re 40?”

Your daughter looks up from her crayon artwork, her little brows furrowing. “But Tommy said we’re boy ... boyfr …”

Lance interrupts, “Boyfriend and girlfriend? No, no, no. Absolutely not.”

George chimes in, holding up a toy car, “Tell whoever this Tommy is that you’re too busy racing to have a boyfriend.”

Lando adds, “Besides, boyfriends mean cooties. Do you want cooties?”

She tilts her head, pondering the dire consequences of these so-called cooties.

Charles, trying to be the voice of reason, kneels down to her level. “Sweetie, you’re a smart, wonderful little girl. And Tommy is, well ... you can do better.”

Mick, watching the entire exchange, laughs. “Guys, she’s just a kid. They’re probably just sharing crayons.”

Lando looks scandalized, “Crayons today, hearts tomorrow. It’s a slippery slope!”

Sebastian, watching the overprotective madness unfold, turns to you with a smirk, “I think our daughter has a solid set of bodyguards.”

You laugh, wrapping an arm around him. “Good luck to any actual future boyfriends.”

Your daughter simply shrugs, scribbles something on a piece of paper, and hands it to Charles. “For Tommy.”

Charles reads aloud, “We can be friends. But no cooties. Okay?”

***

The next day after school, Max bends down to your daughter’s eye level, “Now, which one is Tommy?”

She points a tiny finger to a little boy playing with a toy car on the playground. He has sandy hair and an innocent expression as he makes car noises.

Lando claps his hands together, “Alright, mates, game faces.”

George rolls his eyes but can’t help his grin, “Really? We’re really doing this?”

Lance nudges him, “We have to ensure he’s good enough for our sister!”

As the grid kids approach Tommy, he looks up, wide-eyed at the small army of grown-ups marching towards him.

Charles squats down, “Hey there, buddy. You Tommy?”

Tommy nods slowly, clutching his toy car.

George, leaning down too, tries to sound stern, “We heard you’re, uh, dating our sister.”

Lando, animatedly acting out air quotes around the word dating, adds, “We just wanted to have a quick chat.”

Mick, clearly finding the whole situation hilarious, jumps in, “You know, about intentions and all.”

Tommy blinks, “Inten-what?”

Max clears his throat, “Look, Tommy, we just want to make sure you’re treating our sister right. No stealing her toys or snacks.”

Lando jumps in again, “And absolutely no cooties. We had a long talk about that.”

Tommy nods fervently, “I don’t have cooties!”

Charles chuckles, “Good to know. So, you’ll play nice with her?”

Tommy nods again, “I promise. I just wanted to show her my new car.” He holds up the toy proudly.

George pats him on the head awkwardly, “Alright, Tommy. Just remember, we’re watching you.”

***

“Operation Sneaky Sneak is a go. Over,” Lando whispers dramatically into his walkie-talkie from his hiding spot behind a bush.

“Copy that,” George responds, trying to peer into Tommy’s living room window from a tree branch, “They’re ... playing with dolls? Oh, and there are some cookies. Over.”

Lance, hidden behind a garden gnome, chimes in, “I hope they're chocolate chip. Over.”

Charles, from his spot on top of a garden shed, adds, “No visual on any suspicious activities. Just some Barbies about to get the worst haircut of their life. Over.”

Mick, wedged between two trash cans, mutters, “Feels like we’re in a bad spy movie.”

Max, crouching behind a car, counters, “Feels? We ARE in a bad spy movie.”

Suddenly, the back door to Tommy’s house swings open and out step his parents, chatting and laughing. The grid kids freeze.

George, panicking, whispers into the walkie-talkie, “Abort mission! I repeat, abort!”

Lance tries to slink away, “Going dark! Going dark! We have been compromised.”

But it’s too late. Tommy’s mother spots them. “Um, gentlemen? What are you doing?”

Charles attempts to play it cool, “Oh, you know, just ... birdwatching. Beautiful sparrows around here.”

Tommy’s father suppresses a grin, “In our backyard? With walkie-talkies?”

Lando, thinking on his feet, responds, “Modern birdwatching. Very high tech. Over.”

Mick gives him a look, “Did you seriously just say over out loud?”

Max tries to salvage the situation, “We just wanted to ensure the playdate went ... smoothly.”

Tommy’s parents burst into laughter. “You guys really care about her, huh?”

Before anyone can respond, there’s a rustling from above. Thunk! “Ow!” Thwack! “Not the face!” Crash! “My hair!”

Everyone’s attention is immediately drawn to George who has dramatically fallen out of the tree, hitting almost every branch on the way down.

Rubbing his back, George groans from where he’s splayed on the ground, “Guess I should leave the climbing to the kids.”

Tommy’s mother takes pity on the fully grown children masquerading as adults in front of her, “Would any of you like to come in for juice boxes?”

The grid kids exchange sheepish glances. “Yes, please,” they reply in unison.

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

!"are we still friends?" kiss w/ inumaki!

prompt// heartbeat getting faster with every passing second, their hands on your waist, one coming up to your jaw, whispering your name softly, before just going for it. coming absolutely undone as your hand reaches to tug on their hair (prompt from @jasminesfury)

pairing// toge inumaki x gn!reader

word count// 1.8k

contents// jujutsu high is a college, inumaki communicates through sticky notes, inumaki uses his cursed technique to get what he wants, ooc inumaki ?

notes// these kissing prompts r too good not to use sorry not sorry! also yes him using his cursed technique was inspired by that one anon... also any information i say about a character's likes? or like favorite food, i get from jjk fandom wiki dont come for me if its not right ok baiiii <3

You and Inumaki are best friends— or were. Right now, he’s not quite sure where the two of you stand considering how you’ve been acting towards him lately. He and, quite frankly, anyone with eyes could see how uninterested you were acting toward him. You avoided his touch, kept conversations short, avoided eye contact, hell, you tried to avoid him all together—you were ignoring him. It wasn’t like you were doing it on purpose, though! …Okay, you definitely were, but you also definitely had a good reason to. The whole reason this started was because of last week.

You and Inumaki are best friends; you’d obviously take any chance you could to hang out with him, and you thought that was the only reason why—because he’s your best friend—but that day you quickly learned that was not the case. You and Inumaki sat under a tree in a random park. When the weather was nice and your schedules aligned, the two of you would often have picnics together. On these picnics, you two had this unspoken agreement of bringing each other food; he’d bring you what you liked or what he thought you’d like, and you’d do the same for him. You watch him intently as he places all the food he got for you near you, and you smile when he’s finished and is staring at you patiently, waiting for you to do the same.

You ignore his gaze and what he wants, instead tilting your head at him and asking, “What’s your favorite food?”

Inumaki’s face drops, and a pout replaces his previous faint smile as he pulls out a sticky note pad and scribbles, “Are you joking?”

You commit to the bit. “No, I’m serious! What’s your favorite food?”

You watch him fervently rip that note off to write on another one, “Wait, you seriously don’t know?”

The way he’s staring at you makes you relent. “Just humor me for a second Inumaki?” you plead with a soft smile, reassuring him that it’ll be worth it.

He stares at you curiously before nodding and writing, “Tuna mayo onigiri.”

You hum with a nod. “Right, thought so,” you say. “Guess what I have!”

Inumaki’s eyes light up as he excitedly taps his finger against the words he just wrote. His reaction doesn’t take you by surprise; you’ve seen him react like this plenty of times before. It’s what you love about him—how excited and happy he gets about things and isn’t afraid to show it—but something is different. The sun is shining on his face perfectly; it gleams off his eyes, and the way the wind slowly blows past and the trees and flowers behind him sway softly with his hair has you completely mesmerized. So mesmerized, in fact, that Inumaki had to practically shove the notepad in your face for you to even realize you were staring.

You shake your head as if shaking yourself out of your trance, silently acknowledging to yourself that it was odd, but you digress. “Sorry! But yes, I do have that for you!”

He drops the notepad and holds out his hand expectingly, and you giggle as you place the onigiri in his hand. He bows his head slightly at you to say thank you before he digs in, and you smile warmly at him.

“I’ve been trying to get it for you the past few picnics, but they were always out,” you say, frowning. “But today I went early, and they actually had some!”

He acknowledges you with a glance, and your heart skips a beat just from the brief moment that your eyes meet. You try to ignore it, though. You try to ignore how you can’t keep your eyes off him, the butterflies in your stomach, and how warm you feel. Maybe you’re getting sick? Yeah, that must be it. You don’t know how long you got distracted by simply admiring him, but by the time you came back to reality, he was done with his food and writing something on his sticky notes.

He holds up the notepad, asking, “Are you okay?”

You scoff slightly. “Of course I’m okay.”

He frowns at you before scribbling, “You haven’t touched any of your food.”

You look down at the food before returning your gaze to him and awkwardly smiling. “Ah yeah, just not all that hungry, Inumaki...”

You watch him study your face quickly before writing, "Are you sick?” He doesn't give you time to reply before placing the back of his hand on your forehead, and if you weren't already flustered before, you most definitely are now. You're too shocked by his actions to say anything, but it doesn’t matter when he's already scribbling a new sentence. “You feel warm.”

“I'm sure it's nothing, Inumaki,” you try to reassure.

He hands you a sticky note that says, “We should get you back to your dorm and stop for medicine on the way,” before beginning to pack up the left-over food.

You roll your eyes and place your hand over his to stop him, and the way he looks up at you has your brain going blank, so much so that he has to shoot you a questionable look in order for you to realize what you were doing.

You quickly remove your hand from his and clear your throat. “It’s fine, I promise. I probably just have to sleep it off, okay?”

Inumaki doesn't bother writing anything down and instead just stares at you blankly.

“If I'm still ‘sick’ by tomorrow, we can go get medicine, okay?”

He nods, ultimately accepting that answer, but he wishes he didn't because tomorrow never came. You didn't die, obviously, but you might as well have. You started ignoring him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and... you get the point.

Inumaki has no idea what he did; he tried to ‘talk’ to you the best he could. He’d leave you sticky notes, and you would hardly acknowledge them or him. Did he do something wrong? He knows most people found him intimidating at first because of his cursed technique and were hesitant around him, but you never were, so why are you acting like it now? Maybe he came off too strongly; maybe you got suffocated being his only friend—well, not his only friend, but his closest friend; maybe you just had enough. Inumaki told himself he was just going to let whatever happens happen, but he couldn’t. So he said he'd find you after class and corner you if he really had to; you’re already ignoring him; what's the worst that could happen after that? But he couldn’t wait till after class tomorrow; he couldn't sleep; he just laid in bed anxiously, which is why he now finds himself standing at your door. He doesn’t think twice about knocking; he wants—no, he needs—to know why you're ignoring him.

You're surprised to see him there, and his twisted-up face makes your heart drop. You're not sure if he's worried, angry, or both.

“Inumaki, hey.” You’re afraid to look at him for too long, fearful that he’ll look back and figure out your feelings for him, so you leave the door open and start walking away. “Come in.”

He does so, shutting the door behind him. You’re a few feet away from him, so he tries to close the distance between you two, only for you to take the same number of steps back. Inumaki frowns and pulls out his sticky notes.

“Are we still friends?”

No, because you’d rather be more—if it isn't obvious by now, the entire reason you’ve been ignoring him is because you've finally realized how deeply in love with him you are.

You avoid his gaze and zero in on your floor instead, nervously laughing. “Of course, Inumaki, why wouldn't we be?”

You hear him scribble something down before the sticky pad shows up in your field of vision. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

You push his hand out of your vision. "No, I haven't.”

You hear more scribbling before one of his hands grabs your chin and lifts your head up to face him. Your eyes fluttered at the action, and you hope to god he didn't notice. He shakes the notepad in his other hand to draw your attention to it. “Yes, you have.”

You can't lie to him when it's like he's staring straight into your soul. “Okay, fine, maybe.”

Though you wish you did when his face drops and he slowly lets go of your jaw to write, “Why?”

You take a step back, and he takes one forward. “It doesn’t matter.”

He frowns and shakes his notepad slightly as if to emphasize his point, “Yes, it does.”

“It doesn't because I'm gonna stop ignoring you, okay?”

“But why were you ignoring me?” he scribbles frantically.

You sigh. “Just drop it, Inumaki, please?”

He shakes his head.

“Inumaki, just forget about it, and we can go back to normal, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and writes, “Just tell me! I won't get mad; I just want to know why.”

“Inumaki, seriously drop it,” you say as you turn to walk away, but you don't get far before you hear a clatter of Inumaki’s things hitting the floor, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into him. He has your wrist to his chest, and your other hand is instinctively pressing against him, while his other hand is on your waist. You grow flustered by how you two are body-to-body, with no space to be found between the two of you, and you look at him wide-eyed, both of your breathing becoming heavier with each passing second. You're about to push yourself off of him or tell him to let go of you, but any thought of doing something vanishes the minute you see him start to open his mouth.

“Tell me,” he says softly yet firmly.

You can't even attempt to fight against his command as the words "I like you" pour out of your mouth against your will.

The minute the words leave your mouth, you go wide-eyed in shock from your confession, and from how he used his technique on you, he’s equally as wide-eyed. You try to yank your wrist free from his hold, but he has an iron grip on you no matter how hard you struggle.

You begin to murmur nervously, your voice trembling with embarrassment, "Inumaki-"

But your sentence is quickly cut short when he leans in. He hesitates for a moment before just going for it and kissing you. You don't kiss back at first in shock, but once you grasp what's going on, you quickly melt into the kiss, practically turning into liquid with the way your legs try to give out on you. You quickly tangle your free hand in his hair; he releases his grip on your wrist and places that hand on your waist as well, while you cradle his face with your newly freed hand. You two stand there kissing and holding each other for what seems like forever before he finally pulls away, both of you nearly panting.

“So, uh, does this mean we’re not friends or-“

© LITTLEXBIMBO

[queenimmadolla]

hope you're taking requests cause hear me out: what about reader waking up from a nap and eddie goes to hug her and realizes that she's really angry because she had a nightmare where he cheated on her with another girl. He's like wtf and she's like yeah you know what you did asshole (except he doesn't). Pls i am so in love with joseph quinn that i've been thinking about this all day 😩

I can't blame you, I think about him all day, too. This one was quite easy for my fingers to runaway with. Hope you like it!

𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

warnings: little bit of angst, imagined infidelity, plenty of comfort and fluff.

Your eyes glare daggers at the back of Eddie’s head, simultaneously willing him to look at you while also kind of wanting his hair to spontaneously combust into flames. You were curled up on his bed, bundled up in blankets with your head pressed into one of his flat ass pillows. You’d been awake for a good ten minutes, having ‘accidentally’ fallen asleep when Eddie brought you over after school and you immediately settled into his bed with the excuse that you were simply resting your head and would not fall asleep on him, fully knowing that was your intention from the moment you’d sealed your fate last night and watched The Dark Crystal again. You’d stayed up until almost 3:00 a.m. to finish it. But it wasn’t your fault! You couldn’t be blamed, it was due back at Family Video and your mom planned on dropping off the rentals on her way to work so you had to squeeze in one last watch, for Fizzgig.

You were regretting it now as a mixture of anger and anxiety swirled deep in your stomach, you’d had a bad dream, a nightmare. Not anything gory or violent, although you thought you may have preferred to have Freddy make a shish kabob out of you or even Jason shanking you with his machete, anything over seeing Eddie cuddled up with a girl who most definitely wasn’t you. The longer you stare at the back of his head, at the frizzy mess of curls while he scribbles fervently in his DnD notebook on the ground, back leaning up against the bed, the more you think about the evil scene you’d been forced to witness in your own damn dream. It felt so real, and you hated it.

You’d been on your way out of the school, easily maneuvering through the crowd also headed for the school entrance to flood out into the parking lot where you knew Eddie would be waiting for you by his van. Only he wasn’t waiting for you. He had Roxy Campbell—the pretty, stupid Volleyball player who made her interest in Eddie ridiculously clear despite the fact that he was yours—pressed up against his van. It was obviously an intimate moment, you could see her stupid, pretty blue eyes staring coyly up at him through her lashes as he pressed his forehead to hers, whispering something that made the corners of her lips curl up into a flirtatious smile as she reached a finger, you wanted very desperately to break, up to twirl a lock of his hair around before she grasped the back of his head and yanked him down to meet her in an open mouthed kiss.

Your eyes had shot open the moment you had felt your dream heart plummet from its place in your chest to a deep, dark cavern you didn’t know existed in you. Your actual heart was beating wildly, tears already prickling at your waterline regardless of having just woken up. And despite your biggest fear coming true in a hellish nightmare, your Eddie wasn’t making out with Roxy by his van. Yet.

You’d allowed yourself to just lay there as your anger brewed, mind racing with various scenarios regarding what the dream could have meant; all of them coming to the conclusion that Eddie fucking sucked. The girls on the Volleyball team were well known for their asses, mainly because of those ludicrously tight, booty shorts they wore, but your ass was significantly better than Roxy’s and you both knew it. Along with being with Eddie, it was one of the reasons why she despised you and you were proud of that. So why would Eddie want her instead of you?

Think of the devil, Eddie glances over his shoulder, his dumb beautiful, baby cow eyes lighting up the moment he realizes you’re awake.

You scowl back and hiss out, “Bitch.”

Then you yank the blankets up just below your nose and roll onto your other side, leaving your back to him.

Eddie’s mouth drops open, eyes wide in disbelief at the sudden anger you were directing at him. The fuck did he do?

“Excuse me?” He closes the notebook, before tossing it and his pen aside as he stands and leaps onto the bed. You pay him no mind, scowl deepening as you’re jostled by his actions. Eddie doesn’t let that stop him; despite how tense you forced your body to be, he drags you into his arms, attempting to cuddle you.

“I didn’t quite catch that, wanna repeat it for me?” He mumbles, nuzzling his face into your neck as he presses a kiss just below your jaw. You refuse to budge, aware that he’d heard you in the first place. When you don't respond, Eddie just keeps pressing kisses to your skin, nose brushing up against your neck as he begins to trail kisses up towards your ear. “I said say that again, baby.”

But you refuse to comply, it was obvious he was daring you to repeat your insult, goading you to give him a reason to snap. Normally, you loved to play his games, but you weren’t in the mood now.

“‘Lemme alone, don’t act like you don’t know.” You demanded, voice muffled by the blankets but you knew he heard you when he went taut and then he pulls away, a ring covered hand grabbing your shoulder to press your back to the mattress, forcing you to stare up at him.

Eddie’s eyebrows were pulled together in exasperation as he glowers down at you. In any other circumstance, you’d find him and your current position ridiculously hot but right then you could only feel satisfaction at having got on his nerves. Serves him fucking right.

“Okay, what the fuck is your problem?” Eddie cuts straight to the point. He’d tried playing nice, but he knew you; knew you wouldn’t succumb to his seduction, encouragement or coaxing and he knew he didn’t have the patience to wait around for you to eventually tell him what had you so upset because you were prone to holding everything in, happily hanging on to any grudge you could develop, so there was a legitimate chance that you’d just never tell him and hold it against him instead of working it out. You loved to self-sabotage but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“You!” You lower the blankets, reaching a hand to push him off of you. Eddie was much stronger than you, though. He didn’t budge, still glaring down at you as you try to wiggle away.

“Me?” Eddie’s annoyance morphs into confusion, nose scrunching up as his eyes squint, “What did I do?”

“You kissed her!” This time when you shove at him, Eddie’s body gives away, he allows you to scurry off the bed, though you didn’t do much but crawl towards the dresser, back pressed up against it as you turned to face him, expression still set in a scowl. Despite your current brattiness, Eddie couldn’t help but think about how fucking cute you looked all worked up. Your hair was a mess, but that just made him want to tangle his fingers in it, and your lips were pursed in a pout that he was fighting to not kiss away.

Speaking of kisses, “What?! What are you talking about? I haven’t kissed anyone but you!”

“Roxy!” You spit out, body heating up with your anger.

“I have never, ever kissed Roxy. Nor do I want to, where is this coming from?” Eddie moved to sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread out as he leans his elbows on them, watching you with careful eyes.

“You kissed her in my dream,” you knew the moment you said it, he’d probably think you were being irrational but you didn’t care. He wasn’t the one that had to imagine the person he loved kissing someone else.

Eddie’s exasperation returned, “You’re mad at me for something I did in your dream?” See? You knew it! He was making it seem like you were being childish and maybe you were but, again, you didn’t fucking care!

“How am I supposed to control that?! It was just a nightmare!”

“If it was a nightmare, then why did it hurt my feelings?” You snap back and Eddie softens, he had chalked this all up to you being bratty but it was obvious to him now that you were genuinely upset about it. He could see how glossy your eyes were, and now he could make out the hurt beneath the rage. You’d had a nightmare about something you were insecure about, you were hurt by a version of him—trusting and loving all versions of him—so you lashed out and here he was being an asshole instead of comforting you.

“Dreams mean things, Eddie! This one was a-a bad omen! Or something! Clearly, you want her or you’re interested in her, or there’s some sort of underlying issue!”

“Oh, there’s definitely an underlying issue,” Eddie sighs and stands, making his way over to crouch near you and you tensed further, like you were waiting for him to confirm that you were right and that makes him feel even more guilty, “the love of my life believes there’s a chance that I’d want someone else when I’d rather die and go to my own personal hell where I’m forced to watch a cheer squad composed of clones of Principal Higgins’ in a pep rally, that never ends, than be without her.”

You want to be angry, you really do because the moment your anger is gone you’ll just feel silly but you can feel the tension easing away from your body and you play with your fingers, refusing to meet Eddie’s eyes, “. . . Really?”

Eddie hooks a finger under your chin, tilting it until you’re forced to look at him and you can see the sincerity and love in those pretty, chocolate eyes. You’re positive you’re melting. “I’m in love with you, only you. Told you I’m gonna marry you someday, and I mean that. Besides, Roxy tries to steal Jonathan’s seat in front of me during History sometimes and I’m now keenly aware that she doesn’t wear deodorant or any alternative so I promise you, baby, she is not and has never been your competition. No one compares to you. Even if she did smell decent, you’re the only person I’ll ever want, ‘kay?”

You launch yourself at him and both you and Eddie go crashing to the floor behind him, though he breaks the fall for you, arms winding themselves around your waist to hold you tight against him as you pepper kisses all over his face. When you pull away, you admire the kiss stains, left behind by your lipstick, that map his face and he’s staring up at you, looking absolutely love sick, if he were a cartoon character, his pupils and irises would be heart shaped. You were wrong; Eddie doesn’t suck. He’s the most loving boyfriend to ever exist, and he’s yours. And your Eddie, in the flesh, is better than any Eddie that can exist in your dreams.

“I love you.” You smile, leaning down to nuzzle the tip of your nose against his before giving it a kiss.

Eddie’s hands finally get to tangle in your hair as he angles you down for a kiss, if it can even be called that. He’s smiling too much for you to even do it properly but you don’t really mind. “And I love you. I’d fuck up that other Eddie though, no one hurts my girl’s feelings and gets way with it.”

[moondirti]

charcoal

pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.6k summary: you and johnny draw portraits of one another warnings: cock warming, unprotected p-in-v, creampies, handjobs, tooth rotting fluff, nude drawings, light masochism, mentions of death notes: inspired by soap's journal in mw3. our sweet boy can draw :)

“Sit still.”

A whisper, spoken like a fervent kiss to the space between you. Humid air, smothered under his peppercorn cologne and the tangy warmth of lingering sex. Johnny’s pelvis remains glued to the back of your thighs, conjoined at that sweltering centre, gently swelling back to rock-hard shape. It works to plug you full of him, a barrier to the cum he’d spilt a mere thirty minutes prior.  

Mere. To you, long hours have gone by while stuck in this state, oscillating from painful overstimulation to an insatiable urge that only exists with him – more, more – and back again. But he exercises a surprising restraint. No. Unexpected. A fortitude obviously cultivated in the SAS, carbon under pressure, polished and primed. One that is diamond-sharp, deadly even, but usually crumbles to dust around you. 

He keeps your leg hooked over one broad shoulder. The other quivers, cushioned by the duvet, serving as a surface for the item he’d fetched in a rush. 

Fuck. Hold it righ’ there. Freshly spent, glowing with an endorphin-logged high.

Huh– W-What’re you doing? 

Y'look so bloody beautiful like this, hen. Have ta memorialise it. 

Ever the flatterer. You’ve no doubt you’re a mess – mussed hair, smudged mascara. The only thing he’d left in his stripping you was the necklace you’d worn for his welcome home; a golden chain, charmed with a replica of his dog tag and an antique locket you’d salvaged from your grandmother’s place.

You thought he’d been reaching for a polaroid; a quick snapshot of the moment, print to be stapled to the inside of his combat coat. But he’d ducked under your bed – not the nightstand where you kept the camera – and ruffled through dust bunnies and expired condoms for the stash of things he deems too important to take with him to the job. Material objects, little keepsakes, left to rot behind, with you. 

He’d come back up with a self-satisfied grin, a journal – moleskine bound and half-full of rough scribbles – clasped between waving fingers. 

It’s not the first time he draws you. Just the first time he does of such an intimate scene. 

Clenching involuntarily, you flush at the thought. Johnny’s free hand tenses from its place on your knee, soothing circles turned bruising touch. Giggling, you squeeze him again, only to be met with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips. 

“Nng-! Christ,” 

“What'd I tell ya?” 

“I had been.” The protest peaks at the back of your throat, forming something more akin to a whine. His chuckle is indicative of the fact; sunlit bough and soft moss gaze catching yours. His eyes pool like honey in the lowlight, gold drawn out by the haze of your surroundings. Warm. “You’re taking too long.” 

“Wad ye rather I get the shadin’ on yer tits wrong?” He teases, gaelic-curled accent accompanied by sharp scratches of charcoal on paper. The black dust coats calloused fingertips, concentrated on the middle, the one he uses for smudging. “Ye'll end up lookin like ma great aunt.” 

“That’s gross.” 

“Watch it. Rory was a great woman.” 

But his chest widens in that special way, skin rippling over thickset sinew, and you know his current contentment runs bone deep. He gloats it, wearing the radiance like he does the sweat; the tender marks along his neck, imprints of your teeth cut in blood. His battle scars pale in contrast, silver and thin and nothing when set beside the raised scratches, red, carved mid-fuck. 

You’ve tried to be gentle with him. Really, you have. 

You just found he doesn’t prefer it.

A Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, unending cataracts of water sluicing from the sky. They wash over the windshield, the windows – you can barely see beyond the hood of his car. 

It was your suggestion to wait the storm out. You’d gone on a picnic for your first date, perched up high on some mountain that now seems too formidable to scale down.

Spice with rosy overtones. His scent is intoxicating, distilled on that spot – the edge of a broad tendon that stretches up his neck. Johnny’s clad in a polo shirt, the collar slightly popped to cover the patch of skin, but you catch sight of it every once in a while. Enough to fuel your internal screams, urging you to act against what is proper. 

Hold out ‘till the next time you see him. Leave him wanting more.

He’s talking. Something about football and fake turf scrapes. 

God. That voice. Full-bodied, confident with all the charisma to match. You latch on to every syllable, basking in the way they furl from him – rolled r’s, two element vowels morphing to one. What’s the word for gorgeous in Scottish jargon? He’d taught you it over a bowl of strawberries. 

Broad. Brock. Brow. Br… something.

But his thumb had swiped out to the edge of your lip to catch a bead of stray juice, and you’d lost all wit. In one ear, out the other. Boiled down to a saccharine, lust-filled puree. 

You’d wanted to take the digit into your mouth. 

The high altitude ensures the car is frigid, windows chilled with a freezing pellet downpour. The skirt you wore does nothing to hide the goosebumps that prickle down your thighs. 

It’s not the weather, though. It’s him. He inspires a cyclone in you, a vortex of violently rotating winds that upturn every function. Hot. Cold. A puddle of melted something, stirring deep within the recesses of your gut. Your attempts to smother it down will forever be in vain. 

Him. Him.

He drives you mad. You’re fucking stupid. 

But pellucid blue light streams in from outside, the sun sinking behind gunmetal clouds, and Johnny fills his jeans nicely, you think. Hulking thighs force the denim to its limits, stretched and spread and–

Oh.

Maybe your mind had skipped over it purposely. For knowledge of what it would do to you. In knowing that your panties are already slick, unable to hold the extra saturation. You’ll leak onto his seat. 

Fuck.

A prominent, massive bulge. Strained, outwardly painful. 

Enticing. 

You flood, anyway. Overbearing heat and oblivion striking your core. A breath catches, spinning to form a small bubble of recklessness between constricting lungs. 

You speak before you begin to process it all. 

“We’ll be here for a while.” 

Stupid, silly girl. 

He halts, tangent lost to the half-lidded look you give him. Your nails graze the arm nearest to you, propped on the console, brushing through hair to elicit a deep shudder – mirror to your salacity. It tells him what he can already guess. 

In the split second it takes for your impulse to waver, he recovers, back to that ludic man you’d met just last week. 

“And there are only so many things to talk about.” Johnny nods.

Your heart slams on hollow ribs. He may hear it if he tries hard enough; an echoed melody of cosmic yearning. 

“Gotta save some for next time.” 

“Aye.” His head ducks closer to yours, locking you to those bonfire eyes. “Next time?”

“Hmm, if you like me enough.” The suggestion skips across your nervous titter. Spearmint washes over you when he speaks, cold breath a product of the pack of gum he keeps tucked in his car door. He’d told you he reserves the stash for special occasions, with only the ‘prettiest of hens.’ You’d folded the wrapper into a heart and placed it against the stick shift. 

“I like ya, bonnie. Only question is–”  A bent forefinger taps your chin, thumb caressing the curve of it. “Do ye like me?” 

You let your stare flutter down to his lips; perfect, pink, pulled in a devious smirk. It wipes any semblance of logic from you. Propriety, the manners your mother taught you at a holiday dinner table – cross your legs, elbows off the table – dissipate to ash. You’re raw; skinned alive and vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

Crackling nerves. You don’t answer, don’t say a word. 

Instead, you lean in to kiss the scar on his lip. 

And it all goes to hell from there. 

Hurried gropes, desperation fogging. You bend over the centre – precariously balanced on your knees – to hug his head closer to yours. His hands find purchase on your waist, exposed now, your sweater rucked upwards to hang just below your bra. You can see his back in the reflection of the window, his muscles rolling under a too-tight shirt, expanding to accommodate the weight you throw onto him. 

It’s hormone fuelled, messy. Your teeth clack and your tongues wrestle and you can only ponder on releasing him, on untucking his hard length from hindering pants. 

“H-Here–” You stutter into his mouth, left hand smoothing down his chest to dance teasingly at the waistband. His hips buck the slightest bit. “Let me…” 

“Wanna make ye feel good too, lass.” 

“Please.” 

And it must be the way you say it, the keen in your tone, the pout of your lips. You’re close to tears, eyes glossy like the wet road ahead. It must be; mutual magnetism, some shared fondness that makes him concede to your plea  (I like ye, bonnie), before he helps you pull them down to let his cock spring free. Head flush and base thick enough to split your lips. 

You swim impossibly deeper into the pool of crush-drunk abandon. 

Braw. That was it. Braw, for mind-numbing attractiveness. Or so to say– 

Maybe you’re exaggerating. It doesn’t feel like a grand enough word to encapsulate this. To capture him. 

Nothing could be enough. Your first date and yet you sit here, obsessed already, willing to spend a lifetime showing him all you can’t say. How those eyes draw from you a lightness, an ease. Hazel has quickly become your favourite colour. How mohawks are an abomination to conscientious style, but how he makes them work, much to your displeasure. You imagine plugging clippers in a shared bathroom, helping him buzz off the sides prior to longer missions. Sending him off with a kiss that means more than just interest.

“Fuck.”

“Feart, now?” 

His accent thickens in the throes of pleasure. You add the word to your growing list and spit on your hand to help slick him up. 

He stops you before you can wrap it around his leaking cock. “Wait, wait.” 

Head still buried into the crook of his neck, a trail of purpling bruises adorning the stubbled skin of his jaw – you can only spot him in your peripheral, a hazy blur of long eyelashes and a prominent nose. 

His hands unclip your bra when he speaks again: 

“Do it dry. I like when it hurts a little.”

A year later now. He’d wrapped an assignment early to see you on your anniversary. 

“Done?” 

You’re sticky with cooling sweat and spit, fluids hardening on supple flesh in the filtered air of your bedroom. Both naked, posed in the same position; your right glute burns with the ache of a prolonged stretch, still thrown over his shoulder as he hurriedly finishes the final details of his sketch. 

“Almost. Canae fuckin’ get the lightin’ right.” 

“Lemme see,” You make a grab for the journal. He bats your hand away. 

“No.” Johnny huffs, shifting to look at you from a slightly different angle. “I think it’s the glow.” 

“The glow?” 

“Aye. Took ower long ta get those gorgeous tits down, you’ve lost that sex sheen.”

“You’re mad.” 

The hand that was at your knee starts to knead your thigh, grabbing whatever it can hold. An intentional touch, he targets every tender area, sparking a match to an already smouldering flame. The pressure at your core tightens.

“I’d say it’s a quick fix,”

Your hips buck to meet the heavy weight of his palm as it flattens against your pelvis, seeking true fusion to the rough skin. You’re feverish, practically singing him; you spread your legs and do what you can to spear yourself further onto his cock, one that has not yet left the tight clutch of your cunt. 

This is what the poets eulogise, this ‘swete breeth’ reverence. Zephyrus – he’s zephyr adjacent – the god of westerly wind. But he places you on a shrine like he’s not the being made of sun; touches you with a prayer imbued into his callouses – barnacled reminders of his life as Soap. Your Johnny, as he is with you, finds you speechless and continues giving – pouring water onto wet clay, bending you as he pinpoints an electric centre, that bundle of nerves that has you seeing star-speckled pantheons. 

He continues to work your clit even as you kick his back, heel thrashing onto freckled skin. The overstimulation is not creeping, it does not wait until you’ve come undone – no. You’ve been on this tightrope for far too long now, and your legs tremble with the sheer exhaustion of it all. It’s never clear with him, whether the end is in sight. There are often moments of recovery where you pull away, only for him to flip you over and stuff you full again. 

The lewd squelch of your cunt, your wailing moans; you hardly register them as he begins pistoning into you, both hands and dick devoted to completing the picture. All that exists is sacred, divine insensibility. Pleasure in its purest form, locked in this haven where you’re safe to imagine holding onto him forever. 

“J-Johnny… Johnny, God– I’m gonna–”

He gains speed, fucking your sopping heat with a brutal pace, unrelenting as he circles your abused clit. You don’t have it in you to even move, boneless and wholly open to his ministrations. 

“Tha's exactly what we want now, bonnie. Go on, cum for me.” 

The muscles in your core harden, too brittle to stand against the wicked tide brimming within you. It drives you delirious, flooding your instincts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your back arches – you absolutely ruin the continuity that comes with being his live model. But you don’t care. You don’t care. He’s so good at hitting you in all the right places – head nudging your cervix, his breadth stretching you out with a fiery sting. He rubs you raw, chafing, and you’re so close. 

You think about jerking him off on your first date, coaxing from him groans that taste like scotch and spearmint-covered strawberries. The sorest handjob known to mankind – he’d cum hard, spurting thick globs of warm fluid onto his lap, webbing your fingers together with his essence. His apologies had fallen on deaf ears when you’d licked yourself clean. 

You think about meeting him at that bar, nursing a fruity drink with a wild name. Your friend had abandoned you for some blonde chick, but Johnny took your lonesome as an opportunity to swoop in and compliment your dress. He’d later told you that he’d only been looking for a quick fix to stall on the grief of a close friend's death. Turns out, ye're not so much a stall, more a remedy, love. Sad tae say I'm glad yer friend was horny that night. 

You think of him, now. Of the past twenty-something pages of his journal filled with nothing but idle doodles of you and gum-wrapper hearts, no longer dedicated to anguished attempts at remembering lost comrades. He’s grown to be a better artist, lines bold and drawn in sole strokes, able to capture just about anything in ballpoint pen alone. 

Well I’ve got the perfect muse now, haven’ I? 

You break, shattering into a million fragments. You know he’ll pick you up.

Finally resting, spooned together under clean sheets. A strong arm thrown over you, holding open a page for your scrutiny. 

“It’s nice, baby! You might’ve made me too pretty, though.” 

A growl. “Shut it. That’s all you.”

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[unicyclehippo]

Imodna, #46 "…out of envy or jealousy."

ok so. idk what happened here but it’s gay & bloody. enjoy!

//

the chatter blurred around her. she couldn’t bring herself to care, to pay attention. she was bored. she’s been bored for what feels like centuries, every second of her life a year and every year a fucking boring one. gods. what she wouldn’t give for something interesting to happen at one of these events. what she wouldn’t give for—

‘presenting her honourable lord temult.’

her.

laudna’s eyes caught on her hair first. it was practically loose around her shoulders—she hadn’t bothered to braid it, even, and everyone gasped and tittered like the little fucking fools they were and bent their heads together, idiot birds, to chatter about decorum and whatever else inane thing that stirred the puddles of their mind but laudna, oh, she couldn’t turn away. her hair, you see. it lay in lazy curls across the bare skin of her shoulders and it entranced her.

was it true that it could be blamed on decorum? on the difference of culture? in a group somewhere to her right, laudna could hear one of her lady’s needling laughs—poison tipped—and a snide comment on marquet, what passed for a lady there. laudna would deal with her. she would eat her alive and relish it. later.

the other option—more dangerous. this lord, this temult, had arranged herself on purpose. to tease from anyone who glanced her way the thought, the fervent desire, to see her in their bed the next morning. to see the sun kiss those sun-kissed shoulders, to count her freckles, to see the natural tousle of her curls against shoulders, bedsheets. did she smell of lavender? or was the likeness in colour alone?

laudna had to know.

her entourage squealed—idiots—when she stirred.

‘my lady,’ aurelia gasped, eyes prey wide. her hand flung to her chest in shock; laudna let her eyes dip to the red line of her necklace, the red line of her gown. the pale line of her throat. of the three, her throat and the rabbit-quick pulse bounding just beneath the skin, was the more enchanting. ‘you startled me!’

laudna arched a brow. she turned away, searching for the lord in her hall—the way was filled with dancing bodies, musicians, ivory-clad wait staff but every now and again she caught a glimpse of purple hair. she tracked her through the hall. temult’s path was slow and winding, as if she had all the time in the world.

did she know she ought to greet her host? that it was the first and only vital task of the evening? hunger licked behind her teeth, over the bonerasp of her jaw.

‘tell me,’ she purred, curling a hand around aurelia’s wrist, ‘what do you know of my guest?’

‘your…guest?’

the girl didn’t know who laudna meant. fool! another one for the pile. she knew well the slice of laudna’s displeasure and rushed to make herself useful, pressing up onto her toes in soft useless slippers. temult was wearing boots. she hadn’t more than glanced at her outfit—attention caught in the net of her hair, the gleam of her eyes—but she had seen that.

‘you mean the newcomer! yes? the - lord temult?’ aurelia leapt on the flicker of her interest, breadcrumb of a lure, and bobbed her head. ‘yes! i know of her! she hasn’t been here long—is staying in the city.’

‘the city? she is not a guest of one of my court?’

‘no, my lady.’

laudna stroked a pale thumb across aurelia’s wrist, her winsome pulse. ‘good. what else?’

‘i- i- oh, my lady, she’s frightfully dull. she never goes out and never invites anyone in. she has a small staff, no more than five, and they won’t say a word. ignatius thinks she’s some kind of charlatan—‘

‘ignatius is an idiot,’ laudna scolded.

‘yes, my lady. it is as you say.’

a pout touched laudna’s lips. ‘i don’t ever want to hear his name again,’ she said. behind her, pate scribbled down the decree. ‘and if he insists on coming to my parties, he must wear a mask. a different one each time.’ the pen nib scratched against the paper, and he murmured under his breath that it was done.

aurelia trembled so sweetly. when laudna finally let her go, she would flutter off and let everyone know—her whims were final, fantastic. there’s nothing fair at all about our fair lady.

laudna shivered in delight. it had been so very long since she’d played with the birds; she felt like a cat, stretching after a nice long nap. how had this temult done this to her? she felt…awake. alert.

‘what else?’ she asked, and dragged her thumb down that pulse again. the sharp point of her nail came to rest wear it was thinnest; with waking came such hunger.

aurelia stammered. ‘m-my lady, she does nothing. i have nothing more to tell you. she declined every invitation from every house.’

a rush of heat.

every house but mine.

laudna’s fangs pushed and pressed and slid free from her gums in a gush of blood and lust. with a groan, she lifted aurelia’s wrist to her mouth—spared a moment for the memory of the girl’s mother who had begged her not to feast on her, who hadn’t known how very sweet it was to break a promise—and sunk her teeth into soft soft flesh.

the first touch of blood was glorious. she was so thirsty—how long had she been waiting there? hunger bubbled in her throat, a laugh, a groan, and she was so so gentle she was a dutiful lady she was a kind lady to pull her teeth from broken skin, there, gentle, no tearing, and laved her tongue across the wound, swept each gush of red into her mouth, suckled at it until aurelia made a noise like she was going to faint. shock and hurt had drained her skin to white, and pleasure returned the pinkest flush to her cheeks. her eyes two dark dark bowls for feasting.

laudna licked her wrist one last time, then her fingers as she let the girl go. an attendant kept her on her feet.

‘food and wine for lady aurelia. medical attention if she should need it.’

the attendant bowed. laudna assumed they dragged her out, or called for another to help but she didn’t bother to wait and watch. she turned away—temult, where was she—and felt her veins alight to see her at the edge of the crowd that had stopped to watch her feed.

what was she? witch? warlock? laudna was hungry again. the blood she had drained from that girl curdled to ash on her tongue, tasteless, at a look from this stranger—she had to speak with her, had to know her, taste her.

‘lord temult.’

she stepped forward neatly with a nod. her dress was…fine. three seasons out of fashion, and a coarseness to the fabric that even a human—was she?—could feel. but what did that matter? it was nothing it meant nothing. it was just another skin around the power crackling inside. the lord was a storm, prowling through her dance hall.

‘lady br—‘

‘laudna,’ she interrupted, extending a hand for the lord to kiss. she didn’t bow, she didn’t curtsey, she sounded as though she barely cared for the honorific. enchanting. laudna wanted to sink her teeth into that neck and drink from her until she begged her, lady lady lady please.

something told her it would be easy.

there was blood on her hand. lord temult didn’t flinch. she stepped closer, took her bloody hand. hers was gloved and the realisation resonated, loud, in her chest. a wolf howl, lonely, lonely, calling.

lord temult’s eyes flickered down to the blood and to somewhere behind. lightning—real lightning!—licked behind her eyes. gorgeous, gorgeous, phenomenally dangerous. Laudna’s breath caught; the storm pressed in on all sides like a mighty hand.

was she showing off? it was a funny little game if she was. maybe she wanted laudna to beg for her. my lord? she would say it if this stranger asked. but no, her eyes flickered again—behind laudna, and who could possibly have captured her lord’s attention? laudna twisted, followed her gaze to—aurelia?

oh.

jealousy.

laudna pressed her hand harder into temult’s hold. shivered when a gloved thumb pinned her in place, helpless little butterfly.

‘kiss my hand,’ laudna said.

‘what?’

‘you’re new to this land. you don’t know our customs. that much is…’ laudna let her eyes trail the bare shoulders. her bare neck. her loose, lovely hair. ‘obvious.’

irritation was lovely on temult’s face. the mulish set of her chin begged for someone to grasp it, flay it, drain the marrow and defiance out of her. what a pretty thought.

‘i am the lady of the castle,’ she continued. ‘you must kiss my hand.’

temult glanced down at it, blood spattered up to the wrist. her eyelids fluttered—there, laudna had been right, she knew it—and she bent her head. pressed a branding kiss against her knuckles. heat burned, seared into her skin. when she lifted her head, laudna saw it—the red lash of a burn, already welting. how bold! how miraculously stupid! how exciting!

‘do you feast on all your ladies?’ temult asked, tone burned dry. her eyes dragged across laudna’s face, lingering on her mouth, her chin.

she wondered how much red she had wasted; she’d never been particularly neat.

‘only the ones who have pleased me.’

‘and what of lord’s?’

‘not yet. but one has recently…caught my attention.’

temult smirked. ‘i thank you for your invitation,’ she said. the words tasted rote, quickly learned. ‘it is most gladly received.’

‘i thank you for your attendance. the moon would not be a more welcome guest.’ behind her, pate gasped. he scribbled in his book.

temult did not know the formalities. what did words matter to a storm? what did castles matter? they didn’t, not at all. but for whatever reason, she had accepted the invitation and kissed laudna’s hand. and stared hard at the blood flaking her chin as though she wished fiercely it were gone. or that it were her own.

‘any other customs i should know about?’

laudna smiled. wide. ‘oh yes. you must stay with me all night. you must dance with me.’

temult rolled her shoulders. they were still holding hands. laudna let the slight move draw her closer; she felt like a feather in those violent winds. she would go anywhere, as far as temult wished. let her be flung into the deepest sea!

‘i can manage a dance or two.’

‘marvellous.’ more demands cluttered her tongue. she had to follow her to her throne. had to let laudna peel back the skin on her throat—what were those scars? gorgeous! a map just for her!—and let her feast, drink. the thought of her, what she would taste like, filled her mind. laudna could think of little else. except,

‘you must tell me your name,’ she whispered as temult let herself be pulled out onto the floor. ‘you must, you must.’

what was this creature? heat beneath her skin, red in her scars, her veins. white power behind her eyes.

a smile curled her lips. what would they look like, coated in blood? laudna groaned at the thought of her blood on these lips. oh what a creature she could become…

‘imogen,’ she said.

‘imogen. imogen, yes. yes.’

‘i think it’s about time you showed me—yeah,’ she cut herself off with a gasp, as laudna pressed her head to the side, dragged her hand down the column of her throat. ‘oh gods, yep.’

‘you wanted to be in her place.’

‘fuck. the second i saw it happen.’

laudna laughed. dipped her head. ‘gorgeous. gorgeous creature.’

power, powerful arms curled around her. they were not dancing. they merely stood on the dance floor as the music struck up and glimmering couples spun around them. laudna’s lords and ladies were good for something. to be pretty. to be obedient. imogen was not those things.

‘are you here for long?’ laudna whispered.

‘only til the solstice.’

‘and then gone.’ oh longing, that wolf-toothed howl.

imogen stepped closer still. the warmth of her neck, so close. the thump of her heart. powerful.

laudna’s teeth pushed from her gums. it hurt so sweetly, a tiny nip they were so sharp and then the hungry press as her fangs dropped and—oh oh power and lightning and the burn of it was right it was good she had never tasted blood before not like this, a curse on every other ugly creature she had drunk from, worthless worthless things they were maggots they were ash they were nothing compared to this, to her. my lord, my lord! how imogen hissed as her fangs sunk in, butter soft and smooth, how her blood rushed and rushed how it filled her mouth like it was begging to be drunk, how imogen begged to be drunk, her words cloying and sweet and starting to slur at the edges, rasped smooth, how she clung to launda’s shoulders, how she shuddered in her arms, oh what a dance it was.

laudna drank until imogen’s knees buckled. when her girl, her storm, her love sank to the floor laudna followed, the wine red of her gown pouring over imogen’s legs, her practical boots.

‘hell of a first kiss,’ imogen drawled, as an attendant pressed a cloth into laudna’s hands and laudna pressed it, in turn, to the side of that perfect neck.

[strayy-starss]

Needy sam smut? Like afab farmer leaves for a while, and Sam is so lovesick when she comes back

✧A/N: Of course!! I’ve always seen Sam as more of a needy type but never had the thought to put it down on paper (or, computer, I guess). For more Sam content, definitely check out @deepestnightcolor! Their writing style is absolutely fabulous, and they’re one of my biggest tumblr inspirations! Also, I’m really sorry that it took me so long to answer this, I went on vacation for a little while and the parasites took away my motivation.

✧Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader

✧WC: 1.5k

✧Warnings: hand job, pierced cock (yes, it’s pierced. bite me), face riding, afab!Receiving oral.

✧NSFW BELOW THE CUT✧ ⬇

☆I Missed You☆

You’d been gone for two weeks, out to visit your parents. You’d entrusted the farm with Sam, who was eager to help you feed your animals and water your crops. Before you had to leave, you scribbled down a list of chores that you needed Sam to do when you were gone, and you’d been checking in periodically over text to see how he was doing. He always responded with a peppy answer, but his face did not mirror that peppiness. Sam was in a state of despair, to say the least. He didn’t think he’d ever missed anyone more than he missed you, even just in the span of two weeks. 

As you were out and about, hanging out with your parents on your last day, you heard a ping from your phone, and Sam’s name was illuminated on the screen. You smiled, happy to see a text from your husband. However, when you checked it, you were met with a full paragraph of how much he missed you. It was full of many “I love yous,” and “I miss yous” and “the farm isn’t the same without you here.” You smiled gently at the text, thinking it was cute that Sam missed you this much. On the other side of the screen, however, Sam was mentally suffering. He just couldn’t take his mind off of you, staring at the screen like it was all he had left of you. 

You’d texted back a brief message, telling him that you loved him and missed him too, and would be back later today. Sam whined at the message, deciding to distract himself by doing extra farm tasks. He worked away, trying to keep his thoughts of you away to little avail. He’d masturbated the other day to a picture of you, but that wasn’t enough anymore. He decided to hold off until you got home, occupying himself with strumming mindlessly at his guitar after working around the house. 

***

Three hours later, you stepped off of the bus you’d taken from your parents place and stepped back into Pelican town, breathing in the fresh air and smiling. You began your trek down the dirt path with some pep in your step. You were ecstatic that you’d get to see Sam again after your trip, and you knew he felt the same way based on his text from earlier. You headed up the porch steps, opening the door with your keys and stepping inside, dropping your bag and closing the door again. As soon as Sam heard the door open and close, he set down his guitar and sprinted to the entrance, beaming as soon as he saw you. You smiled and laughed as he tackled you in a hug, happy “missed yous” and “love yous” spilling from his lips mindlessly. 

“I missed you, too, babe,” you said through a laugh, grabbing his chin with your fingers and pulling him in for a kiss. You intended to make it a quick peck, you really did, but Sam had a different idea. As soon as your lips touched his, his hands started to trail up and down your back and into your hair, his lips working against yours fervently. You pulled back, a slightly surprised look in your eyes.

“S-sorry, sorry,” Sam stammered out, his head dropping onto your chest to hide the mixture of arousal and embarrassment on his face. “I just missed you so much.”

“It’s okay,” you said, beginning to realize why he was acting like this. You shifted a little to wrap your arms around him, and as you did, you felt a familiar bump against your leg. Sam groaned, his voice muffled by your chest. 

“Oh,” was all you could think to whisper. Sam looked up at you with a flushed, embarrassed face. You decided to make light of the situation, saying with a soft smile, “Need some help there, baby?”

“Please,” he whispered. You released him, grabbing his hand instead and leading the both of you to your shared bedroom. As soon as you got there, Sam started to undress without any command from you, his throbbing cock springing out of his boxers as he feverishly pulled them off, kicking both his boxers and his pants away. You blushed at his hurry, not realizing the extent of how much he needed you right now. You followed suit, taking off your clothes, save for your panties, and climbed into the bed with Sam.

“Now, baby,” you said, your tone low as you tilted Sam’s chin up to look at you. “What do you want me to do?”

“Anything. Anywhere,” Sam panted, his words rushed and dripping with need. “Just please touch me.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his feverish voice, but you didn't question it. After all, Sammy needed your help. You dipped your head down slightly and kissed Sam, your lips gentle against his. Sam wasn't in the mood for gentle, though. He needed it rough, and he needed it now. He grabbed your face in his hands and jammed his tongue into your mouth, moaning into the kiss with a desire you didn't know was possible. As the two of you made out, your hand drifted down to Sam’s cock, your fingers gently and teasingly trailing over his length and toying with the piercing on the tip. Sam released another shaky moan against your mouth, his hips bucking into your hand. 

You got the memo and wrapped your hand around his base and started to slowly pump up and down with one hand, the other holding you up as you continued to kiss Sam passionately. Sam let out a whimper, breaking away from the kiss and saying in a breathy voice, “Mmfuck. H-harder.” You complied, pumping your hand up and down his cock harder as you leaned in again to kiss the nape of his neck. 

Sam released numerous moans and cries, one hand threading into your hair and the other gripping your shoulder as you jerked him off. He reached his climax quickly, his hips bucking into your hand as he came with a final thrust of your hand and launching ropes of cum along his stomach. You helped him ride out his orgasm, murmuring words of praise against his neck as he came down from his high.

“Fuck. I needed that,” Sam says, looking at you with a loopy smile and a flushed face. 

“I could tell,” You said, kissing him on his forehead. “Are you done?”

“Well, I didn’t say that…” Sam said, his neediness coming back in waves. Now that you were here, he wasn’t going to let you go that easily. 

“Mm. Well, what else would you like to do? Today’s all about you, baby,” You said lovingly, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing it.

“Can you ride my face?” Sam blurts out.

You blush a little at the request, your eyes widening slightly. But who were you to say no to your Sammy? You smiled at him before saying, “Sure, babe. You know the signal?”

Sam’s eyes were already locked on your panties, nodding absently, though you weren’t sure he'd heard a word you said. Sam laid down, pointing at his face with a grin. You rolled your eyes playfully, dragging your panties down your legs before situating yourself over his face. Sam’s eyes glued to your pussy, his arms already gripping your thighs.

“Ready?” You asked, hovering nervously over his face. Sam nodded feverishly, the look of need returning to his eyes as he tugged you down to his face. You gasped as your folds made contact with his mouth, a shiver running up your spine. 

Sam wasted no time, his mouth already latched onto your clit and sucking on it mercilessly. You moaned loudly, your hips rolling against his face. You threaded your hand into his hair and pulled, causing him to moan against your clit. The vibrations added a whole new level of pleasure, and you released a string of moans and curses as your hips bucked into his face, desperate for more friction. Sam's grip on your thighs tightened as he speared his tongue into your entrance, the familiar heat pooling in your stomach. 

“F-fuck, gonna come,” You stammered out as Sam returned his attention to your clit, sucking on it harder than before. With a final, loud moan, you came on his face, panting heavily. Sam hummed and licked every last drop from your dripping sex, tapping your thigh twice when he was done. You lifted yourself off of his face and collapsed on the bed next to him, smiling lazily at him. He returned your smile, his mouth coated in your fluids. 

After taking a minute to catch your breath, your eyes drifted away from his face and down to his cock, which was rock hard again. You looked back at Sam with a mischievous smirk, and he mirrored your expression. Neither of you had confirmed it, but you had a feeling that it would be a long night. 

[starrymothwings]

heheh. draggin my ball--*falls 28 stories to my death*

(never watched past the android arc so i'm going through all of dbz now and it reignited the massive crush ive had on raditz since i was a kid. also ft. my dbz and xenoverse ocs calico cotton (human in the overalls) and sela)

[chaosheadspace]

Hi there! For the Valentine asks: 35 but make it in the Dreaming and we get Dream pilfering snacks for Hob from his Dreamers?

(We were absolute robbed of the 'naked Dream razes the buffet' scene from the comics 🤭)

Hi, thank you for sending an ask! So here is the actual fill for the prompt, not what I first understood lol (not beta-read.)

Dream wills a temperate breeze to gently flow through the open windows of the balcony and into his chambers, gently cooling Hob's dreamscape body, flushed and sweaty with exertion, his limbs intertwined with Dream's, his breath just now calming down.

He adores Hob, how he smiles, how he always draws Dream closer, how he narrows his focus onto Dream's pleasure when they lay together, body and mind both. He feels as if he can let go, to some extent, when he is with Hob; his experience of perceiving everything that is his realm at once filtered through the lens of Hob's body, of his easy laughter and gentle touch.

Dream hungrily nuzzles closer to him, carefully brushes back some strands of sweat-damp hair from his forehead, places a long kiss to the side of his neck. The night in Hob's part of the world is close to waning, and he is loath to let him go.

“Don't tell me you want to go again?” Hob chuckles, the deep tremble of it resonating from his throat into Dream's lips. “You need to give a man a breather, dove.”

“Technically, you do not need one. This is the Dreaming. You are as ready as you think yourself to be,” Dream speaks against Hob's Adams apple, moving to straddle him, to cover Hob's body with his own, craving closeness still. 

“Well, technically I also don't need to eat while dreaming, but my stomach seems to disagree,” Hob ponders. Well, they simply can't have that, can they? At least Dream cannot. Hob should not need to want for anything while he is here. 

He sinks into his own consciousness, part of him racing down the arborescent paths of his self, touching, tasting, searching—there.

He gently brushes the dream of a lightly slumbering mother, picking up a dark green artisanal bowl from her breakfast table. She dreams of mundane peace, one of her kids is eating, the other quietly scribbling away on a piece of the morning paper she is reading. It is quiet, and her coffee is hot. Dream’s small smile caresses her sleeping mind and her waking body stills, subconscious easing deeper into the fantasy.

He steps from her kitchen into the dream of a young boy, who has vowed mere hours ago that he will become the best pastry chef in the entire universe. Dream steps up to the table, where the flaxen-haired child is kneading dough next to a row of trays with finished delicacies, all of them unseen and unheard of in the Waking. “May I have one of these?” Dream asks. The boy nods, absorbed in his task.

The final dream he visits is also that of a child. They are imagining for themself the ability to fly, or to be more precise, they imagine the air to be as water and for themself to swim. It is filled with bubbles and bird-like fish, with sun-bright starfish and the slow current of a breeze. Dream conjures up a blue glass flagon and fills it, careful not to spill or take too much.

Then he draws himself up through the roots of his realm, back to Hob’s side, and sets down before him the bowl, containing warm porridge with golden honey and soft raspberries and cream; the tall pastry, filled with berries and vanilla and fervent aspirations; and the flagon, heavy with pearly laughter and liquid air.

“Oh,” Hob breathes in wonder, the image of his dreaming self deliciously close to his waking body. “What's all this?”

Dream touches him, still, again, a shining thread weaving together that which mortals perceive as lesser, unreal, and that which Dream can never truly, fully touch; the roots of Hob's mind tying together Dreaming and Waking under Dream's fingertips, against his body.

“This is a small sample of the finest things the Dreaming has to offer,” Dream purrs. “You will never be left wanting here.”

“Yes, but there is a difference between sating a need and spoiling someone rotten, isn't there,” Hob says fondly.

Dream raises one eyebrow. “Is there a rule that forbids me to achieve both?”

“No,” Hob says with a soft smile, craning his neck to kiss him on the forehead, “absolutely not.”

[cherbearsz]

i’m so so glad someone else sees the potential of a tails and stone subplot for the third movie

ANON IM SHAKING HANDS WITH U SO FERVENTLY RIGHT NOW!!!! I SCRIBBLED OUT THIS COMIC ESPECIALLY FOR U I HOPE U LIKE<33

[wcbblife]

can I make a request for juju Watkins? Maybe her taking care of reader/her gf who is also her teammate after reader has a bad game? Thank you!

Juju taking care of reader after bad game!

a/n: hopefully I can dish out some more short stories like this for you guys

To say you were having a bad game would be a gross understatement. Nearly all your shots bounced off the rim, teasing you as they rolled around before falling into your opponent's hands. It felt like every attempt ended in the same frustrating result. You could only imagine how abysmal your shooting percentage was today.

Adding insult to injury, just after the second half started, you took an elbow to the face, causing your nose to bleed instantly. Despite this, your coach was adamant about keeping you in the game. This combination of factors spelled disaster, but apparently not to her.

Now, you were counting down the minutes until the end of this miserable game, eager to retreat to the locker room and remove the cotton pads shoved into your nose to stop the bleeding.

You felt terrible watching Juju carry the team on her back to secure the win for the Trojans. Normally, you two were a formidable duo, averaging impressive numbers against opponents. Yet today, you were practically invisible on the court.

“Hey! Listen to me!” Your coach yelled in the middle of the huddle. “Juju and Mack have done a great job securing the win for us, but that doesn't mean we can slack off! You need to start making some shots.” She turned to you, putting you on the spot. You tried your hardest to nod, tilting your head back as a staff member swapped out the blood-soaked cotton in your nose.

“Coach, I think you should put Kayla in. She's a hot mess right now,” Juju interjected, seeing you preoccupied with your own problems. “Just until the game ends.”

“Kayla's in foul trouble. One more and she's out.”

“She's bleeding,” Juju fired back, taking a big gulp of water. “She shouldn’t even be here.”

“Juju, we’re short on players,” your coach responded, scribbling something on the board.

“Then Kayla better not foul,” Juju said sharply, shooting a look towards the guard, who straightened up and nodded fervently. It was clear she had been waiting all game for a chance to play, and you weren’t going to stand in her way.

“Just do it,” you winced, tapping the hands of the medical staff who were inserting another cotton swab into your nose. You couldn’t believe it was still bleeding. “Put her in.”

“Alright,” your coach sighed, finishing her explanation of the play she wanted to run after the timeout. You relaxed, finally turning to face the staff.

The rest of the game flies by in a blur, your focus consumed by the throbbing pain in your head. You only realize it’s over when Juju comes to help you into the locker room, her strong arm around your waist.

“Thanks,” you mutter, sounding a bit nasal, as she sets you down on your designated bench.

Juju tilts your head towards her, examining your nose. “You might've broken it, babe.”

“I sure hope not,” you wince, gingerly touching the area. “Thanks for what you did back there.”

“Of course,” Juju says, sitting next to you and throwing her arm around your shoulder.

“And for carrying the load. I totally sucked today,” you chuckle.

“Don't even say that. It wasn’t your fault at all.” 

“Yeah, except for me throwing bricks the entire first half. I don't even want to see the stat sheet,” you shiver just thinking about it.

Juju pulls you closer, “You're being too hard on yourself. Plus, it always feels good to be the hero,” she says, puffing out her chest with mock confidence.

“Right. Well, anyway—”

“Hey! You have media to take care of.” Suddenly, a staff member interrupts, practically separating you two. “Just you, Juju.

“I'll be right there,” she calls out, then turns to you. “Go ahead and ice that. We'll talk more when I get back.”

“Alright,” you nod, watching her go before turning to tend to your injury.

_____

It's not until you get on the bus that you finally get Juju all to yourself. She finds you in your usual spot, a familiar corner of the bus, and walks over with a loopy smile, sleepiness already starting to take over.

“Hey,” she calls softly, setting her bags down and taking a seat next to you. “Sorry I took so long.”

“I hate having to share you,” you joke, but you don’t miss the sigh that escapes Juju's lips.

“I know, babe.” She gently pulls your head to rest on her shoulder. “You need some rest though.”

“I want to talk to you.” 

“I want to talk to you,” you insist, despite the fatigue weighing on you.

Juju cups your jaw, a bit awkwardly due to your position, but her touch is comforting. “I’ll sleep over,” she promises, her voice soft and reassuring.

That simple assurance is all it takes for your eyelids to grow heavy. You let yourself be lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of the bus engine, feeling the warmth of Juju’s presence beside you.

 Juju’s hand strokes your hair lightly, a soothing rhythm that helps you relax even more. Her soft breathing, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and the warmth of her body next to yours provide a sense of peace you desperately needed after such a shitty game. 

_____

“Gosh, I’m gonna look so bad tomorrow,” you wince, poking at your nose.

Juju shuffles in from the room next to the bathroom, her sleepy eyes locking with yours through the mirror. “Babe, you’ll be fine,” she assures you, handing over your toothbrush. She squeezes out some toothpaste before grabbing the other brush you always kept there for her, and does the same.

“What if it looks like a tomato?” you ask, staying motionless as you imagine the worst.

Juju finishes at the sink and wraps an arm around your shoulders, meeting your eyes in the mirror again. “I’ll help you ice it. But you have nothing to worry about. You’ll still look sexy to me,” she says with a loopy, pasty grin, pushing the toothbrush closer to your mouth.

“You promise?”

She nods, “Yup, but I really need you to brush your teeth.” You follow her lead, brushing until your breath feels minty fresh.

“C’mere,” she says, pulling you by the waist and guiding you both to the bed. Your bodies slot perfectly against each other, fitting together almost naturally. She pulls the blankets over you both, cocooning you in warmth.

Juju's fingers trace gentle patterns on your back as she speaks, her voice soft and soothing. “You know you’re being too hard on yourself. Today was just one game.”

You sigh, the day's stress beginning to melt away in her arms. “I know, it’s just… I hate feeling like I let everyone down.”

“You didn’t let anyone down. We win as a team, we lose as a team,” she reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And besides, you’ve got me. Always.”

You close your eyes, feeling the comfort of her touch and the steady rhythm of her breathing. 

“Let’s get some sleep,” she murmurs, her voice growing softer as she too begins to drift off. 

You nod, snuggling closer and allowing the exhaustion to finally take over. The last thing you feel is Juju’s hands pulling you closer.

[minnielvrr]

Prettiest Flower

Lee: Changbin Lers: Hyunjin, Felix Word Count: 1k

A/N: Sorry if this is crap, I wrote this purely to blow off some stress😭😖 *NOT PROOFREAD*

“Hyung you’ve gotten SO strong now,” Felix gushed, massaging Binnie’s thick arms. It was becoming a habit for the younger now, a natural part of his daily routine. “Jinnie, doesn’t hyung look gorgeous?” He turned to the artist who was lounging on the opposite bed.

“Hyung always looks beautiful…” Hyunjin agreed, a lazy smirk appearing on his plush lips, making Binnie blush shyly under their attention.

“But Lix, do you know when our dear dwaekki looks best?”

Hyunjin was now standing in front of the two. He suddenly reached out a hand and clawed at Bin’s tummy. “Yahaha! Nohoho, nohot thihihis.” The cute dwaekki flinched back, his tummy too sensitive to handle the sudden tickling.

“Oh you are so right Jinnie!” Cue another pair of hands joining in at his sides making Changbin squeal, melting back onto the mattress in a puddle of bubbly, musical giggles.

“Hyungie, you’ll keep your hands here for us, right?” Hyunjin coaxed sweetly, moving Bin’s arms to lay over his head and the older blushed furiously. The two had gone from flirting to complimenting to tickling him in the snap of a finger and it was way too flustering.

He averted his eyes but still nodded, moving his hands to cover his face when the duo cooed at his cuteness. Binnie’s heart raced in his chest when they made themselves comfortable on either side of him.

“You're like a flower hyung,” Felix remarked, staring at him. “Hm how so?”

“You practically bloom when you get a compliment and it's the cutest thing ever.“ “Nohoho Ihihi doHOhon’t!!” Binnie howled, flailing around when hands made their way to the sides of his chest and clawed at the sensitive skin. His hands almost snapped back down at that, only barely managing to tangle them in his hair. He wanted to do as Hyunjin had asked him.

“Are you lying to us now hyungie?” Felix fake cried. “Fine then, I guess we’ll just have to prove it to him, right Lix?” Felix smiled wide at that, nodding happily as he scattered pokes all over Binnie’s torso, scribbling at random spots that had the rapper jolting with a little squeak each time.

“Gosh, you're so ticklish hyung!” Lix exclaimed, curiously digging into Binnie’s waist, finding that the lower he went, the louder Binnie’s giggles got. Smirking to himself, he did just that, moving his hands to squeeze at his hips.

“NO! Nohohoho Fehehelihix, Felix please plehease, anywhehehere but thehere!!” But the chick had his mind set on the spot. Binnie’s feet skidded on the mattress as his whole body lurched to the side. The ticklish rapper’s hands that he had so obediently kept up until now, whipped down to protect himself as the two evil kids tickled him to pieces.

He just could never handle upper rib tickles, let alone that combined with hip tickles. They were too damn ticklish. But Hyunjin and Felix kept up their attack, following Binnie wherever he went, relentless in their pursuit.

“Awww, you're so ticklish here. I found a good spot, didn't I?” “Yehehes! Yehes ahahahahah…” Changbin nodded his head fervently, rosy cheeks and a wide smile adorning his face.

Felix giggled at the sight, grabbing onto the older’s waist, throwing his tank top up and blowing a loud raspberry right in the center of Binnie’s tummy. “Nononohohoho Yohohohongbok-ahahahahaha. Please! Nohohot that, not thaHAHAAHAAHA-”

His body arched up, only to come crashing down when Lix blew another raspberry, this time over his belly button as the chick’s fingers started kneading at his sides. The two laughed along with him, his cackles sounding so joyful as the cute dwaekki laughed and laughed and laughed.

“STAHAHAP, IHIHIT TIHICKLES SOHOHO MUHAHAHAHAHACH!” He shrieked out, hands pushing lightly at Lixie’s head and Jinnie’s hands to no avail. “Admit you’re the prettiest flower Binnie hyung. Maybe we’ll consider sparing you.” Hyunjin taunted, moving his hands up to Bin’s armpits to give him some chance at coherence.

“Buhut Ihihihim NOHOT!” That earned him rougher tickles from the two fairies, who were determined to makes sure Binnie knew how adorable he was. Jinnie’s hands went back to his upper ribs and drilled in. Lixie followed, slipping his pinky in Bin’s navel and wiggling around while he pressed his lips to the poor lee’s waist and nibbled. Changbin screamed. The sudden intensity made his made him feel like he was going crazy.

“There’s only one way to stop this hyungie~~ You know what you need to do.” The rapper shook his head wildly, hysterical cackles seemed to be the only sound the dwaekki could make as he twisted around, trying to roll away unsuccessfully.

Finally, mustering up every bit of willpower he had, he gave in. “FAHAHAINE! OHOHOKAHAY IHIM THE PREHEHETTIEST FLOWER! NOW STOHOP PLEASE!!” His breathless plea was accepted.

Felix gently cleaned Binnie’s pink tummy, while Hyunjin carded a hand through the rapper’s hair, brushing away the disheveled mess that it had become. Binnie was heaving, little gasps and giggles still flowing from his lips like music.

Once he’s caught his breath, he sneakily exchanged smirks with Felix and the two pounced on an unsuspecting Hyunjin. The artist squealed when he was wrestled onto the bed, shaking his head nervously, giggles already free flowing from smiling lips.

"You didn't think there wouldn't be any consequences did you? You're next Lix." Binnie added when the chick smiled smugly at the ferret.

He was quickly reduced to cackles, pleading and thrashing as hands roamed all over his torso, tickling his back, sides, ribs and underarms. As soon as they were done with the ferret, Lix got the same treatment, his loud screechy laughter bringing a concerned Chan running.

The trio cuddled all day like that, basking in the warmth and comfort of each other.

[feasibilities]

Paper Dolls and Homework | Patricia 'Kitten' Braden x Reader

Synopsis: Being Kitten's tutor allows her to tell you how she really feels. Warnings: Angst, Oral Sex, Unprotected P in V, Slight Dub-Con, Admission of Love, Desperation, Praise Kink Author's Note: I feel like my writing style is evolving (in a good way, hopefully). Enjoy!

“Can you solve this?” You inquired, pointing a calculus problem in Kitten’s workbook. She was occupied with impure thoughts of taking you over her desk. 

“Oh, goodness! Let me see…” She exclaimed, scribbling an answer with pen that has a pom-pom. You double-checked it with a calculator and smiled. 

“So you have been listening to me.” You quipped.

“Of course. Now, let’s watch a movie.” She piped, getting up to scan through her VHS movies starring Mitzi Gaynor. 

“We can complete the next chapter. It might help to get some extra practice.” You said hesitantly. 

“C’mon, darling, you’re allowed to have a little fun. Don’t be so serious.” She teased. You relented and organized the notes before you sat on her bed. She put in a copy of There's No Business Like Show Business and plopped down next to you. You thought she was a bit too close for comfort but decided to ignore it. While the movie played, you saw Kitten’s eyes fill with wonderment. You grew curious enough to ask about her obsession. 

“Why do you love Mitzi so much, Kitten?” You asked.

“Hmm? Oh, Mr. Feeny said she looks like my mom.” She said softly. 

“I can help you look for her after the exams are over, if you want.” You proposed. She turned to you and intertwined her fingers with yours. 

“That’s awfully sweet of you. I really don’t deserve it.” She said earnestly. Her breath hitched in her throat while she admired your beauty. She leaned in close to plant a delicate kiss on your cheek. You felt your heart palpitate when she put her hand on your thigh. Her pupils widened with admiration. 

“Patricia, I-“ You started.

“I love you and I don’t wanna be alone anymore. Can’t you see?” She begged. Her words pricked at your heart. Noticing your apprehension, she laid you on the bed and perched between your legs. You hurriedly removed your shirt and bra.  She had a particularly beautiful view up your skirt. Sliding the skirt up to your waist, she smiled at your baby pink underwear. She massaged you through the delicate fabric and felt you moisten against her fingers. Your breaths wavered as you got off on the unusual feeling. The only fingers that had the chance to explore that area were your own. 

“Oh, love…” She purred, sliding your underwear down your legs. She gently opened your legs once more and dipped between your thighs. Her soft lips nibbled at the soft flesh before they found your tender floret. A fraught moan escaped  you as she fed on you like a starved peasant. Your fingers clenched the fluffy pink comforter on her bed. Her manicured ones moved to your breasts and kneaded them gently. Her thumb occasionally swiped against your nipple. Your juices landed on her waiting tongue as you came harder than you ever have.

“Good job, hun. Now, it’s my turn.” She praised, undressing herself. You squirmed in anticipation at what was to come. Before you could gather yourself, she was on top of you with a coy smile on her face. She gently spread your lips and slipped inside of you. You swore you stopped breathing for a moment. Her cheeks turned red and she bit her lip to maintain her composure. Thrusting slowly, she whispered sweet nothings to you. She buried herself in your silken pink depths. 

“Mmm, right there…” You croaked out. Her thrusts sped up at your praise. The outdated dormitory bed began to creak and shake. You kissed her fervently and wrapped your legs around her to bring her closer. Her pupils eclipsed her gorgeous blue irises. Soon after, she filled you to the brim with everything she had to give. She rested her forehead against yours as she descended from paradise. You were hers until the very end. 

[targcrazies]

Spring Wine Pt. 1

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC Premise: Rhaenyra Targaryen, referred to as Rhae by her family, is the heir of her mother, the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. In this Alternate Universe, Rhaenyra has her children with Daemon instead of Harwin and ascends the throne without an armed contest. However, tensions brew elsewhere, as Rhaenyra intends to marry her heir to her second child and oldest son, Jacaerys Velaryon.

WARNINGS: none, for this part, at least.

Part 2

P.S. this is very spontaneous, and i intend to finish off Moonless, Dark Night as well, I've not abandoned it. However, this will be a shorter series with some interesting dynamics to explore, perhaps three to four parts. Hope you all stick to it!

A dark shadow loomed over younger Rhaenyra’s heart; she could little fathom the tenseness the court had taken on. Everyone seemed terse, including her own mother, then the Queen Rhaenyra of the Seven Kingdoms. Stately matters were being dealt with in nature so abrupt that even her father seemed to raise his eyebrows. Rhaenyra watched as Jace stood beside their mother, observing every action of his mother with solemnity. Her other brothers - Luke, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys - stood on one side of the court, mawkishly quiet.

“Where’s Rhae?” The Queen spoke, causing Rhaenyra’s heart to jump to her throat.

“Yes Moth- your grace?” She swallowed hard, looking up at her Mother.

“Your betrothed is only meant to be the King Consort, hope you have not forgotten, Rhae.” She looked at Jace, “What decree do we have for the Princess of Dragonstone?”

Jace looked at his mother tensely, swallowing as he unrolled a heavy parchment, “Your Grace, shall I read it aloud?”

“Loud enough for the entire court to hear.”

The boy cleared his throat, sparing his sister a sympathetic glance, “Rhaenyra Velaryon, the Princess of Dragonstone, is to be wed to the Prince Jaecaerys Velaryon on the ninth day of the sixth moon of the year 130 AC and set sail upon Dragonstone. She and her brother-husband shall inherit two dragon eggs each and a treasury of four hundred dragons as a wedding present. Upon the Princess’s taking her rightful seat, she shall, under the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Second of her name, Princess of Dragonstone. The children born from this union shall take their Mother's name.”

An awkward silence spread throughout the court like a disease. The Princess’s lips remained sealed, her mouth mute. When the rest of the court regained their courage to lift their eyes and look at the Princess, their eyes surreptitiously followed hers and landed upon a Targaryen prince. Not the one they had desired though.

The new Master-at-arms of the Iron Throne, Aemond Targaryen, stood quietly behind the four Targaryen princelings, his eye set upon the Princess in return for hers. He looked at her fervently, as if waiting to watch how she responds to the decree her mother had produced via the small council. Little could be made of his face alone, his features hardened, his posture straight, his hands holding on to two of his nephews, Joff’s and young Aegon’s.

The Princess’s lips parted as she breathed out, “Aye, your grace.”

The rest of the court aye’d in unison. The Prince Aemond Targaryen stared at his niece, his face unflinchingly stoic. The Princess looked at him with little emotion of her own, yet some could see a smidge of anguish perhaps. Or, was it fear?

—

“Father?”

“Yes dearest?”

“I do not wish to be wed to Jace.”

Daemon had stopped scribbling on to the parchment when his first trueborn child spoke what he had somewhat began to dread upon taking notice. He set aside the quill and casted his eyes toward her. She stood with her face bowed slightly, her eyes resting upon the brick ground beneath. Daemon recalled often the first time he had made love to Rhaenyra, the night before she had wed Laenor. The seed in her grew, for she claimed fervently that Laenor and she had failed to consummate. There was little room for disbelief as much was known of Laenor’s inclinations. Laenor, relieved at the prospect of a Valyrian-looking child being born to his wife, could object little. Shortly before her birth, Daemon had married Laena Velaryon, and she happily allowed the two to continue their relations so long as her brother’s reputation remained intact. She may bear the Velaryon name, and so do the other boys, but they were wholly Targaryen. Rhae was his first child, his oldest daughter. And, it broke his heart to know he could do little about it.

“You are to inherit the throne, my child. It’d be the most beneficial for you to marry your broth-”

“I want Aemond.” She interrupted, “Please, Father, you must speak to Mother.”

Daemon had seen it coming, he could little deny. He had noticed both the children taking a queer liking to each other. As children, they kept close. As they grew, their proximity came with shyness, hesitation, and lingering touches and gazes. Rhaenyra had taken notice, too. However, she chose to look past it, only ever resoundingly reminding everyone in court that her only daughter and heir and her oldest son must wed.

“Darling,” Daemon sighed, “Your Mother won’t allow it.”

“Why not, Father?” she took a couple steps closer, “He loves me, and I him. We wish to be bound together before the Seven. I do love Jace, but not like that, not at all.”

“Then where’s my nephew? Could he not come with the plea?”

“He waits outside. Both of you have… certain temperaments and I can only deal with so much at once.”

“Now, now, child, do not jape with me.” Daemon laughed, “Well, I’d have invited him in if I could be of any help here, but my hands are tied. I cannot object to the Queen.”

“But you may speak to her, Father.” She insisted, “I cannot marry Jace, it would be most unjust to him.”

“I can assure you, Rhae, that the boy knows.” Daemon stood up, walking toward the large window, looking out at the moon that shone only in half. “He is aware of your feelings, or lack thereof, for him. However, he’s dutiful. That’s required of us.”

“Father, you chose to refrain when duties were imposed upon you.” She walked closer to him, her voice lowering such that no word went beyond the door, “Mother found her way around it, having the four of us with you.”

“And, I am afraid, you must also conduct your affairs similarly, Rhae.” He put a hand on her shoulder, “Your Mother may be Queen, and I may be her hand, but Otto and Alicent Hightower are in some corner of the High Tower, perhaps planning an assault upon King’s Landing to claim it for Alicent’s firstborn son.”

“Uncle Aegon seems pleased to have his castle on the Blackwater Bay.”

“He might be, but not his grandsire. Otto is a greedy, conniving man, whose purpose has always been to have his blood on the throne.”

“You know Aemond is loyal to the Queen. When grandfather passed, he was the one who sent the raven and flew with Vhagar upon Dragonstone, to ensure that the raven was not deterred by anyone opposing Mother’s claim.” She tried to reason, her voice beginning to rise.

“And why do you think he did that?”

Daemon watched as his daughter’s face softened, “Father, he is honoured to be the Master-at-arms, but that was not his primary intent.”

Her father gently shook her head, chuckling under his breath, “You’ll make too good a Queen for the council. They’ll call you Rhaenyra the Simple.”

Her face hardened, “I do not appreciate the slight, Father.”

He put his remaining hand upon his daughter’s other shoulder and leaned closer, “Either you are a simpleton or you choose to turn a blind eye to the fact that your dear uncle Aemond might be Otto’s secondary route to having his blood on the throne.”

Her eyes followed as he drew back and walked away, she walked closer to him and retorted in a hushed tone, “Do you mean to say he does not truly love me?”

“He must like you… a bit. Perhaps, he can even tolerate you. Your temperament is mostly balanced, your tone rarely harsh, your heart kind, and your brain witty enough.”

She glared at her father, her eyes cold, “Father, I may not be as conniving as you are, but I am no simpleton. I am not a child who can be lured into marriage by someone who lusts over the throne.”

“But you are a child, Rhae, you are only six-and-ten.”

“Did you not wed a woman you called horrible names when you were seven-and-ten, to never even touch her or honour her as your wife? Shall I do the same? Would you and Mother like that?”

“Child, do not resort to threatening us.” Daemon raised his finger in gentle rebuke, “Jace is your own brother, not a political alliance we are imposing upon you with a lowly Andal. It is by the grace of your Queen that you were not skipped over and made heir. Do not return her blessing with betrayal.” He walked away from her again, his back now facing her, “The matter is settled, you shall marry your brother.”

Daemon heard closely as his daughter turned on her feet and opened the door. His ears perked when he heard his nephew’s whisper and her shushing. Daemon knew that it was unfair of him to judge the boy so unkindly, but there were incentives the boy could certainly be optimising upon, doubtlessly. Unless the boy made a genuine effort for his daughter, he saw little reason to deviate from the original plan.

—

“Daemon says a match between you and I is unlikely,” she and he sat in Godswood, under the oldest Weirwood tree, “He says it’s a duty I must perform, my wedding to Jace. His implications are laced with worry regarding your grandsire, especially.”

“I have been nothing but loyal, my grandfather has little control over my intent.”

“I communicated that clearly, however, he refuses to accede. He says he cannot even speak with Mother about it.” She sighed, letting her posture relax, “I am beginning to feel like it is all in vain. Either we shall elope, or we shall submit to our duties and commit to each other in our hearts.”

“We surely cannot elope, you have a duty to the realm, no matter what.” Aemond opined, “However, we may conduct whatever we have clandestinely. Even if it produces children, there should be little distinction.”

“Your mother’s lovely locks might make it to one of my children’s crowns. That’d be persecutory.”

“Hers never made it to us. I highly doubt they’d trickle down so far.” He laughed, “You worry so much, darling. If you have to marry Jacaerys, then so be it. I shall follow you to Dragonstone, scout for men and train them.”

Rhae shook her head, “I know Mother, she will want you here.”

“Then I can join the Kingsguard, be sworn to protect you.” She looked at him, her lips pursed,

“No… you deserve to have children in your own name. That would be rather unfair upon you. I can’t subject you to that.”

Aemond gently held her chin, drank her features in, “You’d not be subjecting me to anything. You and I will have children. You can have your heir with Jace, but the rest, we can have together.”

She bit her lip, “I have such love for you, I do not know how to pretend otherwise.”

“I cannot remember a day I haven’t loved you, truly.” He let go of her chin, with much effort, to ensure no one could catch a sight of them so fervent, “Mother kept telling me that you all were the enemies, you and your brothers. Aegon and I had little concerns of the sort. I had none whatsoever. Luke taking out my eye had had an impact, but I believed you when you told me no other harm would come to me from your brothers." He chuckled, "That's how I knew I wanted your Mother to be Queen, such that one day the Conqueror’s crown adorns you. You’d be my Queen and I’d be yours to serve.”

“I have heard little of a man so willing to be subservient to the woman they love and not have her submit.”

“The thought of you as the reigning Queen of the smallfolks and the seven kingdoms – with your heart so kind and your eyes so full – is what seems of good promise to me.”

She took his hand, despite his reservation, and kissed it, “Only if Daemon knew how you think of me.” She laid her cheek upon the knuckles of his hand, “He seems to think that your feelings are ingenuine. It pains me.”

“We might have some time before the wedding… happens. We may be able to come up with a solution by then. But, for now, if my sister asks you to agree to a wedding, you mustn’t refuse.”

“I fear if she has even so much as an inkling, she shall send you far away.”

“Do you think we could speak with Jace?”

“Jace loves me,” she admitted, “And, he also loves his duties. Even if he were to refuse the marriage, he may end up reasoning his decision with our bond to Mother and… that would defeat the purpose.”

He nodded, “Then for now, all we can do is -”

“Wait, think, and hope an opportunity springs up.”

—

Jace was no fool. He had always taken notice of the closeness between his older sister and his younger uncle. However, he had deluded himself into believing that their affections were only friendlike in nature.

Then, at court, as he read the decree and looked at his sister, he knew he’d lost the woman he loved to the man he feared. She loves him, he thought to himself. His eyes were boring holes into his sister’s skull, hoping she looked at him, once. However, she did not, for it seemed like she had forgotten of her brother’s existence. It seemed like, for all that mattered, there was only their uncle who existed in her vicinity.

Jace tried to read his sister’s face, but there was little. Was she contemptuous? Was she livid? Was she envious? Or, was she just plotting? Could the two speak without words, as lovers in lores do? Or did those two just looked into each other’s souls and scoured for words?

Little did he know that she looked at him for strength until he jerked his head in the slightest nod and a loud, strong, clear, “Aye, your Grace.” Left her lips.

He had bit into the inside of his lips and then tasted blood. His Mother, sat on the Iron Throne, showed little care toward his sister. His father walked to Rhae, enveloping her in a hug. Aemond whispered something to the children as the Queen dismissed the court. As the one-eyed Prince exitted, he looked at the Princess, his Rhae, and she at him; and it is almost as if they knew where to find each other upon a single glance.

Jace later discovered that they did. Some corner of the library, deserted and unguarded. He left the moment he heard the ruffling of fabrics and hurried whispers. His hands closed into fists and he rushed to the training grounds. One day, he thought, he might fight his uncle in a duel. If the Seven favoured, he may finish his formidable uncle off in a joust.