#ghost holding your cheeks to warm your face up

[g0r3wh0rre]

TEETH༚ ── 심재윤

your vampire boyfriend wakes you up in the middle of the night, needy for you...

▸ PAIRING༚ sim jaeyun x fem!reader ▸ WC༚ 1 . 6 k ▸ GENRE༚ smut, fluff, pwp ▸ WARNINGS༚ ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ NSFW + MDNI! est. relationship, vampire!jake, biting, blood drinking, slight somnophilia, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex mention, slight mention of anal, dirty talk, praise kink, soft dom!jake, breast play

You're shaken awake by the mattress dipping behind you, creaking underneath the weight of the body that slides under the covers. Strong arms wrap tight around your waist, a bare, muscled chest presses against your back-- Jake's skin is ice cold, but the feeling is a familiar, welcoming one. You hold in a shiver as he leans his head down to chastely kiss your temple.

"Baby?" Jake whispers against your skin.

You don't respond, keeping your eyes closed and your breathing steady as you feel his lips trail down your cheek to your neck. It's a little cruel, pretending to be asleep whenever your nocturnal boyfriend seeks your attention, but you just can't help it-- you love to tease him, love to hear how needy he gets for you before you give in and open your eyes.

"Baby." he whispers again, more desperately this time, his arms circling around you tighter. "Baby, wake up."

You bite back a grin as you stay completely still, curled up on your side facing the open window. A soft breeze blows through your shared bedroom, the moonlight illuminating brightly even behind your shut eyelids. You'll have to close the blinds again in the morning when the sun comes back up, the nighttime the only time you've been able to enjoy the warm weather. You can't say you mind it-- you've always been a bit of a night owl, even before you met Jake.

"I'm hungry." He whines in your ear, deep voice breathy and tight— you can feel his sharp canines grazing your skin as he talks, his hips bumping up against the swell of your ass; the weight of his cock through your thin nightgown was as if you were wearing nothing at all, just skin against skin, his growing erection stiff and twitching. “Need you so bad..” 

It was going to be one of those nights, then.

You mimic waking up, letting out a little fake yawn as you stretch and rub up against him, just to hear him whimper in your ear. "Mm... Jakey?"

Jake's cock jumps against you, his big icy hands growing bolder as they slide up and down your sides. "Feed me." he mumbles, pouting, his petulant whine making you giggle airily.

“But Jakey, I was sleeping,” You faux complain, trying to ignore the heat collecting in your belly. Giving him a hard time was one of your favorite hobbies.

“Don't care~” Jake coos, dragging his teeth across your shoulder again, this time letting the tip of one of his sharp canines catch the strap of your nightgown, drag it slowly down your arm. The side of your gown falls, exposing one of your tits, and Jake is quick to cup it in his palm and pinch your nipple in between his index finger and thumb. “I'm starving, need you now… I can hear your heartbeat getting faster, I know you need me too~”

He tugs hard on your nipple, making your breath hitch, your hips grind down, heart skip a beat— he heard it, you could tell, with how he chuckles smugly into the crook of your neck.  “Smells so good..” he moans, broad nose burrowing further, begging for you to bear your neck to him— you do so without a fight, relish in the way he sucks in a breath, inhales your scent deeply. “Always taste so good, too… please, just a bite…” 

You grit your teeth, prepared for the bite, but it never comes— instead he licks a fat stripe up your neck with the flat of his tongue, nasty and lewd and leaving a wet trail that stings in the cool air. He finishes just under your ear, and you can practically hear his smirk as he ghosts his canines across your skin, his pretty pouty lips sucking a dark purple bruise. You gasp, bare more of your neck, twist in Jake's strong embrace; your hips rock harder, faster together, sheer fabric of your nightgown wet with slick and precum and slowly riding up your thighs from the friction of the two of you rubbing up against each other.

“Touch me.” you beg in a whisper, your drenched panties sticking to your core. Jake chuckles deep in his chest.

“Let me feed and I will.” he twists your nipple one last time, letting go to trail his hand slow down your stomach to meet the lacy hem of your gown. He always knew exactly what card to play to get you to give in. 

“Fuck, fine, okay, just make it quick--” you plead, mostly for your own sanity— you could feel him grin against your neck, hardly giving you any time to prepare before he bore his sharp fangs into you. 

“Shit!” no matter how many times you let Jake feed from you, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his bites, the stinging pain making you gasp and whimper. He's quick to apologize, his fingers finally coming to rest on your covered clit. He rubs a few gentle circles, fast and precise, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, and finally, finally the searing pain of his teeth is drowned out by the euphoria of his venom.  

You feel hot, burning, Jake's cold tongue and breath doing nothing to cool your growing fever down— he licks up your blood in fat, broad swipes, wet and messy as he groans in your ear. “So good~” he pants hard, hips bucking, long index finger leaving your clit to trail down your soaked folds. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me…” 

You're dizzy, lightheaded, foggy brain unable to keep up with all of the pleasure; your hips flutter wildly, legs spread wide to give him access. “Want you,” you garble, pussy soaked and clenching around nothing.  

Jake momentarily pulls off of your neck, entranced by the way your blood pools around the puncture marks. You immediately whine out pathetically for him, squirming, dazed and craving his lips back on your skin. “You want me, baby?” he teases, gentle fingers continuing to teasingly stroke your dripping pussy lips. “Want me how?”

His fingertip catches the hem of your panties, and you keen high in your throat— you can hardly speak, let alone string a sentence together, pretty little head empty and full of only Jake… you want to cry out for him, watery, but all you manage is a pathetic, choked whisper; “Jakey, your fingers, want your fingers, please—!” 

Your face burns, but Jake is just as desperate as you are— he tugs your panties down your thighs in one swift motion, leaving them bunched around your knees to stuff your cunt full with two bony fingers— you let out a sob at the intrusion, head lolling back just enough for him to swoop down and continue getting in his fill of your sweet, hot blood. You welcome the feeling of his lips and tongue, shaking and whimpering as he begins to scissor you open to the rhythm of his suckles on your neck. 

“Mmm, ahh— Jaeyun!” you beg, but you’re not sure what for— Jake's fingertips rub your sweet spot with perfect precision, his thumb coming up to rub tight, slick circles on your clit; you spread your legs wider, keen for more; your boyfriend gives it to you with a snicker, slides in a third finger alongside the others. “Please, please—“ 

“Please what?” he goads, finishing his work on your neck with a lavish flick of his tongue. His fingers pump your pussy with vigor, nasty wet noises spilling from your  drenched folds— he curses with a moan, grabs again at your tit with his free hand, tweaking and tugging at your sensitive bud. “God, you’re so perfect f’me, perfect girl… feed me so well, so delicious~”

Your bite had stopped bleeding, healed over with a few sweet kitten licks from your lover, but his venom still coursed through your veins, setting your skin ablaze, belly taught and aching cunt begging for release— you were still under his thrall, perfect little doll for him to play with after he’s gotten his meal. The pace of Jake's fingers were brutal against your sweet spot, palm of his hand sending hot sparks through your clit with every rock of your hips… His leaking, throbbing cock, nestled between your cheeks, fat cockhead sliding thick and heavy against your asshole with every sloppy thrust— he kisses your earlobe, bites down gently, whispers so sweet and fond, “C'mon baby, please what? I haven’t gotten you stupid on my fingers now, have I?”

“I’m gonna cum!” you wail in response, pussy fluttering around his digits, clit pulsating, your hips wild caught in between his hand and his hips; Jake coos, twists and bends his fingers just the way you like it, the heat coiled tightly in your belly threatening to snap. “Please, Yun, gonna cum, wanna cum, let me cum!”

“Nasty girl, creaming all over my fingers after i suck her dry,” Jake giggles filthily, his cock twitching hard against your fluttering asshole. “Go ahead, princess, make a fuckin’ mess.” 

His free hand leaves your sore tit to pinch hard at your clit, long fingers fucking you open and playing with you just so perfect and right— you cum with a sharp cry, stretched out walls spasming, clamping down on his digits, swollen lips fluttering as you completely drench his hands in your release— he talks you through it with sickly sweet “good girl”s and “good job”s, sticky fingers working your pretty abused hole despite just how hard you were clamping down, forcing them out— “So tight,” he groans brokenly in your ear, “Gotta fuck you now~” 

"Jakey, wait, I said be quick--“ your voice is fried, still feeling bratty despite letting Jake manhandle you with ease— he flips you over onto your back and towers over you on the bed, your hips knocking together deliciously, his thick fat cock brushing against your slit and making you whimper… he grabs your thighs in his hands, folds you in half with dizzying strength and ease; grin wolfish, eyes dark, sharp teeth catching the moonlight— 

“Oh baby, we’re just getting started.” 

[eremikayearner]

innocent ‹𝟹 chigiri hyoma

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which, innocent touches with your best friend, chigiri hyoma, might not be so innocent after all.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ it all started with innocent touches between you and your best friend chigiri hyoma.

you had known hyoma since your first year of middle school. back then, it had started with tapping his shoulder to ask for a spare pencil which had bloomed into the friendship you had now.

then it had evolved into smacking each other’s shoulders and draping over each other with the force of your uncontrollable laughter. next thing you knew, you and hyoma were linking arms when you walked home from school and sharing lunches and water bottles.

in high school, those touches had turned a little bit sweeter. after his acl tear, it had become holding his hand when he was upset, fingers entwining. it had become braiding each other’s hair as his continued to grow longer and longer. it became hugging him tight enough to suffocate him and him hugging you back hard enough to break you. it became cuddling into the space he created for you when you binged shows and movies together. when his leg had healed, it had become him carrying you home on his back after school with his hands gripping the underside of your thighs.

but all these touches were innocent.

that was until you’d begun playfighting.

even that had begun innocent. it had all started when you shoved him hard teasingly with the biggest smile on your face and the prettiest giggle on your lips. that’s where your little playfights had begun. and hyoma, the gentleman he was, usually allowed it to end with you laughing in victory.

it felt different this time. more intense. more heated. more intimate.

per usual, you’d believed you were going to win but suddenly, you’d felt rough calloused hands wrap around your waist and push you down on your back to the bed, a small gasp escaping your lips. just as quickly, he’d caged your thighs between his. you lifted your hand to make a move but hyoma was faster. he always was. those same rough calloused hands you knew better than your own caught your wrist, pressing it down to your soft sheets beside your head.

with big surprised eyes and pretty parted glossed lips, you looked up at the boy on top of you. soft pants spilling from his lips, gorgeous fuchsia eyes locked on yours and his long cherry hair falling so perfectly in his face.

you knew hyoma was attractive. it was hard to ignore. with a face to rival that of heaven’s prettiest angel and a body that he’d worked hard to sculpt and perfect in hopes of becoming the world’s best striker, chigiri hyoma was undeniably beautiful. just seeing him up close, drinking in his beauty, it was too much for you.

“i win.” he breathed.

you didn’t know what had ghost of romance possessed you to do this, but your delicate fingers had lifted up to the cherry locks that had fallen in his face and gently brushed them behind his ear, revealing his face in its full beauty.

“i hope you know how pretty you look, hyoma.”

the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.

you heard his breath hitch. felt his fingers tighten on your wrist. watched those pretty eyes and long luscious lashes blink in shock.

you watched as the softest and prettiest of smiles lifted his pink lips, his voice low. “big words coming from you, y/n.” then you noticed the soft pink hue on his cheeks. almost shyly, his words were quieter. “you’re the prettier one.”

you were sure he could feel your pulse hammering against his skin. then you felt his grip on your wrist loosen. then the warm feeling of his hand finding yours, then his long slender fingers resting over yours.

there was a moment where your eyes met, and the world seemed to stop. you held your breath as you felt all the unspoken emotions and hidden feelings surface between the two of you. like a flower, the emotions bloomed between you. a seed that had been planted years ago had nestled its roots into your hearts, the stem breaking through, and just now, that flower finally blooming.

his fingers finally slid between yours, and finally you exhaled. watching you with fuchsia eyes full of promise and want, hyoma’s hand squeezed yours.

“always been beautiful.” he said.

your heart stuttered in your chest as heat and butterflies erupted in your lower abdomen.

“thank you, hyoma.” you managed to get out, your face flushing.

it was over before you knew it. his hand had retracted and he’d gotten off of you, sitting back on his knees and offering you a hand to lift you up.

your hand went in his, and your heart nearly burst out of your chest when you remembered the feeling of his fingers between yours and squeezing your hand. then he helped you lift yourself up off the bed, his hand slipping away once again.

now you looked at each other, unsure of what to do or say now that something had shifted between you.

then you spoke.

“you really mean that?”

he looked at you with all the admiration he could ever have for anybody. then he leaned forward and brushed your hair behind your ear, a soft and doting touch. “of course i do.”

maybe these touches weren’t so innocent after all.

[purinbunnii]

Morning Whispers

Suguru x Reader

The morning light filters through the shoji doors, casting golden hues over your quiet home. The air is thick with the scent of freshly brewed tea and the distant hint of rain-soaked earth from last night’s drizzle. You stir beneath the soft sheets, stretching your limbs lazily before your eyes land on the man standing by the kitchen counter.

Suguru.

Bare-backed, hair tousled from sleep, he stands in loose black pants, his broad shoulders flexing as he works at the counter. The sight of him—strong, comfortable, utterly yours—sends a warm shiver through you.

You slip from the futon, the wooden floor cool against your feet as you approach him. Your arms wrap around his waist from behind, your bare cheek pressing against the warmth of his back.

“You’re up early,” you murmur, voice laced with sleep.

Suguru chuckles, his hand coming to rest over yours. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make you tea.” His voice is deep, still husky from sleep, and it stirs something molten in your belly.

You trail your fingers lightly over his stomach, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. “Mmm… considerate husband.” You press a kiss between his shoulder blades, feeling the way he exhales deeply at the contact.

His free hand reaches back, cupping the back of your thigh, pulling you closer so your bodies are flush. “And you… my beautiful wife.” His voice is lower now, a teasing growl. “Clinging to me so early… you missed me in your sleep?”

You hum, your lips brushing his spine. “Always.”

Suguru turns in your embrace, his arms circling your waist, trapping you against the counter. His gaze is molten gold in the morning light, dark eyes heavy with affection… and something darker. His fingers skim up your back, sending a delightful shudder through you.

“You keep looking at me like that, love,” he murmurs, dipping his head so his lips graze your jaw, “and tea won’t be the only thing getting heated this morning.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to hear the low sound he makes—one of satisfaction, desire. “Then maybe tea can wait,” you whisper.

He grins, slow and wicked, before capturing your lips in a kiss—deep, unhurried, tasting of warmth and home.

And just like that, the quiet morning melts into something much more sinful.

————

The kiss deepens, slow and languid, his lips tasting of warmth and quiet devotion. Suguru holds you close, his fingers splaying over your lower back, pressing you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him seeps into your skin, making you shiver, despite the warmth of the morning.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmur between kisses, breath hitching as he moves to your jaw, then lower, pressing soft kisses along your neck.

Suguru hums against your skin, his lips dragging over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “I could say the same about you,” he teases, his breath hot, sending delicious shivers through you. His hands slip lower, fingers ghosting over the curve of your hips before gripping them possessively.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, dark strands soft between your fingers as you tilt his head up to look at you. His pupils are blown, his lips slightly parted, the image of a man utterly devoted to you. Your heart clenches at the sight—how is it that after a year of marriage, after so many mornings together, he still looks at you like you’re his world?

“I love you,” you whisper, and something shifts in his expression.

His hands cradle your face, his thumbs tracing the shape of your lips, his gaze softening with something deeper than desire—something achingly tender. “I love you more,” he murmurs, before capturing your lips again.

The tea on the counter is long forgotten as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you on the wooden surface, standing between your legs as his hands explore, mapping familiar territory like it’s the first time. His lips find your shoulder, pressing reverent kisses along your collarbone, down to the delicate strap of your nightgown.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, and the way he says it—like it’s the most obvious truth in the world—makes your cheeks burn.

“Suguru—”

His fingers trail up your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your gown, teasing, but never quite enough. You arch into his touch, impatient, needy. He chuckles, dark and full of promise.

“Tell me what you want, love.” His voice is a whisper against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You,” you breathe, hands gripping his arms, nails digging in just enough to leave faint marks.

Suguru grins, slow and wicked. “Then let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower.

And in the quiet glow of the morning, he does—until you’re breathless, undone, and utterly his.

————

The soft light of dawn spills over the two of you, casting golden shadows across Suguru’s skin as he moves between your thighs, his touch reverent yet demanding. His fingers trail along your bare thigh, his gaze dark with a mixture of love and something deeper—something primal.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your throat. His hands slide up your sides, pushing the delicate fabric of your nightgown up inch by inch, exposing more of your skin to the cool morning air.

Your breath hitches when his fingers skim the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing, coaxing. He’s taking his time, savoring every reaction, the way your body trembles under his touch.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your fingers gripping his shoulders, needing more, needing him.

He hums against your skin, his lips curving into a teasing smile. “Impatient?” His voice is thick with amusement, but there’s an edge to it—a hunger barely restrained.

You arch against him, the warmth of his body pressing between your legs, the heat of his breath ghosting over your collarbone. “You’re teasing,” you murmur, half-lidded eyes meeting his.

Suguru chuckles, dark and velvety. “I just love watching you like this,” he admits, his hand finally slipping between your thighs, fingers tracing over the thin fabric covering your growing heat. The sensation is maddening—just enough to make you shudder, not enough to satisfy.

You whimper, tilting your hips into his touch, desperate for more. He groans softly at the sound, his restraint slipping as he hooks his fingers under the fabric, dragging it down slowly. His lips never leave your skin, trailing lower, pressing kisses down your stomach as his hands part your thighs.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with reverence as he settles between your legs. His fingers glide over your heat, spreading your desire with slow, deliberate strokes, watching the way you react to him.

“You’re always so responsive,” he whispers against your thigh, his breath warm, teasing. “So beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

A soft moan escapes you as his fingers slide deeper, his pace agonizingly slow, deliberate. Suguru watches you with hooded eyes, taking in every gasp, every arch of your body as he builds you up, his movements confident, practiced, worshipful.

The morning air is thick with heat, the quiet sounds of your pleasure mingling with his deep groans as he works you to the edge. His name falls from your lips in a breathless plea, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, silently begging for more.

Suguru obliges, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue tracing sinful patterns against your sensitive flesh. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach as he devours you with slow, deliberate strokes, savoring every reaction.

“Let go for me,” he murmurs against you, voice filled with devotion, need.

And when you finally do, your body trembling beneath his touch, he holds you close, whispering soft praises against your skin.

Even after your breathing evens out, Suguru doesn’t move away. He presses lingering kisses against your thighs, his hands tracing gentle circles over your hips, grounding you. His gaze finds yours, dark and adoring.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispers, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.

You laugh breathlessly, pulling him up for a deep, languid kiss. “Best morning ever.”

Suguru chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, his warmth enveloping you completely. “And we’re just getting started.”

————

The remnants of pleasure still linger in your body, the warmth of Suguru’s touch imprinted on your skin. He’s still wrapped around you, his lips ghosting soft kisses along your shoulder, his breathing steady, deep.

The morning light has shifted, golden hues softening into something gentler, filtering through the shoji doors, painting his bare skin in a warm glow. You sigh, tracing your fingers along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his morning stubble.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, eyes still closed, but there’s a lazy smirk on his lips.

You hum, brushing back a stray strand of his dark hair. “You’re beautiful,” you say softly, running your fingers down his spine, relishing the way his muscles shift beneath your touch.

His eyes finally open, dark and molten, filled with something that makes your stomach flip. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips, slow and languid, before murmuring, “You must be tired, love. I should carry you back to bed.”

You laugh, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I think I like it right here.”

Suguru chuckles, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips before finally pulling away—just enough to slide his hands beneath your thighs and lift you with ease. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you effortlessly toward the bedroom.

“You spoil me,” you tease, nuzzling against his neck.

He huffs a soft laugh, his grip tightening. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

When he sets you down, he climbs in beside you, pulling you against his chest. His hands are warm as they roam your back, soothing, grounding. You sigh into his touch, completely content.

After a long moment of silence, he murmurs, “I love you.”

The words are soft, but there’s a weight to them, a depth that makes your chest tighten. You tilt your head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, then finally his lips. “I love you too. More than anything.”

He exhales, like he’s been waiting to hear it all over again, even though you say it every day. His grip on you tightens for a second before he relaxes, pure contentment written all over his face.

After a while, you feel his stomach rumble against your hand, making you giggle.

“Someone’s hungry,” you tease.

Suguru groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I got too distracted to eat,” he admits, smirking down at you. “Your fault.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Before you can move, Suguru tightens his arms around you. “Nope. I’ll do it.” He kisses your forehead before slipping out of bed, stretching his arms above his head.

You watch him as he walks back to the kitchen, wearing only his loose pants, his broad shoulders flexing with every movement. You smile to yourself, feeling that familiar warmth swell in your chest—pure, unwavering love.

By the time you join him, he’s already preparing food, hair tied back, humming softly to himself. The sight makes your heart ache in the best way.

You wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. “Marrying you was the best decision of my life,” you murmur.

Suguru turns in your embrace, cupping your face in his hands, his eyes filled with something so tender it makes your breath catch. “Marrying you was the easiest decision of mine.”

He kisses you again, slow and sweet, like a promise.

And as you spend the rest of the morning cooking together, stealing kisses between bites, laughing as he tries to feed you first, you realize—this is what love is.

This is home.

[storiesfromafan]

The Jock - Wally x Reader

A/N: @blogblogblog437 had said they wanted more, so I managed came up with another one-shot...😊

Warning/s: fluff, Wally being adorable, possible spelling/grammar mistakes

Previous: Princess

Wally lived – figure of speech – for football. The brotherhood, the rush, the way his mind would clear when out on the field. Football was the one thing he had done religiously, but it was also part of his death.

Mr Martin had tried to help him through the death aspect of it. Embrace the positives of it. So that’s why Wally did anything football, training or games.

You on the other hand, hardly cared for sports. On the occasion going – when you remembered –  to training or games. But mostly going to see him in those short shorts, and maybe shirtless at training. And those tight pants on game nights, couldn’t forget that. The last few training day's he had opted for no top, and you thanked whoever was listening for that.

To you, he was the stereotypical 80s jock aesthetic. And you didn’t hate it. Not at all. 80s guys were more manly, while the 90s guy were pretty boys. Not to say Wally wasn’t pretty, for he definitely was. But he was just better than those from your era.

You sat in the stadium, just a few rows up on a bench. One leg propped up on the bench, its partner on the floor. You rested your weight on your arm, which hand was on the bench next to you. Through the white framed sunglasses, you watched the living football players on the field, along with a hyperactive Wally, and a few other ghosts.

You were softly laughing at that golden retriever on the field. The way he moved around the living and ghosts, words aggressively falling from his mouth in support and encouragement, though the living couldn’t hear him.  Put a tail on Wally and it would be wagging furiously. And it made you feel joy, happiness. Not to mention the warm fuzzies when he looks up at the seating.

There was a one in three chance he was looking at you, as both Charley and Mr Martin were here. Would have been four, but Rhonda dipped early on. Unable to watch Wally be macho Wally.

You on the other hand, was eating it up. But trying to keep it low key. Until his top came off, gold chain catching in the light as it rested against his skin, then you were sitting up straight. Looking over the top of your sunglasses. It felt like your jaw was on the ground, by how agape your mouth was.

“You better close that mouth...unless you want to catch flies" called Charley in amusement, sitting a couple more rows up above you.

You closed your mouth, and swallowed the lump in your throat. You could hear Charley laugh, as he went back to writing whatever he was in that notebook of his.

You could feel your face warm up. And with it possibly a pink tinge to your cheeks. Rising to your feet, you straightened your hounds tooth shorts, before grabbing your jacket and moving down the stairs.

You had just stepped onto the ground, when a football came bouncing and rolling over by your feet.

“A little help!” Wally called from the field, a smirk on his face.

You looked to him, noting he had thrown the ball over to you on purpose. And you knew it was to stop you leaving. Which meant he had been keeping an eye on you.

With a dramatic huff, you hung your jacket over the railing behind you. Casually you moved over to the ball, pointing down at it. Which Wally laughed and nodded his head.

Nodding your head, you picked it up. “Take it, it got away from you?” You called back.

His laughter got louder. “Yeah, something like that...throw it back?” And he held up his hands, ready to catch it.

You laughed. “I’m not good at throwing...”

Now it was Wally who dramatically sighed. “You can’t be that bad!”

I laughed. “Oh, I’m pretty bad" you stated, clutching the ball in your fingertips.

“You have to hold it firmly, not like that" he chuckled.

You placed your palms to the ball, feeling it against your skin. Looking back to Wally, who was making gestures to him. Which was to encourage you to throw the ball.

Taking the football in one hand, you drew back that arm before throwing, releasing the ball. Which flew in the air, and fell way too short for either of your liking. It landed just over half way between you both.

Wally blinked, before shooting you that bright smile as he jogged over to the ball. All you could do was enjoy the sight of his naked chest. He scooped it up before continuing to jog over to you. Completely surprising you.

“You weren’t lying about not being that good at throwing" he chuckled.

You looked away, flustered by his playful words. Not to mention seeing his chest and that gold chain – that you wanted to hold with a finger and pull him in for a kiss.

“S-shut it" you stuttered.

Wally laughed at how cute you were. His princess was just so adorable, and he was going to teach you how to throw. So holding out the ball in front of you, he slipped around behind you.

“Take the ball” Wally instructed picking up your hand and put the ball in it. “There. Now to prepare for the throw...”

He moved your arm around till he was happy and had you in the right throwing position. The feel of the back of your hand to his palm, it made his heart beat faster.

You on the other hand, were holding your breath – even if ghosts don’t technically breath. The feel of his hand on yours, his chest brushing your back. Your heart skipped a beat when he did step closer, finally pressed against you as he moved your arm further back.

“Now...we throw!” Wally said in a husky voice, it bringing a chill down your spine.

With those words, Wally moved your hand forward, enough momentum. It was really all him, just using your hand and arm like a holder. As your arm came forward you managed to release the ball. It flew off to the field, almost to where Wally had been standing.

You blinked and then beamed, forgetting Wally was pressed up against you and still holding your hand.

“Oh my gosh!” You gushed. “I-I did it!”

Wally laughed. “With my help Princess".

That was the moment you realised how close the two of you were, and his hold. You felt your face warm up, no doubt a pink tinged to your cheeks again. And after a moment did Wally catch on to, for he quickly released your hand, and stepped back from you with a cough. His face warming up too.

“Princess?” Came a laughing voice from the stairs to the stadium seating.

You and Wally turned, to see Charley making his way down to you both. Having had his fill of writing for the moment. His question had you both blushing harder.

Wally rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah...”

Charley looked between you both. “You’re calling her Princess now? Thought that was a name you call her when talking to Rhonda and me?” He sounded surprised.

You both went red. Like bright red. You looked away, finding the players training on the field more interesting. Wally scratched his head, awkward smile on his cute face.

“Ah...w-well” – clears his throat – “I-I’m calling her Princess now...” Wally responded awkwardly, a little all over the place.

“Oh, so she’s Princess now, huh?” Rhonda asked walking over, lollipop in hand. “Quite the development”.

Wally looked between both his friends, floundering. His eyes wide, sputtering noises. You on the other hand, were biting your bottom lip, trying to act like you weren’t there.

Rhonda walked past you, bumping you quite harshly, resulting with you falling into Wally. Who didn’t hesitate to catch you.

“Come on Charley, we’re needed else where" smirked Rhonda, dragging off the other male.

Your back was pressed to Wally's chest, his arms around you. You could smell the faint smell of what would have been his aftershave. And for Wally, he could smell the flowery, citrus perfume you once bathed in.

“Got you Princess" Wally whispered in your ear. His breath tickling your ear.

A shiver ran down your spine, which Wally felt. He held you closer, concerned for you.

“You alright Princess?” His concerned voice melting your heart.

You nodded. “Ah, y-yeah...” you sighed. Heart beating rapidly in your chest.

Wally chuckled, his nerves wearing off hearing the stutter in your voice. He moved you to stand up straight, turning you to face him. The warm, sweet smile on his face just making you melt more. Those gorgeous eyes of his looking over your face, before stopping at the side of your face.

Shakily Wally brought up his hand and pushed back your hair behind your ear. His smile growing wider at his handy work.

“Much better, can’t hide that pretty face, Princess" his said with that sweet voice, and shooting you a wink.

A blush crossed your face, that strong girly pop - Rhonda's words – could easily become a puddle of goo for this guy.

You swallowed, for the Princess was falling hopelessly for the jock.

[palelaboratory]

okay so i saw you liked the s.t.a.r.s era post too (it broke my heart honestly) and i have a request/inspo for a fic ??? jill and reader who is also a s.t.a.r.s member in that era. driving back home together while listening to the cranberries, slow days in the office and leaning over others shoulder to helping them win at solitaire on windows nt, fools in love trying to hide their relationship because its the 90s, more jill in her beret i love it so much 😭

thats my thoughts on the post that occupies my brain rn 🩷

۶ৎ Thank you tons for the request anon 💋 I believe it's the same pink heart anon, I love your idea so much. No one can resist lil beret Jill during her STARS years.

۶ৎ I also have been thinkin of what Jill would do in her free time in her lil apartment or just anywhere in Raccoon City. The pictures on her board just tells it all. I guess this is a sign.

۶ৎ Note; S.T.A.R.S era (1996 - 1998), this makes Jill 22 to 24 years old. I'll exclude 1998 because that was when the Mansion Incident happened. Jill will obviously be a little more lively. She was just a girl too. Capcom seriously needs to give us more Jill.

۶ৎ Any form of interaction is highly appreciated, thank you mwah.

The only star I see | S.T.A.R.S Jill Valentine x female reader

Being the only two women in S.T.A.R.S. meant you were wrapped around each other’s fingers. Although not from the start, it was a quiet battle for dominance, both of you vying for each other’s attention without even realizing it. A little too competitive, a little too jealous whenever one of you spent more time with the guys, more than you did with each other.

Now, it was always the two of you against the boys, picking apart their habits, making fun of the way they carried themselves, sharing quiet laughter behind their backs. In a world that rarely made space for you, you carved one out together.

You taught her combat, guiding her movements with steady hands. While she taught you lock-picking and bomb disposal, her delicate fingers demonstrating every intricate motion. You handled her carefully, afraid of hurting her, while she urged you not to hold back, craving more of your touch, more of your time. Fingers intertwined, lingering a little too long. The more she tried to help, the more you seemed to need it, until neither of you were sure if it was still about learning or just an excuse to stay close.

“C’mon, let’s go to my desk.”

She guides you over, letting you settle into her chair before angling the lamp toward the rusted old lock you’ve been practicing on. The glow casts a halo around her as she bends down, her breath warm against your cheek.

“Oh my, I have competition,” She teases, her voice laced with amusement, face inches from yours as she hovers over your back.

She gives away her top-secret tricks, not just to teach, but to be closer, her fingers ghosting over yours, her soft breasts pressing lightly against your uniform. And of course you play along, pretending to be utterly absorbed in the lock when really, you just want to stretch this moment forever.

All in that blue tube top that you chose for her months ago, the one which she kept wearing over and over again, despite your constant teasing.

"Should I get this, or... this?"

"The blue one, matches your eyes."

"That's pretty lame." Putting back the white one while you weren't looking moments later.

"I think I'll wear blue for a change, it's a pretty shade."

Jill with her unshakable sense of self, looking in the mirror for the tenth time as she adjusts her black mini skirt, pacing her apartment, checking her makeup, smoothing a wrinkle that isn't even there, before meeting up with the crew at the bar. Barely sparing the guys more than a quick "hey" before striding straight to you, as cool and chic ever. That calm, knowing smile playing on her lips, somewhere between I know I’m gorgeous and Well? How do I look?

Of course, you pick up on it instantly. Who knows her better than you, right?

"New blush?"

"No..."

"..."

"I really spent $59 on this lipstick for nothing."

Well, who could blame you, she was blushing like crazy for gosh knows why.

And though you sat next to each other, it was never just that.

The intentional stares, the fleeting moments of jealousy whenever one of the guys managed to steal your attention, even if just for a second. As if your bond wasn't already enough, stars of greed, and lust. The two of you, passive-aggressively vying to pull each other back in, scooting closer, asking pointless questions just to force the other to look your way. Shooting subtle (or not-so-subtle) death glares at the guys, neither of you realizing the other was doing the same.

Jill "helping" to tug your skirt down whenever you shifted too much, her touch lingering just a little longer than necessary. You fixing her lipstick in the bathroom, fingers steady against her jaw, until she smirks and offers to do the same.

"Just trust me... and can you please stop moving around?" Her shaking her head at you in disbelief as she holds your waist in place. You shouldn't have had that last drink, you uselessly thought, as your gaze drifts helplessly to her lips. Pretty and tinted, her lips deepened under the dim red glow of the bathroom lights.

She holds your chin, her touch both gentle and commanding, taking an excruciatingly slow time to apply the lipstick. Dragging it over your lips like she’s savouring every second. Like she’s preparing her own dessert.

"The girls are in their own world huh."

"Always are."

A world just for the two of you, locked away from prying eyes. Stolen glances across the office, the silent thrill of knowing what no one else does. A quick pucker of the lips when no one's looking, the playful game of hiding each other’s berets, the quick glance up, instinctive now that you've long since memorized the sound of each other's combat boots, the quiet ache in your chests whenever you’re both dispatched to different locations. Sneaking onto each other’s computers to play solitaire and chess, only to swiftly close the screen and scurry away the second Wesker walks in.

"Maybe move the knight to C3 and- Wesker."

"Shit."

The careful facade you both uphold, the restraint, the professionalism, until you’re finally alone.

Tight embraces, desperate kisses the moment you step through her apartment door, Jill pushing away the boxes on her bed, drowning in each other's overflowing warmth, drawing her in, unlocking each other’s fragile secrets, her lessons were definitely useful after all.

The two of you taking in the other as much as you can, buying silly stickers for each other, although it became more like a silent rebellion rather than just a hobby anymore. Wearing each other’s perfume, as if carrying a piece of the other even on the most dangerous missions. Staying up too late, chasing the night just to steal a little more time together, wearing your dark circles the morning after like badges of honour, paying the price with every scolding from Wesker.

In Raccoon City, where the noise tries to swallow you whole, you embrace each other's silence, presence in itself. In a world that threatens to dim your light, you are the only stars in each other’s sky.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 35: Writ in Flame

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ [Meant For Mature Audience]

Astarion’s weight pins you to the mattress, his body still moulded to yours, a perfect echo of the passion that had consumed you. His skin had been warm beneath your hands, slick with sweat, his mouth a ghost upon your lips. Even now, the phantom of his kiss lingers, a whisper-soft thing that does not comfort.

The song is quiet now, no longer a screaming, writhing thing—it hums low in your skull, toothless, harmless. For one beautiful, trembling moment, you believe it is gone.

Your limbs are leaden, steeped in the afterglow of indulgence, of surrender, of something warm instead of cold. You could lie here forever, tangled in him, in this, in the fragile illusion of peace. But then a voice, quiet and insidious, curls through the cracks of your mind like creeping frost.

You burned him.

Your breath stutters and your stomach turns to ice. You burned him.

Your eyes snap open.

He is still there, still pressed against you—but wrong. Blackened. Charred. A brittle husk that clings to the shape of him, delicate as scorched paper. The slithering tendrils of hellfire still linger, pale and whisper-thin, curling over his ribs, his throat, the curve of his cheek where your hand had just been. You know if you move—if you even breathe—he will crumble to dust in your arms.

A strangled sound claws its way up your throat, but you choke it back. Even a sigh could take him from you. You clutch him tighter as if you could will him whole again as if you could force his body to hold together beneath your hands. But his skin—no, not his skin, not anymore—flakes beneath your touch, the first soft embers of him drifting down onto your face.

It does not feel like ash. It feels like perverted dew, like the soft mist of a ruined morning.

His eyes—gods, his eyes.

Once, you had seen them alight with fury, amusement, and love. Crimson so bright it burned. But now, they are dead. Grey. Empty.

Gone.

A broken sob tears from your throat the sound is a death knell, and his body—his body—begins to fall apart in your arms. You do not dare move. You do not dare breathe. But the wind does not need your permission to carry him away, and you, helpless beneath the weight of what you have done, can do nothing but watch.

The moment your mouth opens, his name caught in the raw ache of your throat, he begins to fall apart. The first flakes of him drift down like the remains of burnt parchment, soft and slow, clinging to your lips, lashes, and trembling fingers as if trying to leave some final trace of him behind. There is no warmth in it, no tenderness, no part of him left to hold onto.

You try anyway.

Your hands press against his hollowed ribs, cradling what remains of him, but your touch is ruinous. The moment your fingers tighten, his bones collapse into dust, his form unravelling and slipping through your arms.

Astarion—your Astarion—who had grinned against your skin, who had laughed, loved and lived—is nothing but ash now, his body streaking your skin in shades of grey and loss.

Your breath is shallow, trembling, and you want desperately to believe—need to believe—that this is not real, that he will stir, press his mouth to your temple, and whisper in that lilting voice that could build poems out of syllables that you are being ridiculous.

But the weight of him is gone. The bed is empty.

You are alone.

You do not feel yourself tip forward, do not feel the way your body folds over the pile of ruin left behind. All you know is the taste of ash on your tongue and the unrelenting silence that settles over the space where his voice used to play.

“No.”

Your voice startles you—high, broken, pleading. Your hands claw at the remnants of him, trying to gather him up, trying to pull him back together.

“Please, no.”

The words cry from your lips in a desperate, frantic chant, a prayer with no god to answer. A soul-crushing wail rends through your chest, and your arms shake as you gather what is left of the man you love, trying to hold him in your tremulous hands once more. You cannot feel him in the dust, cannot find him in the blackened remnants that paint your palms. He is slipping from you, scattering into nothing, and there is nothing you can do.

Your vision blurs, throat burning, lungs heaving as you pull in a ragged breath and fucking scream. "Please! Please, stay!”

The words are frantic, the plea wild with grief. You do not care if it is foolish: do not care if it will change nothing.

“I am sorry! I did not mean to—I did not—please, come back!”

The wind does not heed your cries. It only stirs the ashes, sweeping them away from you and, with them, him.

You reach for him anyway; hands outstretched, fingers closing around the empty air where he once was.

But he is gone.

He is gone.

And it is your fault.

It is your last hope, your last card to play, so you play it without regret. “Asmodeus!"

And you are—

—shaken.

Firm, unrelenting hands clutch your shoulders, dragging you from the abyss, pulling you from the darkness that clings to the edges of your mind like oil.

“Illyria.”

The voice is a distant thing at first, muffled beneath the weight of your sobbing cries for the only being that might be able to undo what you’ve done, but then it is there again—clearer, sharper, and urgent.

“Illyria!”

Your eyes jerk open, breath stuttering. The world seems to careen, shifting and tilting. You expect to find yourself in ruin, to find your skin streaked in his ashes remains, but instead, molten ruby eyes, wide and worried, inches from your face.

You are still screaming his name over and over, like you cannot stop. He takes your hand, pressing your palm to his chest. Once you feel the steady thrum and hear the familiar beat, the sound collapses in your throat, unravelling into a sob. You lurch forward and cling to him, to the weight of him, to the unshaken solidity of his body beneath your fingers.

He does not turn to ash. He does not break.

Astarion is alive.

You did not burn him.

Something or someone cackles in your mind. It does not sound like your voice, and it is not the insidious whisper of the song.

There is a cost, sorceress. It reminds you with a menacing bellow of laughter.

You may not have burned Astarion, but you did burn someone, didn’t you? Yes. A creature of this place, some pitiful fool who had dared to raise a hand, to sneer, to think he had any power over you. You barely recall his face, his voice—only the way he screamed so exquisitely as your flames devoured him.

And the way it felt.

Your fingers twitch. A spark dances along the nerves in your hands, but it is not fire. It is something else. A static hum, a phantom pulse, a pressure building in your chest where a heart should beat.

Did you do this? Did you bring the song into yourself, or did it sink its teeth into you the moment you burned that creature to cinders? The memory is fragmented, shattered—pieces out of order, details melting through the cracks. You don’t remember coming back to the inn. You don’t remember walking, speaking, or stripping yourself bare. You don’t remember touching him, pulling him close, or needing him with a desperation that feels foreign now.

All you remember is the fire. It still lingers in your veins, simmering across your nerves, begging to be used. Your fingers dig into Astarion just a little tighter, and in turn, he tightens his hold around you.

It had felt…. Good.

A slow shudder rolls down your spine, shame’s cold fingers curling around your throat. You should not have liked it as much as you do. You should not want to feel it again.

You can still taste it—that intoxicating surge of power. Not just magic slipping free from your grasp in a desperate bid for survival, but a force that felt more like a birthright than a burden. It had filled the hollow places inside you, chasing away the lingering tendrils of fear that have clung to you for so long.

You had not been weak. You had not been running, clawing for survival, waiting for the next cruel twist of fate to crush you beneath its weight.

You had burned.

And you had won.

The thought should disgust you. It does. But it does not stop the ache beneath your ribs, the quiet, insidious longing that tangles itself in the deepest parts of you, whispering its promises.

If you reached for that power again, would you feel it once more? That freedom? That terrible, wonderful strength?

You do not want to be weak anymore, and you do not want to be afraid.

You want—

You want—

Astarion shifts in your arms, his fingers tightening in your hair, and the tremor of his touch shatters the thought before it can fully form. “Sweetheart, you are here. I am here.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You do not want to look at him, do not want him to see whatever war is written across your face.

Because you do not know what frightens you more.

That you burned someone.

Or that a part of you is desperate to do it again.

Astarion's head jerks up so fast that you barely register the movement before his arms tighten around you, his entire body going rigid. His stillness is unnatural, the kind that only comes with something predatory—listening, feeling, knowing. Then, in a flurry of motion, he drags you up with him. The moment your feet hit the floor, his hands leave you, reaching instead for the dagger at his belt, the one he slides between his teeth as he frantically starts to dress.

You do not need to ask what is wrong. The answer is already pressing against your mind, bleeding in through the bond—hunting, footsteps, the slow, inevitable closing of a net. You cannot hear them yet, not like he can, but you feel it through him. 

The pursuit. The shapes are moving in the dark—the weight of unseen eyes.

You dress quickly, shoving your arms into your robe and yanking your boots on. Your fingers move fast, almost too fast, as you scoop up everything you have gathered, everything you might need, and shove it into your pack. 

Astarion is moving just as swiftly, though there is something wild about him—his motions are sharp, nigh on frantic. His hands shake once as he fastens his belt, a flicker of something barely restrained beneath the urgency.

"We need to move," he hisses, his voice commanding and low. "Now. Before they have us cornered.”

You nod, glancing toward the exit. The streets of Abriymoch are a danger of their own—flooded with devils and infernal creatures, all bound by contracts you cannot predict. But you know what is behind you and would rather take your chances with the unknown.

"We need to get to the Styx," you remark, voice steadier than you feel. "If we can reach Charon, he can get us to Cania."

Astarion is already two steps ahead, pulling the hood of his cloak up and slinging his pack over one shoulder. "We go unseen. If they catch us, we do not fight unless we must. We cannot waste our strength—not here.”

You nod, shifting your hood up. With both of you succumbing to the song’s embrace, an alteration could spell disaster. If you both fall into its arms, will you ever be able to pry yourself from its clutches? Would you even want to?

The space between now and escape is filled with uncertainty, but one thing is clear—if you hesitate, you die. Astarion turns toward the door, fingers hovering over the handle, his breath a quiet, measured thing in the dark. Without a word, he opens it, and you slip into the night.

Astarion guides you through the darkened alleys. The city is alive with the distant sounds of shifting stone and the guttural growls of unseen fiends. You can feel the pursuit in the tautness of his muscles, in the way his head tilts slightly, tracking movements you cannot yet perceive. He halts in a small alcove, pressing you against the jagged obsidian of a ruined wall.

"Hold onto me," he commands, arms outstretched, his voice low but sharp.

You blink at him. "Astarion, I can—"

His frustration ripples through the bond before he cuts you off with a quiet hiss. "Oh, my dear, we truly do not have time for one of our little debates. I am faster, I am quieter, and your stealth is abysmal. Do not look at me like that; you know it is true." His smirk is fleeting, meant to ease the tension even as his crimson eyes remain alert. "Now, unless you wish to be swarmed by devils, do as I say.”

You swallow any further protest, knowing he is right. Reluctantly, you move closer, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he lifts you effortlessly, holding you against him with one arm as the other remains free to keep his balance. The moment he begins to move, you understand why he insisted. His footfalls are silent, his movements fluid, slipping through the city like a shadow-given form.

The streets are eerily empty. You tighten your hold on him, burying your face against his shoulder as he darts between ruined structures and through half-collapsed corridors, his unnatural grace keeping you just ahead of the unseen hunters. Occasionally, you reach out with your magic, cloaking you both in invisibility when needed, though the strain begins to creep in the longer you hold the spell.

A loose piece of rubble shifts beneath Astarion’s boot, clattering loudly in the oppressive silence.

“Shit,” Astarion curses.

A roar sounds in the distance and the air crackles with infernal energy.

Without hesitation, he moves in a blur, ducking into the remains of a ruined temple and pressing you both into the shadows as guttering torches approach. He angles his body over yours, shielding you as armoured figures pass mere feet from your hiding place. The scent of brimstone fills the air, the temperature rising as they linger, speaking in guttural Infernal.

One of them turns, and Astarion’s grip tightens, a dagger already poised in his free hand. For a moment, you are certain they have found you, and the Weave glows steadily on your fingertips, just concealed inside the sleeve of your robe.

A distant clatter from another alley draws their attention, and with a snarl, they move away, vanishing down the winding streets. Astarion exhales a breath you did not realize he was holding.

He waits a beat longer before shifting, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers, "We need to keep moving."

The docks stretch before you, the Styx a churning mass of dark, lifeless water lapping at the shore. You think, for the briefest moment, that you have made it, that you have outrun them.

Astarion is already looking at you, his breath shallow from the exertion of the escape. "How do you call Charon?"

"Summon a werewolf and toss it in.”

Astarion's brows knit together in something close to exasperation before he closes his eyes, fingers twitching as if preparing to weave the familiar dark magic. A moment stretches. Then another.

Nothing happens.

He opens his eyes, frowning. "I... I do not remember how to do that."

A hollow sensation spreads through your chest. "What about a bat? A ghoul? Anything?"

He shakes his head once. His lips part as though to protest, to insist he must know, but you can already see it in his face. The struggle, disbelief turned grim.

You stare at him, and for a fleeting moment, there is a quiet sadness that cuts deeper than panic ever could. He has lost something—another piece of himself to the Ascension.

Casting a glance at the crimson tide, you remark, "We need to disturb the water. It will bring him."

You both know the cost. Neither of you can risk touching the Styx, not even a drop. One mistake, and you could forget everything. Your name. His name. Your purpose. Your love. Your mind races, but for a terrible moment, all you find is silence. No solution. No way out. Just the weight of the past hunting you down and the river at your back, uncaring and waiting.

The momentary silence by the river is deceptive. The water of the Styx ripples sluggishly, heavy with ancient memory and oblivion, but behind you, the city still haunts. You hear it in the distant thunder of hooves and the whisper of wings against smoke-thick skies.

And then—movement.

Astarion reacts a second before you do, twisting with inhuman grace as the barbed devil lunges from the shadows. Spines like serrated daggers gleam in the infernal light, its snarling maw split wide in a grotesque, fanged grin. A spined tail whips toward Astarion’s throat, but he’s already moving, daggers flashing as he sidesteps the attack and rakes steel across the devil’s exposed side.

You don’t have time to think. Another shape is descending from above, talons outstretched. You fling a hand up, raw instinct and magic surging together, and the air shimmers as Mirror Image takes hold. Three spectral illusions of Astarion flicker into existence around him, darting in sync with his movements—just in time. The airborne barbed devil crashes down with a snarl, striking through one of the false images, which dissipates in a swirl of mist.

“Web,” Astarion’s voice hums in your mind.

A sweeping gesture, a twist of fingers, and thick, glistening strands erupt from the air around the devils, ensnaring them. One shrieks as its limbs are pinned, struggling against the bindings, but the other tears at the webbing, snarling.

You don’t have long.

Astarion moves in a blur, twin daggers slashing across the throat of the struggling devil. Black ichor spills hot over the docks, and the creature gurgles, falling to its knees before toppling lifelessly. But the second devil has already torn itself free, barbs bristling, and it whips its tail toward you.

You pivot, but not fast enough.

Pain lances through your side, sharp and burning, as the tail rakes across your ribs. Astarion’s fury flashes through your bond—blistering, dangerous. You feel the song in him rise—a discordant, shrieking pitch. His eyes flicker between their usual vivid crimson and then darker, duller, as though the very essence of him is being swallowed.

“Stay with me,” you snap through the bond, forcing clarity into your voice despite the pain. “Do not lose yourself now.”

For a moment, you don’t know if he hears you. His grip on his daggers tightens, his fangs bared in something close to a snarl. Then, just as suddenly, his breath hitches—and the crimson of his eyes brightens again, the song quieting to a controlled hum.

You don’t let the relief slow you down. With a sweep of your arm, you hurl a scorching ray straight at the remaining devil, catching it in the chest. It screeches, blackened flesh splitting as fire sears through it. Astarion takes the opening, lunging forward, daggers flashing in an intricate, deadly dance. He slams one deep into the devil’s throat, wrenching it free with a sickening tear. The creature gurgles, staggers—and finally collapses. For a second, the docks are quiet save for your ragged breaths. Then you hear it.

More hooves. More wings.

They’re coming.

The bodies at your feet reek of sulphur and blood, their barbed flesh still twitching in the aftershocks of death. The fight has left its mark—your arms throb with fresh wounds, and Astarion stands rigid beside you, his daggers slick with black ichor. The bond between you hums, frantic and electric, his tension feeding yours in an endless loop. You are both braced, waiting for more because there will be more. 

“We do not have time to linger, darling,” he urges.

You have always known that, but there is only one way forward. You extend a hand, fingers curling in the air, and with a pull of your will, one of the devils’ corpses lifts from the ground. Its limbs dangle, grotesque and useless, its barbed tail swaying like a broken whip. 

With a flick of your wrist, you hurl the corpse into the Styx. The moment it touches the water, the surface reacts. The black currents do not simply part; they convulse, surging in unnatural waves. Bubbles rise to the surface, thick and tar-like, bursting with the scent of decay. Something shifts beneath, vast and unseen. The river stirs as though disturbed from a deep, dreamless sleep, but nothing comes. 

Astarion steps closer, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab you and pull you away from the edge. His voice brushes against your mind, tense and sharp. "Why is it taking so long?"

You do not know. 

The hoofbeats are growing closer, galloping toward you in perfect unison. More than one. More than many. The shadows stretch long as they crest over the ruined buildings. Silhouettes in the gloom—taller, broader than the barbed devils you fought before—hellknights, perhaps, or something worse. 

Still, the Styx does not yield.

A low growl of frustration rises in Astarion’s throat. “We cannot fight all of them,” he sends through the bond, his mind a taut wire. “Not like this.”

The sky above darkens with the approaching wings cutting out the dim light of this cursed plane. You feel Astarion shift beside you, his grip adjusting on his daggers, and you know what he is thinking. If they do not stop coming, he will not stop fighting. If he does not stop fighting, he will lose himself. The song in his blood flares, a discordant, keening wail. You clench your jaw and prepare to move, to fight to do anything but stand there waiting for—

A deep, grating sound rumbles through the air, stopping you cold. It is not a roar. Not a growl. Not any sound that should exist in this world or the next. The Styx churns violently, sending a spray of dark water up the dock. The shadows deepen, blacker than black, swallowing the faint light of the plane whole. Then, at last, he emerges.

Charon.

The ferryman stands at the bow of his vessel, a towering, skeletal figure draped in tattered robes blacker than the void. His form is indistinct, as though he does not fully exist in this reality. His scythe gleams at his side, its edge slick with something darker than the Styx itself.

And all at once, the devils halt.

The hooves stop. The wings cease their endless beating. The approaching figures linger at the edges of the dock, wary and uncertain. Even the lesser ones, those who would have thrown themselves at you moments ago, shrink back, their instincts screaming at them to flee.

You swallow hard. The weight of Charon’s presence is unbearable, pressing down on you like the inevitability of death itself.

He does not speak. He does not have to.

You step forward, voice steady despite the way your hands tremble. “We need passage to Cania.”

The ferryman does not move, but you know he is listening. The air grows colder. The devils do not dare come closer. And you wait, praying that the Styx has not already claimed your fate.

“There is a cost.”

Of course there is.

“What do you want?”

He tilts his head, empty sockets peering into you. “A name.”

Astarion stiffens beside you. “You are not seriously considering—”

You ignore him. “Whose?”

The Ferryman does not blink, does not breathe. “Yours to offer.”

Astarion growls, but you speak before he can stop you. “Done.”

The Ferryman extends a bony hand, and you step forward, pressing your palm to his. The cold is immediate, deep, sinking into your bones. Something is taken from you—a tether to someone, somewhere, unravelling. You do not know who it was, only that they are lost to you now.

The Ferryman gestures to the boat. “Board.”

You do not hesitate.

Astarion is tense as he helps you onto the vessel. The moment you are both aboard, Charon pushes away from the dock. The devils do not follow. They merely watch as you drift into the darkness, their eyes smouldering with unspent wrath.

The journey is quiet, save for the creak of the old boat as it wades through the waters of the Styx. Sometimes, bubbles rise to the surface, forming shapes—skeletal heads, reaching hands. The wind carries mournful wails and whispers of the lost. You sit beside Astarion, exhaling shakily. His hands find yours, and for a moment, you simply exist in the fragile silence, feeling the weight of what you have done, of what is to come.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice softer than expected.

You nod, but he is not convinced. He scans you for wounds, fingers ghosting over torn fabric and bruised skin. You do the same for him, but he brushes your hands away, eyes narrowed at a cut on your arm that still seeps crimson.

“You are hurt.”

“So are you.”

He huffs. “Mine are inconsequential.”

You let him fuss, knowing it soothes him in a way. Then, when the silence stretches too long, you murmur, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For not losing yourself.”

Astarion’s expression darkens. He looks away, staring into the abyss that surrounds you. “It was close.”

If he had lost control, if he had become that other version of himself, you would not be sitting here now. When you face the archdevil— 

You shove the thought aside—problems for another day. The Styx stirs, and your gaze drifts across the shifting waters, the way they swallow all they touch, and unease curls in your gut.

Astarion speaks again; voice edged with something sharper than before. “Why were you screaming Asmodeus’s name?”

Your breath stills and your fingers twitch. You hadn’t realized you had been saying it out loud.

You try to deflect. “It was nothing.”

His eyes narrow. “No, it was not nothing.”

You turn your gaze away, but he leans in, refusing to let it go. “What are you not telling me?”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

My A03 where you can find more of my works, including this one.

Small Notes:

Special thank you to @alyssac9 for proofreading!

Sorry for the wait! Life has been lifing.

[heartz4levi]

ivan dacryphilia smut with dom reader? ❤️ i love ur works

episodic, visionary, hit it like on mission !

☆ thinking abt ivan + dacryphilia . . .

☆ ivan (alnst) ,, gn reader . . sub!ivan ,, dom!reader ,, handjob (ivan receiving) ,, dacryphilia ,, edging (ivan receiving) ,, reader is sadistic if you ask me ,, it took me literal hours to write this cause i kept getting distracted and i feel like i wrote a whole bunch of nothing? feast your eyes upon this.. i guess..

"aw, you cryin'?"

the honeyed tone of your voice was so sickeningly sweet that it only made ivan choke up even more.

here he was, thinking he was about to get a treat. you made him lean back, pressing his back against your chest while your arm snaked around his waist and began to palm at his cock. excitement immediately began to course through his veins and ivan was ready to have you make him feel good.

that was about an hour ago and he hasn't cum once. you've been stroking his cock in slow, tantalizing up and down motions since then, bringing one hand to his nipples and giving them a pinch or a tug from time to time. he has been on the verge of climaxing multiple times, and yet each time he leaned his head back on your shoulder and asked you if he could cum, you said no.

at first, ivan only huffed and puffed. he didn't go against your word though, no, he continued to lay there, all pliant in your arms and allowed you to bring him to the edge once more only to be pulled away, not pushed off.

when you denied him again, he started whining and almost considered turning the tables on you. almost. he ended up letting your antics slide one more time. then one more time, then one more time..

here he is now, with big tears rushing down his handsome face. his jaw clenched in response to your teasing remark, hips bucking upwards in search for even the smallest amount of friction he can get. he's lost count of how many times you've denied his requests to cum by now and, quite frankly, he can't handle it any longer.

"p–please," ivan sobs out. "let me cum, please! pleasepleasepl—"

ivan's words end up getting cut off the moment once your hand resumes its previous actions, no longer keeping your fingers idly wrapped around the base of his cock.

maybe you've finally decided to be good to him, ivan thinks, chest heaving as he feels another orgasm gradually building up. this is the fastest pace you have set yet and that piece of information only sends more blood down to ivan's dick, twitching in anticipation.

your free hand slides upwards, touch ghosting over the juncture in his collarbone before you get a firm hold on his neck. it's firm, but not constricting. you use it to push his head back, inching his face closer to yours. ivan's glossy eyes meet yours and the look he's giving you is the saddest, most desperate one you have ever seen.

it makes you wonder what'll happen to it if you don't give him a taste of mercy.

your warm lips come in contact with ivan's skin, tenderly kissing away the tears streaming down his cheeks as if you haven't been torturing him for about an hour now. in response, he leans into your touch, whimpering at the sudden display of affection. he really is acting like you don't shower him in it as often as you can.

"oh—fuck!" ivan gasps.

you can feel his body growing tense with each passing second. "i'm—'m cumming, hngh! 'm so so close, please let me cum, please.."

the coil in ivan's stomach tightens. it tightens a little more, then it feels like it's about to snap..

and then it's gone. you stopped. again. you didn't even say no first, you just put a halt to your movements — and to think that he begged so nicely for you! ivan thought he was on his best behavior, even if he was writhing a little bit! he let you kiss his tears away and everything.

your heart stings a little when ivan's eyes widen tenfold, surprise and disappointment swirling within them. it's as clear as day — his silent way of asking "why? why would you do that?" — but.. can you really be blamed?

ivan looks oh—so pretty with those pathetic tears tainting his scrunched up face. his pretty cock is leaking, weeping, and he keeps on begging you to let him cum once. you can't help it. you can't help but want to play with him, his cock and his feelings like this.

and you'll do it again, until you're satisfied or until ivan breaks.

[ruru195]

Canvas of color

The warm glow of the apartment lamps bathed the living room in soft light. Cuphead lay sprawled on the carpet, arms behind his head, as Bendy sat beside him, his tail swishing lazily while he dipped his brush into a mix of vibrant colors. The room smelled faintly of paint, and the only sound was the quiet strokes of the brush against Cuphead’s smooth ceramic skin.

Cuphead sighed in contentment, his eyes half-lidded as Bendy trailed his brush down his arm, leaving behind a swirl of blues, purples, and golden stars. “Y’know, I should let you do this more often,” he murmured, shifting slightly. “Feels nice.”

Bendy hummed, concentrating as he painted a tiny crescent moon near Cuphead’s wrist. “Told ya. Painting’s relaxing. And you—” he smirked, running the tip of the brush lightly along Cuphead’s ribs just to make him twitch— “are the perfect canvas.”

Cuphead let out a breathy laugh, flinching. “Bendy! That tickles, cut it out—”

“Oh? Does it now?” Bendy’s grin widened mischievously, his fingers hovering just above Cuphead’s sides.

Cuphead groaned dramatically. “If you start ticklin’ me, I’m dunkin’ your tail in the paint tray.”

Bendy snickered but relented, instead moving to Cuphead’s chest, smoothing out a constellation of golden stars across his collarbone with his fingertips. He took his time, running his hands over Cuphead’s body carefully, tracing the curves of his ceramic frame with gentle strokes.

Cuphead shivered—not from cold, but from something softer, something that made his heart beat just a little faster.

Bendy worked his way down, adding tiny doodles on Cuphead’s legs—little shooting stars, inky swirls, and delicate patterns. He painted a tiny smiling sun on one knee and a sleeping moon on the other, snickering to himself.

Cuphead cracked an eye open. “You laughin’ at somethin’?”

“Nah,” Bendy smirked, “just admiring my masterpiece.”

Cuphead huffed, shifting slightly as Bendy moved to his back. The ink demon carefully painted winding vines up his spine, little roses blooming between the curves of his shoulder blades. He traced each line with care, his fingers warm against the cool ceramic.

Cuphead sighed again, relaxing into the touch. "Y'know, you're gonna make me fall asleep like this."

Bendy grinned, dipping his brush into a soft shade of pink. “Not yet. Still gotta finish your face.”

Cuphead blinked, caught off guard. “My face?”

“Yup.”

Cuphead opened his mouth to protest, but Bendy was already leaning over him, gently tilting his chin. He painted a tiny heart on his cheek, the soft red standing out against his smooth ceramic skin. His touch was careful, deliberate, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. Cuphead found himself holding his breath, watching Bendy’s eyes flicker with quiet concentration.

Then, with a teasing smirk, Bendy added a few freckles of gold across Cuphead’s nose, his tail flicking playfully behind him. “There. Now you’re perfect.”

Cuphead blinked, feeling the warmth rise to his face. “Oh, so now I’m perfect?” he teased, tilting his head. “What was I before?”

Bendy leaned back on his heels, tapping his chin dramatically. “Mmm... still perfect. Just needed a little extra flair.”

Cuphead chuckled, shaking his head. He sat up slowly, careful not to smudge the still-drying paint. “You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?”

Bendy shrugged, setting his brush aside before grabbing a clean rag to wipe his ink-stained fingers. “Yeah, yeah. You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Cuphead didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over Bendy’s wrist before gently guiding his hand to his chest, right over the little golden stars Bendy had painted earlier.

“Nah,” Cuphead murmured, his voice softer now. “I like it.”

Bendy blinked, his usual smirk faltering for just a moment before something gentler took its place. His fingers curled slightly against Cuphead’s chest, feeling the faint warmth beneath the ceramic surface.

For a while, they just sat there, the apartment filled with nothing but the quiet hum of the city outside and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

Then Cuphead, always one to break the silence, smirked. “Y’know, with all this paint, I almost don’t wanna move.”

Bendy snorted. “Then don’t. Stay right there, lemme admire my work.”

Cuphead stretched out again, arms behind his head as he flashed a lazy grin. “Well, if you insist…”

Bendy rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his expression.

And as the night stretched on, with Cuphead covered in swirling galaxies and Bendy’s hands still stained with color, they both knew, this moment, this simple warmth between them, was its own kind of masterpiece.

[jazmeanb]

Uploading the WIP. Special thanks to @ave661 for their renders. I owe you my life (✿◦’ᴗ˘◦)♡

[screampied]

✩ㅤ cw. fem! reader, size difference, choking, size kinks, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, full nelson, mdni.

play fighting with suguru which later turns into him having you in a full nelson.

“awww, c’mon. don’t tap out on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs against the soft shell of your ear, hearing you sweetly gasp at the gaping barrage he creates with his thick cock. just a few moments ago—you were on top of him and now you were being stuffed full, legs dangling and weakly being held hostage while a beefy arm of his slings around your throat. your body collapses backward as you’re just idly bouncing on his lap, feeling each of his bulky muscles flex and twitch behind you. “biiiig stretch, fuck there we go. mhm, my baby’s all nice ‘n flexible.” he gruffs, peppering a few sultry kisses near the open curvature of your neck. you moan, feeling the secure grasp of his broad hands move from its original placement, gluing under the cracks of your thighs.

he’s got you in such a risqué position, your body continues to jostle against his, feeling his carved hard abs rub off against your skin. “ngh, suguru,” you squawk, and your hooded eyes peer down at yourself taking him in fully. his base had a pretty sheeny tan, resuming to pump in and out of you, already blissfully bottoming out. you felt him everywhere—and he’s just holding you upright with two burly arms, locking his arms under your plush pretty thighs. “ ‘m gonna cum again, fuck.”

with a husky snicker, he deepens his thrusts against you by moving his hands toward your rickety hips. a cunning simper spreads against his lips before he ghosts a few silvery slick fingers down your sopping wet slit. “well yeah, with a weak pussy like this, bet you are. you poor thing.”

your jaw couldn’t help but loosely hang itself open as he’s just ruthlessly lodged inside of your cunt, creeping a swollen fat thumb near your puffy hood to toy and flick with it some more.

his touch to you was like electricity, and you were very much on the verge of breaking. he was so thick — insanely thick, geto’s pearly poking crownhead mercilessly drags in and out of your pasty walls and you recognize the delicious curve of his dick all too well.

your moans grow even louder, so loud that it’s bouncing against the paper thin walls whilst the sharp slaps of skin create shivers all throughout your body. “fuck, more. put me in a chokehold, sugu.”

“dirty girl,” he grunts, his hefty base starting to slather up with sappy juices from your slick heat. a big brawny arm curls around your neck again and he presses a chaste kiss toward your cheek.

“my, you really shouldn’t say such things, y’know,” and as you’re still taking his cock, you feel his free hand grab near one of your breasts. he gives it a nice squeeze before focusing his attention back towards your neck, hearing your cute exasperated gasps. licking against your ear, he lowly whispers, making you slightly turn your neck to face his feral sly eyes. “i could just snap you in half if i really wanted to. all i gotta do ‘s jus add a little pressure like this ‘n . . my doll’s gonna be all broken and we can’t have that, huh.”

sweet sweet whimpers spill from your lips as his arm still remains wrapped around your throat. he makes sure it’s a safe hold, giving you a few frisky squeezes here and there just to hear you whine for more.

he’s so beefy. through your glossy doe peripherals, you could visibly see his veins pop out through his skin. you felt your pussy throb once you start to imagine all the times he goes to the gym alone, all the times he’s lifting weights.

if anything though, you wanted him to be lifting you instead.

“nothin’ to say? aw, pity,” his gravelly voice lowers, and you’re brought back to harsh reality once his palm swats against your ass. you bite down on your tongue in attempt to suppress your incoming lewd whimper but it still comes out. “fuck, always so warm f’ me, god,” and his grip against your neck loosens. the pits of your tummy tense and coil up as your clammy thighs continue to tweak and spasm from his sharp thrusts. so deep. every few seconds, he’d pull your legs up or drag them further apart just to hear you gasp.

you’re almost marveled by the fact that such an obscene position even exists. your legs could barely stand and if it wasn’t for the help of his hands, you’d be screwed.

“s- sugu—ah!” you whine, feeling his bulbous head ram its way against your convulsing g-spot. he knows that spot like the back of his hand, the cute bumpy texture that never fails to present himself around his angered tip. shaggy long tresses of black hair tickle near the nape of your neck as you fall back. “fuck fuck fuuuck,” you loudly snivel, digging your nails into his meaty thigh. once he hits it, he keeps hitting it until your cute voice strains itself out. he’s still practically got you folded as you’re trying to ride out your euphoric orgasm. the bed devastatingly dips inward from the crushing masses of weight piling on top of it.

“there we go, that’s my sloppy girl,” he coos in a raspy tone. geto’s pitching his voice against your ear as he speaks and oh, his words a mere raunchy whisper. he hears your talkative cunt squelch out, faint strings of syrupy slick forming a little plash around his weighty base. geto holds your hips firmly, showering the crook of your neck with a plethora of balmy kisses as your body ruts and shakes.

“good girl, listen to how nasty you always sound for me,” he hums, sneaking his stubby fingers back down towards your weeping wet cunt, maneuvering a few circles near your drooling slit. “i know, i know,” he talks over your enraptured shrills, and he then gives your pussy a patting spank. you moan, falling back against his sweaty chest and a trail of his curly chest hair titillates against the center of your back. “this is a lot more fun then wrestling, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“y- yeah,” you swallow, and he teasingly wraps a stocky bicep around your neck again. he’s still merrily buried inside of your gummy walls, feeling you writhe around his lap and he chuckles. you’re panting, full lungs desperately trying to gather up any amounts of air that it could before you exhale. “again, sugu.”

with a purring hum, he lifts you back up, trying to pull your leg over your shoulder. “hm, fine. but keep up. ‘m not gonna go easy on ya this time,” and he gives your dribbling sensitive clit another playful pat. “and ‘m certainly not gonna go easy on her either. but, i’ll try not to break you too bad this time princess, no promises.”

[kittysylus]

⋆˚࿔ told you so 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

-the LaDS men kissing you during an argument

୨ৎ── . Caleb

You walk fast—heels clicking against the pavement, every step fueled by the mix of anger and embarrassment boiling inside you. The crisp evening air nips at your cheeks, but it’s nothing compared to the heat rising from the mortifying scene Caleb just caused.

“Babe, wait! Please!” His voice is close behind, deep and breathless, but you don’t slow down.

You cross your arms tighter. “I told you to stop following me.” “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to—” His footsteps get louder as he catches up. “I just—he was way too close to you.”

You spin around so fast that he almost runs into you. “Too close? He was asking if I wanted coffee, Caleb!” you wave your hands in frustration, the image of your colleagues’ awkward stares still fresh.

He flinches but steps closer, towering over you, muscles tense beneath his hoodie. “I know. I messed up. I just…I hate the way guys look at you.”

You scoff and turn again, storming forward, but he’s right there, matching your pace. “Stop following me!”

“Not until you talk to me.”

You halt, shoulders tense. “And what should I tell you? That you’re an idiot?”

His lips twitch into the softest smile, like he’s grateful to even hear you insult him. “Whatever you want. I just miss your voice.”

You sigh, still looking at him with a harsh gaze. “Caleb—”

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, cutting you off.

You huff. “I was saying—”

Another kiss. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Stop kissing me when I’m—”

Peck.

“—trying to talk!”

A longer peck.

Your hands press against his chest, but it’s more to steady yourself than push him away. “It was just a colleague, Caleb. He wasn’t hitting on me.”

“I know…” he mumbles cradling your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones soothingly. “I overreacted.”

“You think?” you mutter sarcastically against his lips.

He chuckles, eyes full of that maddening mix of regret and adoration. “I just… I can’t help it. You’re mine.”

Your heart softens, just a little. You sigh, resting your forehead against his chest. “You have no reason to be jealous, you know I only have eyes for you.”

“And I for you.” he wraps his arms around you, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll bolt again. “I’m sorry. Really.”

Looking up, you shoot him a playful glare before letting a giggle escape your lips. “You’re such an idiot.”

His grin grows wider as he leans down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

୨ৎ── . Rafayel

You’re lying in bed, curled under the covers, warm and cozy—except for one glaring problem. The big light overhead is still on, shining down on you both like some relentless interrogation lamp.

“Can you turn it off?” you mumble, too comfortable to move.

Rafayel, with his head resting lazily on your chest, lets out a deep, dramatic sigh before slowly lifting his head to look at you. His tousled hair falls into his eyes and he gives you his best attempt at puppy eyes—big, soft, and just a little bit sulky. “Sweetheart,” he drawls, pouting, “I’m so comfy. And warm. And cozy next to you.” he emphasizes his point cuddling more into your side.

You snort, unimpressed. “Nice try, but I got up last time. It’s your turn.”

He groans, flopping onto his back like a starfish. “But I painted all day! My arms, my poor arms, they’re like noodles. I’m basically a ghost of a man now.” he throws an arm over his forehead for dramatic effect.

You roll your eyes, already used to his theatrics. “A ghost who’s fully capable of walking the five steps to the light switch.”

He turns his head toward you, mischief sparking in his tired eyes. Slowly, he crawls back over, propping himself up on one elbow. “What if…” he starts, voice low, “I give you a kiss?” his fingers gently tilt your chin up.

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you—soft and lingering, his lips warm against yours. When he pulls back, a cocky smirk tugs at his mouth. “That do it?”

You stare at him flatly. “I’m still not moving.”

His smile falters and he lets out another heavy sigh, before dramatically collapsing on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress as he spreads his arms and legs like a human blanket. “I’m too tired,” he mumbles against your collarbone. “This is it. I live here now.”

“Rafayel, you’re crushing me.”

“This is your punishment for not appreciating my kiss.”

You try to wiggle free but his arms tighten around you like a koala. “Seriously, we can’t sleep with the light on.”

“We’ll adapt,” he murmurs, already sounding half-asleep.

You both lay there, stubbornness thick in the air, neither willing to move. The soft hum of the lamp above is the only sound between your bickering breaths.

Minutes pass, your eyelids grow heavy, and eventually, you give in—not to turning off the light, but to the warmth of him sprawled over you, his steady breathing slowing. You sigh, before sleep takes over—both of you tangled together under the too-bright light, too stubborn and too in love to care.

୨ৎ── . Sylus

The wind whips through the street, biting at your skin, but you keep your chin high, refusing to shiver. Sylus strolls beside you, completely unfazed, his long white hair tousled by the gusts, red eyes practically glowing with amusement.

“Told you this would happen.” he says, his voice laced with smugness.

You glare at him from the corner of your eye. “Told me what?”

He gestures at your shivering jacket-less self. “That this would happen. You never listen to me. It was sunny for like five minutes, and you just—what? Thought winter vanished?”

You cross your arms, trying not to let your teeth chatter. “I’m perfectly fine.”

His grin widens. “Really? Because your lips are turning blue and you’re shaking.”

You scoff. “I already told you that I’m fine.”

Sylus lets out a low chuckle and begins to shrug off his thick coat, holding it out to you. “Here. Before you turn into an icicle.”

You eye the coat like it’s some sort of trap. “I don’t need it.”

“Seriously?” He raises an eyebrow. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“You’re literally freezing.”

“I’m not.” But the tremble in your voice betrays you. Worse, your lips start quivering, and you can’t stop them. Damn it.

Sylus’s teasing smile falters, his sharp eyes softening with concern. “Hey..” he murmurs, stepping closer. Without another word, he cups your cheeks, his hands warm against your icy skin, and leans down to kiss you.

His lips are soft and heated, chasing away the cold. You feel his hands glide down your arms, fingers brushing over the goosebumps before sliding around your waist. In one smooth motion, he pulls you tightly against him, wrapping his coat around the both of you. His scent—warm and familiar—envelops you as much as the fabric does.

You melt into his chest, feeling the warmth seep into your frozen limbs.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes filled with something softer now. “There. Better?”

You huff, but your cheeks are flushed—not just from the cold anymore. “You cheated.”

He smirks. “You’re warm now, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers clutch the fabric of his coat tighter. “...Yeah. Maybe.”

His grin returns, full force. “Told you so.”

୨ৎ── . Zayne

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Zayne munch on your cookie—the last cookie—the one you’d been dreaming about all afternoon. His green eyes widen when he notices you, mid-bite, like a deer caught in headlights, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

“Zayne.” Your voice is sharp, dripping with betrayal.

He freezes, cookie halfway to his mouth. “What?”

You gesture dramatically to the now-empty container on the counter, filled with nothing but sad little crumbs. “You ate my cookie. The one I saved. The one I was going to eat as a reward.”

He blinks, then swallows. “I…I’m sorry, I ate it without thinking.”

Groaning, you stomp out of the kitchen, leaving him behind with the offending crumbs. You flop onto the couch, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, an annoyed pout settling on your face. You hear his footsteps approaching, slow and hesitant.

“Love…” His voice is soft, like he knows he’s walking into dangerous territory. “There are still some brownies left, you want them?”

You don’t even look at him. “Not the point.”

He carefully steps closer, holding up an imaginary peace offering. “I can warm them up. They’re gooey. Chocolatey. Even better than a stupid cookie.”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you mutter, but the traitorous growl of your stomach echoes through the living room.

There’s a beat of silence. Then you notice it—Zayne biting back a smile.

“Really?” you snap, shooting him a glare.

He grins shamelessly, a little glint in his eyes. “How about this? I’ll bake you more cookies. Fresh ones. But…” He leans closer, voice dropping to a playful whisper. “it’ll cost you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Cost me?”

“One kiss,” he nods, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You’re about to roll your eyes when he doesn’t even wait for your answer. He dips down, catching your lips in a soft, warm kiss. It’s sweet—too sweet—and when he pulls back, you blink at him.

“You taste like chocolate.” Despite yourself, your annoyed pout melts into a reluctant smile. Maybe one kiss—and some fresh cookies—weren’t such a bad deal after all.

୨ৎ── . Xavier

You shift on the couch, curled up beside Xavier, who’s been glued to his phone for the past hour. His blue eyes are locked on the screen, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he scrolls through yet another dumb video.

“Hey,” you start, voice light. “do you wanna watch that movie I’ve been dying to see?”

No response—just the faint sound of whatever clip he’s watching. But you catch the slight curve of his lips, a tiny smile hidden behind his phone and you take that as a silent ‘yes’ to your question. Hopping off the couch, you stretch your arms briefly. “I’ll grab snacks. Can you search for the movie in the meantime?”

“Mmhm” he hums without looking up, still lost in whatever rabbit hole he’s fallen into.

You head to the kitchen, grabbing popcorn, candy and drinks, even taking the time to slice some fruit because, well, balance. When you return with your arms full,you find him in the exact same position you left him—phone still in hand, thumb lazily scrolling.

You stare at him, your patience evaporating. “I can’t believe you right now.”

He hums again, barely acknowledging you. That’s it.

You slam the snacks onto the table, tug on your jacket, and start slipping on your shoes. The sudden movement finally breaks through his phone-induced trance.

“Wait—where are you going?” His head snaps up, red flushing his cheeks slightly.

You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “Home. If I’m gonna be ignored, I might as well do it in my own apartment.”

He stands lazily, as if this is all some mild inconvenience. “Didn’t you want to watch a movie together?”

“Oh, wow, so your ears do work!” you spat sarcastically. 

You head for the door, but before you can reach it, Xavier steps in front of you, blocking your path with his tall, broad frame. His big eyes glint with something teasing, but there’s a softness beneath it.

“You’re not actually mad at me,” he says, voice low and confident.

Your jaw tightens. “I am mad.”

He tilts his head, studying you, then gently cups your face in his large hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I wasn't giving you the attention you deserve.”

Before you can respond, he leans down and kisses you—slow, tender, and apologetic. When he pulls back, your tough facade crumbles a little. Despite yourself, your expression softens slightly.

You sigh, dropping your eyes. “Do you…do you think I’m boring or something?”

His entire demeanor shifts. “What?” His voice is laced with genuine concern now. He peppers your face with soft, quick kisses—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose—before meeting your gaze again. “Of course not! Listen, I was just being an idiot. I should appreciate every single second that I can spend with you instead of wasting time with some useless video.”

He grabs his phone and turns it off in front of you. “See? You have my undivided attention now.”

Your heart does a stupid little flip.

“Good,” you mutter, crossing your arms wanting to still look mad at him, but the little smile on your face betrays you.

He grins, taking your hand and leading you back to the couch. “Now, let’s watch that movie, properly this time.”

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Yandere!Vampire that was once royalty, living in a dilapidated castle, alone and depressed. As a human, he was surrounded by people. Everyone adored him, his golden curls and warm brown eyes charming the hearts of every noble that set eyes on him.

That was until his family was slaughtered by a coven of vampires, leaving him the only survivor. Now with no family, he was turned away from the nobles that once gathered at his side, calling him beautiful and intelligent. Now he was a beast, and was only left alive because no one dared to touch him.

As the years passed by, all that knew of his existence died out, meaning no one remembered or cared for him. In the past, he had at least been grateful he had been in someone’s thoughts, even if it was in a negative light. Now, no one even hated him. He was just nonexistent to the world outside his castle.

Centuries passed by, every day slowly picking at the last bits of his sanity. Days of past grandeur and the current day mixed together, leaving him in a state where he couldn’t tell whether he was back in the living arms of his family, or wandering the dark, crumbling hallways of his childhood home.

It was only when a soft, warm light flooded one of the abandoned rooms he had been standing in that the fog in his brain began to fade, allowing him to see what was in front of him for the first time in decades.

It was you, a young woman in a hoodie and jeans, holding a flashlight. You lived only a mile away, and had been exploring when you came upon ruins of what seemed like an ancient castle.

You had heard rumors of a person that wandered the ruins from the townsfolk, and old tales of vampires that had been passed down by tongue for centuries. Not believing them, you decided to see for yourself…

Your light shone upon what you first thought was an ethereal ghost or some kind of beautiful spirit. A man with a mop of blonde curls, porcelain skin, and the most beautiful pair of ruby red eyes you’ve ever seen stared back at you.

The person attempted to speak, but clutched his throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long, his vocal cords had forgotten how.

“H-hello?”

The man perked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes clearing up. It seemed just hearing another human speak made his undead heart leap, and he couldn’t help but stumble towards you.

You yelped when he crossed the room within seconds and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.

The smell of another person, of sweat and perfume mixing together to make your own unique scent made him want to sob.

Of course you were freaked out, but the man holding onto you wasn’t hurting you, and you could feel warm tears soaking through your shirt. How could you turn away someone that was obviously in distress?

Unsurprisingly, the man followed you home. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t human. He was as pale as a sheet of paper, with no pulse or any color to his cheeks. His eyes were scarlet, a shade you had never seen a human have before.

Despite knowing this, you couldn’t help but care for him. He was thin, malnourished, with clothing that was so old and dirty that it nearly crumbled when he took them off.

“Are you hungry?”

You had taken to asking only yes or no questions, since he couldn’t speak. The man frowned, his eyes getting foggy for a second. You decided to ask again.

“Hello? Are you-“

He suddenly snapped back into reality, leaning forward to gently place his lips on your neck. You squeaked out in surprise when you felt his teeth sink into your neck… but it didn’t hurt. Instead, you only felt an uncomfortable pressure and draining sensation, and before long he was pulling back.

“Mmph…” he panted softly, blood running down his chin. “Was… so… thirsty…” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and small.

He cupped your cheek, holding your face in his hands and looking down at you with what could only be described as utter adoration.

“My love…”

From that point on, he was attached to your hip, following you everywhere you went like a lovesick puppy. Any time you were separated, he had severe anxiety, going back and forth from his dreamworld and reality. It was his coping mechanism, but it caused him to never understand what was real and what wasn’t.

You grounded him, made him feel safe and loved. Oh how he adored you. You had saved him from his lonely existence and taken him into your home as if he were a stray dog, and he was loyal like one. His loyalty came at a price, however, and that price was your freedom to do as you pleased.

Late nights out with friends became next to nonexistent, especially if he knew there would be any males there.

“I just want to protect you, my beloved. It’s a dangerous, cruel world. People will act as if they love you when they do not…”

And as you slowly became more and more isolated, his affections only grew. Kisses to your hand began to trail up your arm and to your neck. Snuggles turned into grinding and heavy petting, and even the most innocent of caresses became lewd in nature.

It didn’t take long for him to fuck you for the first time. After all, he had been pent up and alone for centuries, resisting taking you on the spot was excruciating.

The second he sunk into your pussy, he came. You were just so warm and your scent made his head fuzzy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you like a wild animal, feeding from your pretty neck as he filled you up over and over.

After the first time, a day didn’t pass by when he didn’t crave your intimate touch. Some days he was satisfied with heavy petting and kisses, others he couldn’t be satiated until his face was between your legs, lapping at your cunt for hours.

You were his, his mate, his lover. He couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore, so could you really blame him when he clung to you so tightly?

He just loved you, and he did such a good job at keeping you satisfied, just enough to where you didn’t look into the missing cases of your old lovers and male friends.

Why would you need to pay attention to any of that when your loving, attentive boyfriend was right there, ready to worship you from head to toe?

[ficmenrhot]

Minors DNI

Late night thoughts but…

Imagine Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who was instantly enchanted by you the second you walked onto base wearing an innocent smile and a short skirt barely doing anything to hide your soft, plush thighs. You looked so out of place with your baby pink colours as you flounced amongst the tall, strong soldiers and pecked your dad, his Captain, on the cheek with a small grin that flashed your dimples. He groaned quietly, thankful for his balaclava to mask his slipped-up noise though the print of his hardened erection straining against the materials of his pants was undeniably prominent. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Later when his Captain, Price, called him over for a proper introduction, he played the facade of a restrained gentleman and even reached out his hand for you to shake (which he would’ve never offered to anyone else). Secretly, he just wanted to see the difference of your smaller palm swallowed beneath his larger, calloused hand, already mentally picturing the image of what your manicured nails would look wrapped around his cock.

“Princess, this is one of my best man. Meet Ghost,” introduced Price. Simon swore he saw your lashes flutter as you gazed up at him, tinted cheeks with pretty plump lips pulled into a small shy smile he couldn’t wait to corrupt.

“Call me Simon, luvie,” he drawled, his voice a deep yet velvety timbre which made an odd flutter erupt in your stomach.

Who could’ve blamed you when you ended up pinned against the wall in Simon’s room, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, his large hands cupping your bared ass as he rutted into you like a bitch in heat. He just seemed so nice….and if your dad had trusted him to bring you safely to your temporal stay after dinner, then why couldn’t you?

How convenient was it that his room was right besides yours? It wasn’t that he forced another soldier to swap with him for the night by abusing his authority.

A goodnight kiss grew heated when his gentle hold on your cheek turned into a grip around your neck, pulling your smaller frame against his toned muscles, letting you feel how much he’d been craving you the entire time since your arrival.

“You feel this, luvie? Can you feel how hard you make me, little tease?”

“Gonna be a good doll for me and help me feel better hm?”

His face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your sweet scent and wishing he could engrave the sound of your soft whimpers, desperate moans and pleas into his mind as he stretched you out so good…pounding roughly into your tight heat with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, digging faint crescents into his broad shoulders.

Sure, your cervix may have been bruised for the next few days, but the ache was worth it for the most life-changing marathon of blissed orgasm he gifted you. Lengthy fingers thrusting and curling against your sweet spot, his balaclava lifted high enough to attach his lips to your swollen clit, sucking and licking so expertly and tongue-fucking you into oblivion. Lapping at you to taste your sweet nectar after he brought waves of pleasure to wash over you again and again, then again.

“Little pussy so fucking warm and tight, mhm,” he groaned almost gutturally, “made to be fucked…made to be mine.”

“Know what this means, luvie? You’re tied to me now…forever mine to use and spoil and love…”

Simon delivered a small, firm squeeze to your neck when you responded with an incoherent mewl and not words.

“Say it.”

“…ah..nghm…” you were a whimpering mess, mind completely hazed with pleasure at this point, legs shaking, “…yours to use…and spoil and…love”

“That’s right, that’s my good luvie.”

With one final thrust of his hips and a low grunt, he released, filling you to the brim with warm, spurts of his cum and ensuring you were stuffed full with his sticky seed.

Now that Simon had a taste, he would be crazy to let you go. He was a man of many things but never a liar, and indeed, he’d intended to keep his promise of making you forever his.

Much to his satisfaction, the next time you returned to base after a few months, you were more than just a visitor for his Captain but his girl…

And when you ran up to kiss his cheek, he noticed, the slight curve of a bump forming beneath your soft pink sundress.

——————

A/N: Has it been a year? I don’t know, but I’m back and I’m in my COD era! Hope you enjoyed reading this. All likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, so are comments!

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[quarterlifekitty]

cw: piss mention.

Being Johnny’s friend, and him desperately wanting to take things further— he comes up with a terrible idea to drive you into his arms in a way he thinks is rather subtle.

He’s going to get Ghost to hit on you next time you’re out at a pub. Ghost has an uncanny ability activate the prey drive— he gets too close, speaks too low, looms too tall, and stares too deep (not to mention the kind of language he uses in his pickup lines).

So Johnny casually gets up to go piss, leaves you sitting at the bar, practically passes the baton as he goes by Ghost on the way.

And Simon, he loves the classics.

So he starts off by staring down at you as you sit in your stool, unblinking, and saying “I can smell your cunt.”

You look up with rapt attention, clenching your thighs.

Soap watches from across the bar for a signal, either a grimace on your face or a discreet hand gesture from Ghost that they’d worked out earlier.

But he underestimated your freak. And Simon wasn’t about to back down when it was clear you liked how he came across.

Simon perches himself next to you, crowding in close and speaking into your ear, Johnny able to see as your stunned expression turns into a bashful smile, like he just told you that you have beautiful eyes. He actually said “bet you’d let me spit in your mouth if I told you to open up, yeah?”

Things escalate. You barely touch your drink, too absorbed in what Simon is saying to you.

“Saw those fuckin’ thighs from across the bar, Jesus Christ— want you to sit on my jaw and fuck my face— warm my cheeks with those thighs while I shove my tongue in that sweet little pussy. I’d let you piss in my fucking mouth if y’wanted to.”

When Soap finally forces himself to go back to the bar, you subtly tell him you’re gonna head out and that you had fun. He awkwardly bids you goodnight with his mouth nearly agape as Simon grabs hold of your hand to pull you along.

And he looks too damned eager to get you out of there— doesn’t even have the decency to throw a smug look at Soap. Because truthfully? He’s kinda forgotten why he came here in the first place. He’s got more important shit on his mind now.

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.