#hair in the wind animation practice !

[okartichoke]

she's like, dead and reflecting on stuff or smth. slash phoenix is standing off screen with an electric fan

[binbinabin]

[dragontamerproductions]

Wave principle & Hair tests

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓤𝓖𝓐𝓡.       eren yeager.

‎𐦍 ₊˚♱ ෆ . . . 5.1k. fem!reader, set in 01’, country!eren + bluecollar!, housewife!reader, established relationship, domesticity, ovulation, oral ꒰ f + m. ꒱, kreaming + squirting, rough sex, nasty talk ofc, unprotected, daddy kink, spanking, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama ꒱, praise, hair pulling, check ins + aftercare, choking, breath + sensitivity + salvia play, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . a lil sum i thought of randomly. this is related to the dangerously in love couple. <3 visual. visual. visual. wish i had a link for the exact position i have in my head, so here’s a small example. hopefully i explained them well. :<

part three. <3

ivory sunflowers are imprinted along the frilly apron that hugs your body cutely, the coquette lace floral dress with a baby pink ribbon to create a corset style underneath. the warm scent of strawberry pie baking in the matcha green vintage oven blooms your heart. dusting flour over the counter to roll and mush at the dough you’ve created for the chicken pot pies, one of eren’s favorite meals. the sun was fairly hot today, your eyes fixating on the two beautiful tawny cows roaming your farm, their mouths chewing at grass as the wind blows serenely.

you told eren to keep a close eye on them while he was outside, watching your husband stand halfway down the driveway with sweat dripping from his brow as he tinkers with the engine of his polished black 1968 ford f100. he’s been having troubles with it this past week, and constantly handling it became tedious. he expressed his anger a few times now, this truck being his first big purchase for himself and he was having issues only a year later.

his light blue levi jeans and classic wife-beater was streaked with grease, clinging to his muscular thighs as he crouches low, peering intently at the mechanical innards. every so often, he wipes his hands on a rag before reaching for another tool, his calloused fingers moving with practiced ease. the sun casts a glow on the definition of his biceps as he lifts and maneuvers heavy parts. angelic brown strands held back by a black cap turned backwards.

you’ve been subconsciously humming along to the 70s and 80s rock tunes he has stationed on the radio. don’t dream it’s over currently on play. meanwhile, inside the cozy farmhouse kitchen, with the tantalizing aroma of food and your chocolate brown maltipoo who eren named honeybelle sleeps on her bed by the window — although this moment was romantic and peaceful to view, you weren’t too happy of a woman.

this was one of the few days he was off from work, and he’s been outside fixing his car since your eyes opened to an empty bedside. it’s nearing nighttime, and you’d spent half your day to your lonesome. shaving your body, doing your skincare routine and deep conditioning your handful of a curly head that’s currently pinned up away from your soft features. it’s felt like such a long time since the two of you enjoyed a full day together, let alone make love. your ovulation period not making this any easier on you, feeling like a wild animal in desperate heat. the only time you really interacted today was when you brought out a fat honey-turkey club sandwich, knowing he tends to forget to eat sometimes.

brushing the crust you created for the pot pie after layering them in crisscross patterns with butter, your mind wanders off, daydreaming as the sun begins to set and the sky blooms into color palettes of saffron and coral. the air outside turns warmer, and you study your husband once more, watching the ball in his throat shift as he chugs on a pitcher of water, droplets hitting his chest. his briefs are peaking out from his jeans, feet in his black timberlands per usual. his arms have veins streaming from the middle of his forearm to his big, dirty hands. silver wedding band on his right.

those slanted viridescent eyes of his catch your stare as he glares at you over the pitcher, swallowing and giving you a movie star smile with pearly whites. you smile faintly, returning the gesture. your heart pounds rapidly in your chest, shifting in your spot as you realize you’re biting your lips and almost riding the air. your blood is thrumming throughout your body, needing him to come inside right now.

the chicken pot pies are done in thirty minutes, each crust perfectly golden brown. and within that time, he’s still outside messing with his truck. you wanted to be understanding that he needed his truck in order to head to work tomorrow to further provide for you and the home as he does, but you can’t help that feeling of abandonment in your chest. you really didn’t want to cause an argument, but this was becoming irritating.

removing your apron, you slip on your outside shoes to head towards the garage where he resides, being faced with his broad back and gruff noises of agitation.

“baby.”

“yes, sweetie,” he replies quickly, groaning as he twists the wrench.

“dinner’s done. you’ve been out here all day. please come inside,” you pout, going to wrap your arms around his waist, laying your cheek on the column of his back.

eren removes his cap, scratching at his head before smoothing his hair back and placing it on again. “mhm, baby, i know. gimme like ‘nother hour, i just gotta connect the fuckin’ valve springs to the camshaft.“

“i thought it was just overheated?”

“yeah it was, the water pump wasn’t sending coolant through. the crankshaft wasn’t movin’, ‘n the radiator cap had too much pressure so the spring in the cap compressed ‘n flew over in the coolant reservoir. glad i ran to the auto shop beforehand.”

he’s saying a lot of shit you don’t understand if being frank. sighing, you let go of him, knowing he was real intricate with his truck so he definitely wasn’t going to be done in an hour. he stops what he’s doing to turn and face you, observing your expression.

“what i say about that, mama. huh?” eren sighs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “don’t be givin’ me that face. i’m tryin’ my best right now. swear ima be in, i’ll make it forty-five instead.”

“that’s not the point,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “fuck the dinner, i want you to be with me. you’ve been out here since eleven in the morning. not once have you come inside the house ‘n checked on me.”

his jaw clenches, your tone expected but not what he wanted to hear right now. “i ain’t tryna argue with you.”

“then don’t, help yourself to dinner.”

“꒰♡꒱.”

turning with clear attitude, you stroll back into the house, honeybelle barking softly as she follows you around. you feed someone in the house, pouring kibble into her beige bowl before patting her head and watching her scruff down the food. by this point you’d lost your appetite, huffing and puffing in your kitchen as you set the food back into the oven and made your way up the staircase.

to cool yourself down, you decide to run yourself a bath. twisting the gold faucet to fill the clawfoot tub with hot water, crouching on your knees to swish the water around to help form the bubbles. it was fully dark outside now, lighting aromatherapy candles and opening the double vintage windows that overlooked the farm you and eren spent years creating. stars in the sky and clouds camouflaging. undressing yourself, you grab a novel off of the shelf and submerge yourself into the tub, closing your eyes in bliss and leaning your head back against the spa pillow that elevates your neck.

eren manages to take approximately thirty minutes to finish up his project, starting up the truck and test driving it before he sighs in relief to see she’s back in shape. after parking it back into the garage, whistling at the cows to get them to follow him back into the barn after much needed playtime, he’s finally stepping into the house. honeybelle skips towards eren, sniffing at his ankle and wagging her tail. eren smiles, patting the top of her head.

“where’s your mommy, girl. huh?” he coed, scratching under her chin.

his eyes scope the dining area, finding the table set up just for the two with candles that were half burnt, blown out. the homemade sweet tea in a pitcher leaking with condensation, ice cubes melted. the pie you baked was set into a glass cake stand, and the pot pies are settled into the oven under the light. it was definitely clear you were upset with him, groaning and putting a hand on his head. he truly didn’t mean to take away this day from you, aware of how much you’ve missed him. hours at work are longer since the power plants needed more tending to from low employment.

just last week he had to go out of town and leave you for an entire three days to travel to another refinery. in that time you’d tend to your farm while also helping eren’s father with his. you knew what this lifestyle would mean for your relationship. things around the house including you will be secure, but having him come home exhausted to the point where you rarely spend as much time as you’d like with him was difficult. at most he had two days off a week, but a lot of times they’d call him in because someone else didn’t show up.

you’ve suggested countless of times that he should switch locations, but this one provided better benefits and he was close to a promotion that would also guarantee him extra off time. ‘it just takes time, baby.’ he’d constantly tell you. and you’re not one of those wives that complain about every single thing to make her husbands life harder, the two of you rarely even argue, but you do have your moments where you’re too stubborn.

the heavy thud of his boots sounds in the home as he heads up the stairs, softly calling your name to see where you reside. with his hand on his toned stomach under his shirt, he finds you rested in the tub, head turned away as you sleep comfortably. his tall frame leans against the doorframe, watching you with a pout on his face. you look angelic, cloud white bubbles flowing around your body, the jets in the tub keeping them in tact, slowly dissolving. the tankless water heater he installed a while back kept the water warm, making you comfortable enough to drift off to light slumber.

he makes his way closer to you, crouching before you to brush the tendrils of curls dangling in your face. your breath is light, lashes feathering against your cheekbones as he caresses your jaw with his thumb. he bends to pull the plug and drain the tub, not fond of you sleeping in water. you didn’t have it too high up, but people drown in tubs a lot more than you think.

you hum gently, eyes opening to see him looming over you, studying him in silence. sitting on his behind, he grabs a pedicure knife to clean under his nails, tattooed arm dangling into the tub and under the running faucet to remove the impurities.

“don’t like you fallin’ asleep in the tub, sweetie. you could drown. this isn’t your first time doin’ that,” his brows deepen, grabbing a nail brush and applying some of your cashmere and goat milk soap you currently smelt of with to scrub at his manicured fingernails.

you bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms over your knees. “sorry.”

eren scans your face, eyeing the beauty of your entirety. perfectly white painted toes and matching nails, dark, big curls framing your face, slowly falling from the claw clip on the back of your head. the fullness of your lips with the cupids bow curve of them. soft skin, pretty eyes . . you were all his. such a beautiful wife. so when you’re mad at him, it makes him feel like shit. the way you look at him is different as well. your eyes are dead almost, a scolding glare in them.

“this day was supposed to be for us, i know,” he breaks the silence. “old shit was being difficult, ‘n you know i gotta drive far, sweetie. gettin’ ‘n a crash isn’t somethin’ you’d want happenin’ to me, right baby?”

the frown on your face serves how you feel about that. “i’d lose my mind if something bad happened to you.”

“ ‘n i’m not tryna guilt trip you or anything like that. i understand how you feel. i miss you just as much. i think about you all fuckin’ day at work. but, as time passes, eventually i’ll be in a better position ‘n you can have me with you whenever you want. jus’ lemme handle shit, okay?”

his strong hands go to caress your ankle, the silver jewelry shining there, lifting your foot to kiss at the shape of it, eyes low and focusing on you, unable to help the heat that swims within your hips and core.

“i really just needed you so bad today,” the sound of your throat clamping up causes him to go alert. you bow your head, wanting to hide your face as the tears threaten to spill. “it’s so stupid. i spent all that time pampering myself and cooking for us — i just hated being alone, even if you were still here.”

“c’mon, baby. why you cryin’ ? none of that. i’m sorry, truly,” he’s rising up on his knees, kissing at yours.

“missed you touching me,” you whimper, sniffling and pouting. “missed your kisses. i miss you.”

ah, so that’s what it is. he doesn’t make any effort to hide the smirk on his face, scoffing lowly while dropping his head. you can be such a brat when you’re horny, and given it’s been about two weeks since he’s last fucked you, he now gets why you begged for him to be with you today. quality time was still needed, but he can tell by the way your body tenses and your lips part to release tiny gasps while he strokes the pads of his fingers across your hips . . that you’re ovulating.

“that’s all you needin’, mama? some touches?”

salvia trails down your throat as you swallow, thighs squeezing together out of reflex, throbbing from those damned eyes of his, nodding with hooded lids. “mm hmm. so bad.”

“mm, yeah?”

the butterflies in your stomach swarm as he brings his face closer to yours, his touches on your skin causes you to grind when his mouth suddenly connected with your throat, your jaw widening as you gasp and toss your head back, his mouth sloppily kissing at the right side of your body. lips moving from your collarbone, each sound coming from him emphasized as he sucks at your chest, pulling your areola into his mouth and trailing his tongue down the side of your stomach, down to your hip and the crease between your thigh and waist. every kiss and lick is rough, his groans exaggerated as you moan from every touch.

“ooo, fuck. oh my god,” your hips can’t stop moving, his tongue gliding back up before his fingers indent into your cheeks, turning your face to his so he could kiss you roughly, sliding his tongue on yours.

eren doesn’t kiss you for long, detaching your lips with a lewd slick, both of your lips pouty before he’s arching over the tub and guiding his mouth along the left side of your body, repeating his motion of sucking and licking you. your eyes gloss back, spreading your thighs further apart when he gets closer to your pussy, swallowing your bottom lip inward.

he cocks his head back to lewdly spit over your clit, the string of saliva and the vein on the side of his thick neck making your face heat up. your mouth hangs open as he takes his fingers and slowly spreads it over, grumbling, "want me all over you," before rubbing your clit in smooth circles, groaning at the weak noises you made.

you were so needy, every touch he gives you consuming, a lust and desire looming over you that only he could give you. your hips twitch and hike midair, and your positive you've made your lip bleed by how hard you bit into it, doe eyes hazily watching his face. brows furrowed as he tentatively paced his fingers, repositioning himself so he could tug you down flat in the tub, your knees pressed to your chest as he clutches onto the sides of the tub.

“hold ‘em there, be good.”

a squeal envelops eren’s ears once he cranes his neck and drops his mouth over the puffy nub, enclosing his lips to kiss at your folds. your pussy is soaked, dripping between your ass cheeks, inner thighs twitching while he licks you up. the cap on his head continues to hold his hair back, his biceps flexing from every noise you make, trying to keep his composure. he wanted to make you feel real good, you deserve it, and he’s missed you.

“b—babyyy,” a mix between a groan and a whimper flows from you, keeping your legs open and squeezing at your chest hard, slowly rocking your pussy on his face, voice shuddering from the feel of his light stubble on your soft skin.

eren spanks the back of your thigh, dragging his mouth to soothe the feel after with an open mouth followed with more of his tongue. he loved tasting you, clearly. melting on the velvet of his tongue like sugar. his chin is doused by your slickness as he buried his face deep, circling your clit in languid strokes, lower lip dropping to bring it back into his mouth. you’re never embarrassed by how loud you get, knowing you’ll be reprimanded if you do keep silent. so a pathetic, drawn out whine fills the space when he removes his mouth.

“feed it to me,” eren hisses, spanking the back of your thigh again, french kissing either side of your ass. the hungry aggression through his eyes tell you to listen, his body almost entirely inside of the tub to make sure he’s giving you what you need the right way. “c’mon, girl.”

the gruffness in his tone makes you squirm, like he’s just as pent up as you. easing your hips up, you hold your legs fully up so they’re past your ears, gripping on his arm for balance as you dip your hips so your pussy connects with his face, your face curling up as he spits and slurps, your body trembling.

“mmmahh,” you weakly moan, chest heaving and breath stuttering, his tongue occasionally dipping into your hole to taste that sweeter place, eren grunting and bouncing his head along with your movements, teeth every now and then biting at your inner thighs. “g-g’na—squirt, f-fuck, nnnngh.”

eren acts on instinct, reaching to grab the back of your neck as your body arches forward to hold you so you won’t hurt yourself, swallowing at your achy bud as you coat his throat in your juices, humming and savoring every ounce. the static of your legs as you sing out your moans makes his dick harder, straining in the confinements of his jeans.

he pulls away, your body flat within the tub as he stands and undoes the leather belt on his waist, ears perking up from the sound of his zipper and then awaits the weighty girth of his dick. blush pink tip and tan with a protruding vein trailing up the underside. you find energy to lift yourself up, clinging to the side of the tub like a mermaid on rocks. reaching for the back of his leg to pull him closer, eren’s brows lowered at the sight of your eyes setting into seductiveness.

your mouth opens instinctively, giving him those big brown irises that has his dick jump in your face. eren’s waist spasm backwards, fingers grasping the coils of your hair to stop you. “no, no. not now. y’know you’ll make me cum too quick.”

“y’know you can’t fuck me till i taste it,” you pout, evidently upset, keeping your lips parted as a need to have it. “just a taste, daddy. i want it.”

“fuckin’ hell,” eren clenches his jaw, pupils dilating, lowering his jeans and boxers to his thighs to inch his dick to your lips. “yeah, jus’ a lil taste, baby. gimme those pretty lips.”

eren moans when you waste no time intaking half of his dick, tongue licking at the underside and slurping him up, bobbing your head and letting him hit the back of your throat in nasty squelches. his head falls back then to the side as he squeezes his eyes shut, attractive neck showcasing, grunting and slowly thrusting into your throat.

“f-fuck, ꒰♡꒱. love this sweet fuckin’ mouth of yours. show me that throat, baby,” two hands go to clutch your neck, eren pulling his dick out, salvia dribbling down your bottom lip. you widen your mouth, angling your face up so he can see your tongue in it’s entirety, the tight ring in the hollow of your esophagus calling him.

“good girl, take this shit deep,” he whispers painfully, teeth clamped together in a hiss as he lays the heaviness of his dick on your flat tongue, pushing in till his pretty, leaky tip connects with the back of your throat, constricting around him. “a-ahh, yeahh.”

you let him use you as long as he anticipates, eyes drooping low, trying to focus on eye contact with your nose mushed to his happy trail, the scent of the day and his cologne seeped into his skin. you heave when he pulls back entirely, whining and riding the air. he’s so damn masculine it makes you so feminine and submissive.

“one more time, hold it,” bending his back slightly, he slides back into your mouth, gently holding your neck in place to thrust a few times more, deep melodies of grunts and hisses pouring as he furrows his brows and studies how you made his dick wet and shiny, balls slapping against your chin.

with your mouth stretched open, you take him in as deep as he likes, closing your eyes to shut off your brain so you don’t choke. eren holds you there, huffing out ‘ooh fuckin’ god, baby.’ before smoothing his hand on the side of your face after he withdraws his hips to let you breathe, his own chest knocking from holding his breath.

“love you,” eren reminds you as he peppers kisses all over your face and you smile, a continuous gesture he’d do every time to make you aware, especially when he’s too rough.

the trance you have on his dick is sickening, following it as he maneuvered around the bathroom, retrieving a towel he spread on the lower part of the tub before entering, not bothering to take off his boots. you giggle as he hovers above you, biting at your nail and shifting your body beneath him so he could slot in. the weight of his cock lays on your stomach, eren grinding to rub along your folds, coaxing your hidden clit to show. eren steadies his figure, knuckles turning white from him grasping either side of the tub and holding himself up by indenting his feet into the towel.

“i fuckin’ need you,” eren growls, biting at your neck before licking and shifting his hips to nudge the tip against your opening, easily sliding in slow.

the warmth fills your face again, abdomen pinching from pain and pleasure, pawing at his slightly dirty wifebeater and hiking it further up his chest you were desperate to touch. the silver chain around his neck sways in your face, squinting your eyes and dropping your jaw when he begins pounding into you with the need he expressed. the sluice of your pussy is loud, his balls slapping against the rounds of your ass while your thighs hit his pelvis.

“this what you needed, right? what you been whinin’ for?” eren grunts in your face, taking your lips in his for passionate kiss, moaning together.

“y-yesss, mmmph,” the pleasure swarming in your stomach feels foreign, whimpering from every stroke he gives you, clawing at his sides. it felt so fucking good, your eyes scrolling and your breath inordinate along with his. “dick feel so good, ‘ren.”

“mhm hmm,” his face curls up, leaving an open mouthed kiss on your cheek and behind your ear, his touches making your body burn. “i hear it, she’s creamy as fuck.”

and it was, peering down between where you two connect to see him covered in you, the sticky slaps making his eyes lose focus, rutting into you harder. so hard it makes you scream, that sweet spot being pressured and your tummy flutters.

“e—ren,” you can barely see him, whines and whimpers being your only way of communication. spreading yourself wider by holding yourself open with both hands, arching your chest into his face where he sloppily eats at your brown skin again.

“talk.”

“annngh,” your lips turn into a pout, face completely gone. every word and sound coming out brokenly. “f-feelin’ something. s’so fuckin’ deep in me. you fuck me so good. w’na cum on it.”

“mhm, cum on it. cum on your dick baby, make it creamier.”

it’s quiet at first when you cum, legs shaking almost violently as eren lets go of the tub and lays his entire weight onto you, tucking you fully underneath to angle his hips and dig his dick in deeper, rough and steady pivots making you reach for his hair to tug, knocking off his hat. his fingers grip your cheeks, big hand almost covering your whole face as he brings his forehead to yours, growling rough.

“yess. give. it. to. me. lemme hear it.”

“g-god, y-yessss, fuck. right there, right there. please don’t fuckin’ stop . . oh my god.”

a long, exasperated groan disperses, vibrating in your chest and in his ears, hiccups and gasps following as you clench and suck him tighter. he feels the throb from your orgasm, dick twitching inside of you, rolling his waist and keeping you close to let you ride it out and feel it longer.

“take your time, there we go. feel it all.”

it pulsates harder from hearing him, grasping his wrist and releasing what’s been caged within you; a cry. “oh . . my . . g-god. eren!”

it’s not that you’re hurt, it’s that you’re experiencing too much at once. overwhelming pleasure, your husband’s embrace, the way he speaks to you, fucks you, the love you have for him, how he loves you, and even the annoying rise of hormones from your ovulation. a cry bolts from you, body convulsing and your voice dying out, grinding mindlessly on his dick and kissing his lush lips.

“that’s it, it’s okay.”

eren’s kissing all over your face, soothing you and giving you time before he holds you close to his chest and turns himself around so he’s leaning up, resting his head back on the spa pillow and twisting you so your back is to his chest. he balances your weight, taking the initiative to sling your right arm over his shoulder, eren smoothing his palms up the back of your thighs before locking your knees to your chest with his forearms.

“you good, baby?” eren whispers, smooching your cheek again.

chewing at your lips, you nod. “uh huh.”

eren moans as your fingers thread through the brown coils of his hair, tugging and planting a kiss on the shell of his ear, jumping slightly from the way he patted your pussy with his dick, sinking back in deliciously slow. with your lips parting in sync, eren flattens his feet to fuck up inside of you, your walls spasming from how good it feels and the sensitivity.

collecting the tresses of his messy hair, you fist it harder which makes him fuck you harder. your tits bouncing on your chest you fondle at.

“watch us,” he says, placing both of his hands on either side of your head to force your head down to stare at how he fucked you, keeping your legs locked with his arms.

the sloppy collision of your stickiness coating his cock that plunges into you roughly, his heavy hits making the both of you whimper. eren begins to grow so weak from being in your pussy and the hard labor he’d done today, and you can tell by the slowness in his pace after a few minutes. he’s throbbing hard, knowing he’s close to cumming, wanting to making him feel it too. he also had to get up early and still eat dinner, so did you.

“ ‘ren,” slithering your head from his grasp, you guide them to sit at your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as you tug at his hair again and nibble at your bottom lip.

moving your body further up, you arch your chest forward and implant your feet flat to the surface, snapping your ass down to fuck him instead. eren tightens his hold on you, jaw slacking and squeezing his eyes shut while placing his forehead on your shoulder. you gasp, bouncing on him and constantly groping at your chest, skin clapping louder.

“you g’na cum in me, baby?” you speak with a whiny tone, taunting him.

“y-yeah, baby. please. bounce on that shit harder,” eren sucks at your side again, retracting his hand to land a harsh spank under your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. “fuck, you do it so good, ꒰♡꒱. do it so good.”

“mmmm,” you smile drunkenly. “this daddy’s pussy, right?”

eren whines, and you love when he gets this way, so horny he lets his guard down. makes sounds he wouldn’t usually make. his tongue on you again causes your hips to stutter, that pressure building back up, a shaky moan pressing out the harder you fuck yourself on him.

“it’s daddy’s pussy. oooh, shit baby. don’t stop, i’m g’na bust all in your p—ussy.”

“all in my pussy?” harder, faster, you pounce your ass down, knees hiking and reconnecting as you drop down completely, feeling your orgasm near and riding him by scooting your ass on him.

“all . . in it— fuck. good girl.”

weakness fills your bones, loosing your balance completely, eren bellowing out curses and grunts as he locks his hand around your neck to pull your back to him again, swiveling his hips with yours while you both ride out the wave. heaving on the side of your face after he lays his cheek on yours, warm cum leaking into you while you gush all over him in exchange.

eren softly kisses at your shoulder, embracing you in his hold and moaning from your walls clenching on him. you can’t even find the energy to speak, enduring the comforting silence and weak breathing. rubbing your arms and molding his face with yours, skin to skin a necessity for him. rocking you side by side, smiling into his forearm he used to lock against your neck, inhaling the coconut fragrance in your hair.

“we need a shower, and that chicken pie i worked hard to make for you.”

“and that strawberry pie,” eren chuckles within the crook of your neck. “i’ll eat it all just for you.”

“you better.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[thinkinonsense]

34+35𑁍

old man!logan howlett x housewife!reader

cw: do the math.

wc: 1k+

positions mini-series masterlist

logan didn't know what he was going to do with you. such a needy little rabbit. that's the only thing he could compare you to, a fuckin' rabbit.

"slow down, sweets." logan mutters against your glossy lips.

all day, you were longing for logan's touch. the second you heard his truck pull into the driveway, you practically jump into his big strong arms. he could smell your arousal down the street. you wanted nothing more than for logan to bring out his inner animal, but he was going to make you work for it.

you dragged him into your shared bedroom once he shrugged off his suit jacket. logan noticed how clean the bedroom looked, the only things on the nightstand were his cigars and one of your pretty coffee mugs. your bedsheets were the same colors as your lingerie, soft lilac and white.

"let me get a look at ya', princess." logan says in your ear while you try to climb in his lap. instead, you give him a little spin, his hands never leaving your hips. "look like a doll."

you smile at him then shove him roughly on his back, climbing on top of the older man. by no means were you stronger than logan but when you get like this, he wonders if you were the one with the adamantium skeleton.

"been thinking about you all day long..." you say, clawing at his white button-down. logan chuckles, moving his hands further south on your body.

"whatcha been thinking 'bout?" he asks, squeezing your ass.

"fucking you."

logan loves when you get like this. you bat your pretty lashes up at him while saying the filthiest things. even in his older state, he liked keeping up with someone younger.

"i'm not sure, princess." logan sighs. "i'm pretty tired from work."

"we try something different if you want?" you suggest sweetly running your fingers through his grey hair.

"like what?"

without hesitation, you get up and straddle his chest backward. his button-down was opened exposing his toned stomach. logan wasn't up to date on modern-day sex terms, he knew what he liked and pretty much stuck to it unless you introduced him to something. what? he's old fashion.

"so, you're just gonna sit on my-" logan's words died in his throat the moment you started unbuckling his belt.

you pull out his half-hard cock and begin slowly pumping him. logan couldn't believe the position you put yourself in but he sure was thankful for it. as you traced one of his veins with your tongue, logan pulled your hips closer to his mouth, messily making out with your cunt over the material of your lilac panties. this made you wiggle your hips annoyed by his teasing.

"please..." you huff, taking him out of your mouth to beg. "no teasing, lo..."

logan tugs you back against him roughly so he can slurp up the wetness that coated the now dark purple material. when you begin to kitten lick him, smacking the tip against your tongue, logan tosses his head back and lets out a feral moan.

"sorry, sweetheart." he groans, extending one claw to cut your panties off of you then putting it back away.

"logan!" you gasp, wanting to scold him.

suddenly, you feel him spread you open with his fingers without warning, logan spits directly onto your cunt. butterflies flutter inside of you at his dirty action. logan then switch's between sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue, savoring the taste of you.

"f-fuck, lo..." you moan around his length while scratching at his thick thighs. you can feel him grin against your most intimate area.

logan releases you from his mouth with a tiny pop. he can see you pulsing, needing to be filled. within seconds, logan takes two fingers into his mouth coating them with spit then angles them at your entrance.

"ugh, fuck!" you feel like the wind was just knocked from your lungs. logan was relentless, gradually increasing his pace while your forehead rested against one of his thighs.

"thought this was supposed to be 50/50 effort, sweetheart?" logan teases, hitting that spongey spot inside of you with his fingers repeatedly. "gonna make your old man do all the work-"

"shut up." you groan, placing your cunt back against his mouth.

a small whimper falls from logan's lips, breaking down his tough man persona. you adored when the 'big bad wolf' became a submissive little play thing.

logan can feel you clenching around his fingers, sucking him in completely. he wasn't far behind but he needed more. through blurry vision, you can see logan bend his knees and lift his hips so he's hitting the back of your throat at his own pace; the tip kissing your esophagus.

"such a good fuckin' girl..." logan groans against your lips.

neither of you could warn the other about your approaching orgasms. eyes full of stars when suddenly logan coats your throat while you grind against his face, his soaked beard leaving faint red scratches on your inner thighs.

you must have laid on him for a moment too long after because logan playfully slaps your ass, sending you scurrying away from him.

"how was that?" you pant, facing him normally again with a fucked out smile.

"fuckin' amazing, princess," he says, grabbing your chin and pulling you into a kiss. you straddle logan's waist again, feeling him harden again underneath you.

"that was quick." you giggle against his lips.

"mhm, think you'll be able to keep up?" he challenges you.

"watch it, old man..." you smirk, lifting up and placing him at your entrance. "or you're gonna need a seatbelt when i ride it."

as you sink down on him, logan was torn on where to steady his gaze. he wanted to stare at where the two of you were connected but when your hand start pawing at his dog tags desperately, he knew the answer was to look up at your adorable fucked out face.

"you doin' alright there sweetheart?" logan purrs underneath you, wrapping a hand around your hair and tugging softly. your stamina always impressed him, how you could keep going and going was beyond his old fragile state. "bet you want your old man to take over, huh? fuck you nice and good like you deserve? know you want it, baby."

logan knew the best way to get into your head and your panties were with his words. it always worked, until now.

"what did i tell you earlier, baby?" you taunt him, reaching over and grabbing your ripped underwear to shove in his mouth. "shut up."

"oh, fuck" logan moans against the material while your hips bounce frantically against his; shaking the bed frame and banging it against the wall.

thank god, the two of you live deep in the woods or else your neighbors would constantly think there's an earthquake coming when the two of you were fucking. you feel logan twitch inside of you, letting you know he's close.

"let go, lo..." you moan, leaning down to his ear level while he desperately smacks your hips into his, chasing his high. "you know you wanna cum inside it."

logan's hips snapped, drooling all over your panties as your cunt sucks him in. his warmth coats your walls pearly white while one of his hands comes down to play with your clit until your moaning vulgarly in his ear.

"r-r-right there, lo..." you whimper, biting down on his shoulder as you cum around him. "please, please don't stop!"

neither of you wanted to move once both of you come down from your highs. you pull your ripped up panties out of logan's mouth before slumping down on top of his chest.

"tired, princess?" he chuckles.

"mhm..." you sigh, getting comfortable against him.

"look who's getting old now, hm?" logan teases, flipping you over carefully onto the sheets.

"stay..."

"i'm just clean you up." he assures you. "get some rest. i'll be here."

those were the last words you heard before falling asleep in his arms.

[serpentface]

Miniature dog and khait effigies for a Wardi funeral. These are clay figurines that have been painted and decorated with great care by a skilled artist. Both include real hairs from the individual animals they have been modeled after. The dog is collared, showing that it is a loyal pet rather than a lowly feral scrounger. The khait is fully bridled and ready to carry the deceased in their journey.

---

It is believed that the souls of the deceased, once freed of their bodies, undergo a month-long journey to reach rebirth in the lunar lands. This journey is full of perils. It begins in the realm of the earth where the soul is naked and vulnerable and traveling through complete darkness. Evil spirits dwell within this realm and may try to capture the soul or lead them astray, and the way is twisting and obscured in shadows. Even after escaping this darkness, the soul still must travel an arduous and winding path through the realm of the sky in order to reach their destination.

A khait and a dog are traditionally offered as funerary goods (in addition to food, water, wine, clothing, weapons, and other needs) to assist the soul in their travels- the khait will ease their passage in their long journey and carry them swiftly, and the dog will navigate through earthly darkness and dense cloud by scent, and protect the soul from harm.

Ideally, one of the deceased's own living khait and hunting/guard dogs will be killed at the funeral (typically the most beloved of their animals, as who would be better company than that?) so that they can have familiar and loyal helpers in their lonely journey. However, there are tremendous class barriers to ownership and disposability of a khait, and well-bred working dogs (while significantly more accessible) aren't ubiquitously available, and many people do not consider captured feral dogs to be a worthy replacement. As such, funerals with full animal offerings tend to be limited to higher status individuals.

Everyday people still need protection on their journeys, and animal effigies can be appropriate replacements for the real thing. These effigies are usually designed with great specificity to represent known individual animals that have already died (often including the animal's actual hair, as seen here). The soul of the represented animal will recognize the effigy as its body, and can be called into the icon so that it may accompany the deceased. These effigies (along with any other necessary grave goods) will be placed onto the pyre and burned along with the body so that the traveling soul will be sent off with everything they need.

Some folk traditions have semi-legendary local animal spirits who will be represented instead of a personally familiar animal. This often develops around a small community 'sharing' one historically extant animal for their funeral effigies as a matter of practicality, developing a sense of attachment to this animal as an aspect of shared identity, and adding layers of legend to the animal's story with the passage of time.

For example, a very popular legendary guide in the northeastern rural parts of Ephennos is Chisnops-Inreña (which very closely translates to 'Orange Son Of A Bitch'), a legendary livestock guardian dog. The animal was said to have been the biggest, meanest, ugliest motherfucker around, but was an unshakably loyal and fierce guardian, as noble as a dog (not the noblest of animals by any means) can possibly be. He is said to have fought off everything from jackals to lions to cattle thieves in his day, and died protecting his herdsman master from an infamous man-eating king hyena, only succumbing to his own wounds when the great beast lay dead. His spirit was later used as a guide in his master's funeral, and local legend states that the same spirit has been seen following herdsmen and their cattle ever since, as not even death could keep him from his duties. Such a dog would make an excellent guide and protector in the journey to the afterlife, and effigies of him are favored in the funerals of northeastern Ephenni pastoralists.

A lovingly crafted Orange Son Of A Bitch

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[7:09 pm]

(cw: parents!au)

Every parent knew what silence meant. Silence meant some huge mess was being made, someone was hiding, being mischievous, general mayhem being had. This was especially true in your home with your daughter and 3 cats. It was never this quiet in your house with the four—five troublemakers in your house. It couldn’t be the main troublemaker because he was sitting right next to you, fully invested in a a reality tv show.

“Jaemin, listen,” You said quietly while you muted the tv.

He looked at you quizzically, “I don’t hear anything… what could she be doing now?”

“It’s not her nap time yet, I have a very bad feeling about this,” you replied nervously.

Your daughter had a sweet face, she was nice and friendly in public. She always waved at strangers with a huge smile on her face. She knew to stay by your side when she wasn’t sitting in a shopping cart. She very rarely threw tantrums, a perfect little angel. People had even told you so.

In the comfort of your home on the other hand, she was hyperactive and loud. She wreaked havoc on the daily. And the cats were either right her side or far, far away from her. There was no in between. When the cats decided she was being too much your daughter would try to climb their scratching posts to reach them or pull on their tails. The poor animals. When they decided to help her the house was loud, something got destroyed, scratched, or simply broken.

The last time the 4 of them had joined forces you needed to buy a new bookshelf for the living room with all new frames for the pictures that filled up some empty spaces on the shelves.

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who goes,” Jaemin offered. You rolled your eyes but complied. Softly hitting your fist against the palm of your hand. One paper and one rock, you lost.

“Wish me luck please, and have your credit card ready to shop. Oh my god, I think I’m gonna be sick,” you muttered, standing from the couch and walking toward your daughter’s room, but not without pouting and sending pleasing looks to your husband.

You tiptoed quietly to her open door and took a peek inside. Oh good, she was playing with her baby dolls. Wait, since when were they covered in fur?

You ran back to the living room whisper yelling, “Honey, you have to come see what your daughter is doing!”

Jaemin tilted his head back and shut his eyes, “why is she only my daughter when she’s being naughty?”

“It’s not even that bad, no new furniture. Just come see!” You tugged on his arm until he was up and quietly sneaking behind you.

You both peeked into the open door and watched as your daughter swaddled up one of the cats, Luke. And he liked it! He was purring and nuzzling into your daughters small and unusually gentle hands. “Ok baby! It’s time for a nap!” She told the cat before placing him in her toy bassinet. The poor doll who it belonged to could be seen face down under her bed.

“And for the other baby, it’s lunch! Time for your bottle,” she told Luna, picking up the cat and holding her like a newborn while holding a toy bottle to the cat’s mouth. And poor Lucy was sitting on a doll bed with a bonnet tied below her chin, but she looked unbothered.

“I think the cats… like it?” Jaemin whispered in confusion.

You looked at him, “weirdly enough, I think they do too.”

You and Jaemin continued to watch the four of them play and interact. They were all calm and playing happily, until, she turned and caught sight of you.

She bounded over to you and jumped into your arms, knocking the wind out of you.

“I’m practicing!” She smiled brightly.

��What are you practicing for, baby?” You asked her, moving some hair out of her face.

“Daddy said he’s going to get me a baby brother! So I have to practice being a good big sister!” She smiled, stating it like it was obvious.

Your fave dropped, looking at Jaemin with a raised eyebrow, “did your dad say that? That’s news to me. What else did he tell you, baby?”

Jaemin’s face dropped and your daughter began spilling all their secrets. How he always bought her candy before ballet, they sometimes snuck some ice cream together after you were asleep, Jaemin put sugar in her cereal, and how he promised her new toys if she didn’t mention anything about a new sibling. “Do I still get my toys daddy?”

“Uh! No! She would not be getting any new toys!”Jaemin yelled in his mind.

“You can ask daddy later, he’s about to be in very big trouble.”

[heechwe]

midnight faith | 𝐩𝐣𝐬

୨୧ pairing: park jongseong (jay) x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 2.5K ୨୧ genre: fluff, semi-angst, smut ୨୧ tags: werewolf!jay, established relationship, pet names (darling, sweetheart, etc.), biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, knotting, creampie, cock stuffing, breeding kink ୨୧ synopsis: You know his history and where he comes from, both being huge factors that affect your current relationship, but all you care about is your future together. ➸ banner created by @hobeemin ♡

The grass surrounding the blanket underneath your back prickles your ankles. Jay sits crisscrossed next to you, observing the way the sunlight peers through the forest trees and paints your skin. His breath goes in and out in uneven increments, and you open one eye to look at your boyfriend. You’ve had your eyes closed for the past ten minutes, focusing on Jay and all he had to tell you about his history, pre-werewolf and all. The boy is practically shaking at the fact you haven’t responded to any of it, but with a smirk, you reply, “So it really isn’t just caused by a bite?”

Both of you laugh, the sound reverberating around your patch of grass. In relief, Jay sinks to a resting position on his stomach beside you and props his chin on your chest. “Yeah, that’s not exactly how that story goes. Well, at least for me it didn’t.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “So it was a genetic thing?”

He nods. “My parents thought maybe it would skip a generation since my grandfather didn’t inherit it from his father. Sadly for them, I came home after some party scared as all hell, wondering why the fuck I had claws and this desire to run on all fours.” 

You giggle as Jay takes one of your hands into his and kisses your knuckles. “After a while, I learned how to control the shift, but I shut myself away from everyone, especially my parents. Because of them, it was this huge rush to understand myself, my abilities, and my family’s history. The one thing I couldn’t get over then was that it wasn’t a choice. It was always something I was born with.

“But, it’s all in the past now.” Jay sighs and presses his cheek to your stomach.

“Well, parts of it are. But, Seongie, it still gets to you and affects how you are around people. Sometimes, you act like everyone’s fragile when you’re around, like you won’t be able to control your impulses or actions, so you don’t let yourself truly be yourself. Including me.”

He looks back up to you, recognizing the truth in your words. “I try not to,” he whispers, moving so your faces are at eye level, his lips an inch away. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not you.” Pain flashes over his features, too strong for him to ignore. “I don’t fear a lot of things, but the possibility I could harm you scares the fuck out of me.”

The vulnerability Jay can often hide so well is written all over him. His hands shake and his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, but it only takes the well of tears in his eyes to strike a knife through your chest. Your boyfriend may be a supernatural creature, but it wouldn’t take a genius to see the guy’s immense capacity for kindness. The way his eyes widened in fear when he shook your father’s hand when they first met, the whispers of a lullaby he sang to your sister’s newborn daughter when you had to babysit her, and his adorable fascination with tiny animals prove all of his fears will never become a reality. “Baby, you don’t have a harmful bone in your body. You may have impulses as a wolf, but there’s no way you would hurt someone on purpose.” The wind brushes through the trees as you speak, barely covering the tremble in your voice. “And you would never hurt me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t love me, and I love you enough to know all the fear is in your head. You just have to trust yourself.” 

You brush your mouth against him, and the sound of the wind in the brush and the heat of the sun ebbs away. Your reassurance and touch ease his worries until it’s only you and Jay, nestled against a soft blanket away from the world and lost in each other with the soft collide of each other’s lips and tongues.

Jay grunts and backs away from you, a heady expression flashing across his eyes.

Breathless, you reach for his hand. “Is that what you meant by hurting me?”

He nods, saying your name while trying to slow down the fast pace of his heartbeat. “I love you, and I never want to hurt you, but what if I didn’t mean to? I mean, I can’t even kiss you without feeling like I’m losing control. How could I make love to you?”

You shake your head and reach for him, his body and yours coming into contact instantly.

“Because we trust each other, and we use that trust to know and respect our limits. If you’re scared, we stop. If I don’t like something, I'll tell you.” You smile, nipping at his lips with a quick peck. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind losing control with you. I feel that way with you a lot of the time anyway.”

Jay chuckles and kisses you, rendering you breathless. “God, what am I gonna do with you?” 

It sounds more like a statement than a question when it leaves his lips, but you grin regardless. “A lot of things, I hope. Right now, I just want you to kiss me some more.”

And as Jay lies you down onto the blanket with his mouth attached to yours and quickly trailing down your neck, you listen to the sound of his breath and the trickles of the river, forgetting his fears the longer he holds you in his arms.

The moonlight bathes your bedroom in blue shadows, the color of Jay’s brown eyes more hypnotic than ever before. His bare chest quietly heaves up and down, unsure of where to start first. Shaky hands hold your waist against him, too scared to venture further than where they are at in the current moment.

Standing in front of him now, underwear-clad and more sure of him than he is in himself, you kiss him to quell his fears. You hope the act is as reassuring as it feels. “I trust you,” you promise him.

He nods, his lips turning at the corners despite what anxieties still linger in his body. You kiss him harder, dissipating what is left of his resolve. He wraps his arms tighter around you, nails digging into the small of your back when you press your tongue inside of his mouth.

Jay takes his lips from yours, his breath ragged. “If anything is too much,” he says, “you have to tell me.”

“Cross my heart,” you tease, but sincerity is still present in your tone.

Suddenly, he lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist, the act knocking the wind out of your lungs. Half a dozen kisses meet the column of your throat before Jay bites down on the skin. He sucks and licks at the pieces he’s bitten, marking you for himself as he lays you down gently onto the bed.

You can barely think straight as he rips the material of your bra off of you in a quick motion, the sounds of the seams ripping apart hitting your ears. He inhales a shaky breath, mesmerized by the swell of your breasts under the cover of nightfall.

“You’re so breathtaking, you know that?” Jay phrases it more as a statement than a question. You blush and try to hide your face with your hands, but he takes your palms in his instead. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Your heart clenches. “Neither do you.” You sit up to take his face in your hands, kissing both of his cheeks before once again meeting your mouth with his.

A low rumble emits from his throat, the groan shooting to the space between your legs. You moan into his mouth, taking one of his hands and pressing it to the cotton covering your clit.

“I want you this much because I trust you, Seongie.”

He mumbles out a curse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to. Please,” you say, dipping his hand inside your underwear to feel the pooing wetness. “I need you to touch me.”

Without warning, his eyes glow a bright hazel in the darkness of your bedroom. The hunger he’s tried so long to suppress seems to come over him in a wave. His hands press you back down into the mattress and his face comes into contact with your underwear. You can feel his breath against your center, and you want more than anything for him to bury his mouth there and leave you a mess in the sheets.

“Jongseong,” you call out, “please.”

He smirks and takes his hands to the corners of your underwear to yank them down. Not violently, but with a serious edge that takes you back. Where was the shy boy that you began the night with?

“Use your words, pet,” Jay demands with a growl.

“Put your mouth on me, please.”

“That’s better.” The cool temperature of your room on your body is replaced by Jay’s tongue, the man you love licking lavishly between your folds. You’re unsure how he’s never done this before when he knows exactly how to make you buck your hips into his awaiting mouth. He’s already so perfectly in tune with your body, knowing when to take time away from your pussy to swirl his tongue around your clit. 

Moans and gasps leave you in quick succession. Your hand buries itself in his hair, and he continues to growl and groan into your center to make you shake even harder.

“I know you’re close, my love. Don’t hold back on me now.” He takes a second to kiss the insides of your thighs before diving back into your pussy. With a long swipe of his mouth from your perineal to your clit, you cry out as your orgasm washes over you.

You take your hand from Jay’s hair when you come down, wiping the sweat off of your forehead with a laugh. “That was–”

Jay smirks and bites his bottom lip. “I’m not done with you yet, pet.” He presses your lips against his, the taste of you filling your mouth when he slips his tongue inside. “Flip over for me.”

You do as he commands as he takes both his jeans and briefs off quickly. By the time he pushes your hips back against him, his cock brushes against your entrance and the wetness from your previous release.

“Fuck,” he whispers, letting himself be coated in your arousal before moving any further. He loves the feeling of your body wiggling against his for any kind of friction, your legs spent and weakened from the pleasure you just received. But he’s going to love it even more when he feels you wrapped around him fully. “Ready, my love?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

Sliding inside of you is so easy with your earlier slick, causing garbled moans to leave both of your mouths at the same time. Jay chastises himself for waiting this long to be intimate with you knowing now how exquisite it feels to have your walls pulsing around him, welcoming his body like he was always meant to be there. Around you, inside of you, calling him yours.

He begins a slow rhythm, thrusting in and out at a comfortable pace, He laces his fingers with yours, wondering how he was so lucky to find someone so understanding, so beautiful, so patient. Anyone else would not have been so stubborn to cut through the many walls he put up, but he’s grateful to have found you who was willing to do the work so effortlessly.

These thoughts make any sense of uncertainty dissipate completely. And in doing so, his control loosens and desire heightens to an unfathomable degree as he watches your body ease up and down his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jay curses, his length swelling to the point he cannot think about anything but your pulsing walls around him. His body is locked to yours, this cock cinched to the point he knows it’s too late to slow down or stop. He had only ever heard of this prior with his brothers and friends who also shared his genetic disposition. But now, knowing it isn’t just a myth and he has no control until he fully releases inside of you, he has never been more turned on in his life.

Knowing he’ll fall apart inside of you, make you as swollen as he feels, is enough for him to come then and there. But Jay knows depriving you of a second orgasm when you’re this close would be cruel. And he’s anything but a cruel person.

He pounds harder into you and wraps an arm around you to find your clit with his fingers, rubbing the bud tenderly. It’s an insatiable mixture of heady and delicate; so intimate you wish you could kiss him while he thrusts deeply from behind you.

“Seongie, I’m so close.”

“Me too, my love. I could stay here all night,” he grunts his beautiful, filthy words into the space between you, the sounds accompanied by the meeting of your bodies. “You want that too, don’t you? Want to be filled up with nothing but my cum, belonging to nobody but me, huh?”

“Y-yes, more than anything,” you confess, loving the intimacy of his explicitness.

“So dirty for me. So perfect.” He kisses the center of your back as he continues to plow mercilessly into you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna–” You have no time to finish your sentence as the second release floods your senses, the feeling in your body as bright as the moonlight and heavy as the sweat coating both of your bodies.

You barely have time to recover as Jay also comes a few seconds after, bottoming out as he releases. He refuses to let any of his cum go to waste, continuing to thrust inside of you in spite of your sensitivity. You mumble about it being too much and for him to pull out soon, but he’s focused on making sure none of him spills out.

When he’s satisfied, he releases you and lets you fall onto the comforter of your bed, spent and exhausted.

You giggle as he places kisses all over your sweaty face. “Jay, please.”

“What? I can’t kiss you now?” He asks, burying his face in your neck.

“You can when I’m not gross.”

“I think you’ve never looked more beautiful.” He grabs your palm and kisses each finger individually.

“Stop it,” you say, bashful. Jay knows you know it’s true, though. How could he not think so, completely in love and satisfied with your body filled with nothing but him?

He wraps the both of you in your blankets, his chest against your back. He’s never felt closer to you than in this moment, and he could not ask for more.

Well, besides another round in the morning.

“I love you,” he says before falling asleep nestled close to you.

“I love you too, babe,” you respond, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat and the glow of the moonlight as your eyelids close.

@mini-mews @jayparked @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 47

Hear me out. Amity Park gets shifted in universes slightly- maybe it’s from Pariah, maybe it was a wish, maybe they did so on purpose to escape something- and they end up in the DC-verse. The thing is, thanks to the media blackout and the shields, no one in the new universe notices. The Amityville Paekers know about outside, can go on the internet and leave whenever they want, but they’ve all become more than a little liminal. More than a little off. Movements too graceful, eyes too sharp, ears too pointed and teeth more akin to predatory fangs. Skin with a soft glow, hair moving as though underwater or being tussled by the wind- bodies seemingly unaging after a certain point. They’re so ecto-contaminated that they’re unsure they can even be counted as human anymore, and it wasn’t like the city wasn’t already practically self sufficient. Add in a portal or two through the Infinite Realms to get supplies to start a few fields or some fish farms and well, they’re pretty good. Sure it’s resulted in them using a mixture of modern and older money and having several extinct plants and animals running around but that’s fine. There’s magic in this world! Actual magic, that they can learn! And use? Oh this makes rebuilding after a sparring incident go so much faster! 

This results in the hero who stumbles across this place to believe they’ve stumbled across some sort of city of fae or elves. 

[cr4yolaas]

every year, with you — kageyama tobio

content: timeskip tobio, established relationship, self indulgent, fem reader, angst if you squint but mostly fluff, not proofread

note: happy bday to me !! i’m not celebrating irl, so this is my way of appreciating the day :) (p.s. mezzo forte will be updated eventually — i unfortunately don’t have the energy for anything more than this rn 😓)

tobio doesn’t usually celebrate his birthday.

he isn’t attracted to the notion of a sweet sixteen, nor does he find the idea of bar hopping at twenty one appealing. he’s content with whatever is below the bare minimum — quick greetings, maybe one small gift, and a normal day. that’s all he needs.

as such, he doesn’t find it necessary to do much for his friends’ birthdays. he’ll usually purchase something small, like a plushy or a gift card. it’s simple. it’s easy.

but with you, his routine shifts. he marks down your birth date on his phone as soon as he catches wind of it, and in the weeks leading up to the day, it fails to slip his mind. he wants to do something more than simple, something more than easy.

after all, he thinks you deserve more than that.

if you were to peer into his notes app and figure out the password for a locked note with an ambiguous title, you’d find a list of everything you’ve ever mentioned — the show you watched religiously for two months straight, a clothing collaboration you were particularly excited for, the animated character whose merchandise is littered throughout your bedroom — all neatly listed for him to remember. the contents vary; some items are specific, like the shade of the lip tint you searched up a week ago, and others are vague, like ‘silly white mouse with big round eyes.’

tobio finds that, when it comes to you, he wants to give you the world. he wants to cradle you gently in his arms, as if you’re the most important figure in the world (to him, you are). he wants to make your special day just that — special.

the summer heat pierces through your air conditioning, even in the middle of night. your boyfriend has yet to return home, presumably preoccupied with volleyball practice, and you decide that tomorrow you’ll greet him with extra kisses as a reward for working so hard.

but as soon as your hand flicks the lights off, the front door squeaks open. you’re silent. soft footsteps thump against the floor, and if you listen hard enough, you can hear tobio’s heavy breathing in the kitchen. your rationality overpowers whatever yearning has festered within your heart throughout the day during his absence. a soft wave of quietude washes over you as you lay down, opting to wait for him to come to you when he’s ready.

it comes sooner than later, however. tobio slowly opens the door to your shared bedroom, assuming you’re fast asleep given the time. he’s a little startled to find you awake.

“i got you something,” he whispers against your forehead. he doesn’t realize you just laid down — he’s quiet, as if there’s sleep riddled in your system. but there isn’t. he doesn’t know that. and yet, he’s still careful in his movements. his hands reach to brush away hair from your eyes, and his lips ghost against your skin as he stamps his affections onto your flesh.

he slips away for a moment to carry something up onto the bed. it weighs heavy in his hands, although you can’t quite make out what it is in the dark of the room. “well, it’s a lot of somethings,” he muses while he reaches around for the bedside lamp. when the warm light floods the bed, you see it — a gift basket, overfilled with everything you could possibly like. you look at tobio and find his ears dusted with pink and his eyes cast aside. “i wasn’t sure specifically what to get you. so… i got a lot of different things, in hopes that you’d like at least one of them.”

it’s hard not to laugh at him (endearingly, of course). “tobio, you put all of my favorite things in here. i’m not sure why i wouldn’t like it.”

his lips, albeit chapped from his troubles of the day, curl up into a smitten smile. “there’s more, by the way. it just didn’t fit into the basket. and i’m way too tired to bring everything here right now,” he speaks as he curls up on his side of the bed. his athletic wear clings to his muscles from the coalescence of sweat on his skin, but nonetheless, he finds himself clinging to you. the gift basket sits on the table beside you, and in the morning when you arise, you’ll thank him for it, again, but with a little more energy.

“happy birthday,” tobio mutters into your shoulder. he looks like a sleepy baby. “i love you.”

[shortnspidey]

QUIDDICH COLLISIONS

draco malfoy x fem!slytherin!reader || WC: 4.9K

SUMMARY: Unlike your famous boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, your personality was a refreshing change from the typical Slytherin arrogance. You often challenge Draco's aggressive behavior, amusing some and annoying others. But when Draco gets seriously injured in a brutal Quidditch match, a chilling protectiveness surfaced. Anyone who dared to cross him or speak ill of him faced the real reason you were sorted into Slytherin. The ambition and ruthlessness of the house now burned within you, fueled by the fear of losing him.

WARNINGS: established relationship, soft!draco, steamy kissing, cursing, typical Harry Potter themes, Cedric Diggory is alive and well, quidditch injuries, hurt-comfort themes

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!! My first Draco fic is dedicated to all my fellow single people spending Valentine's day alone!! I'm such a sucker for soft Draco! Hope you all enjoy! Beautiful dividers by @bernardsbendystraws <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ harry potter masterlist

The icy wind bit at your face as you pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, the frost clinging to your eyelashes. Yet, you couldn't help but grin as you marched into the Great Hall. You knew Daphne was probably already teasing you about it, but you didn't care. You were wearing Draco's Quidditch jumper, and it smelled faintly of wood, citrus, and his signature cologne that you loved dearly.

As you neared the Slytherin table, a sea of faces washed over you – stony expressions, bored glances, and the occasional whispered conversation. Then, you spotted him. Draco Malfoy, a beacon of platinum hair and shockingly vibrant emerald green jumper, stood out amongst the crowd. He seemed to be engaged in a heated discussion with Theo and Blaise, his brow furrowed in concentration, a grim set to his jaw.

The usual arrogance seemed to be replaced by a genuine intensity, making him appear even more captivating than usual. Enzo spotted you first. Letting out a dramatic sigh of relief that could be heard across the Great Hall, he pushed himself away from the table and speed-walked towards you. His usually carefree demeanor was replaced by a look of genuine distress.

Before you could even greet him with a smile, he had reached you, his hand firmly grasping your wrist. "Come on," He muttered, practically dragging you towards the end of the table. “Well good morning to you too, Enzo.” You retorted sarcastically matching his pace. You saw him look anxiously between you and your boyfriend, who, completely oblivious to your arrival, continued his animated conversation with Theo and Blaise, his voice rising in frustration.

"Please, for the love of Merlin, make him stop." He huffed motioning over to his cousin. "What's going on?" You questioned, brows furrowing in confusion. Enzo simply shrugged, a helpless expression gracing his features. "Ask him yourself." He muttered, sinking back into his chair as if to avoid the impending storm. "Draco," You called out softly, your voice a gentle murmur in the otherwise boisterous Great Hall. He didn't even flinch.

"Love," You tried again, adding a saccharine sweetness to your voice that would have made even Honeydukes' most potent sweets blush. Finally, as if snapping out of a trance, his grey eyes met yours. They were stormy, a mixture of anger, frustration, and something else… something you couldn't quite place. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the storm subsided. His entire tense demeanor immediately softened, the lines of anger disappearing from his face.

"Darling," He breathed out, his voice a low rumble, reaching for your manicured hand and pulling you closer, as if to convince himself you were real. He held your hand tightly, his fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of his skin radiating through you. "Thank Salazar she's here." You heard Theo exasperate, his expression mirroring Enzo's. You ignored their commentary, solely focused on the boy in front of you. Now that you were closer, you could see the bags under his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual flawless complexion.

He looked exhausted, and that made your heart ache. "Did you get any sleep last night?" You asked him softly, reaching out to caress his cheekbone, your fingers tracing the lines of fatigue etched on his face. As if you were the only two people in the Great Hall, he nuzzled his face into your palm, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His eyes, usually so cold and calculating, now held a warmth that surprised you. They traced over your figure, lingering on his quidditch number and last name embroidered on your chest.

"You look absolutely breathtaking in my jumper," He purred, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. The compliment would have normally made your knees buckle, but you knew him well enough to know it was a tactic to get you distracted, a playful attempt to avoid confronting the emotions that were clearly swirling beneath the surface. "Draco," You chastised, squeezing his hand, a silent plea to get him to express what was on his mind. "Is this about the match later today?" You questioned, taking a wild guess as to why his attitude was all over the place.

As if on cue, his facial expressions said everything his words didn't convey. The grimace making a reappearance, twisting his features into a mask of pure fury. His eyes, now held a dangerous glint. "Fucking Cavendish," He spat venomously, the word tasting like bile in his mouth. Now it all made sense. Bryce Cavendish, Hufflepuff seeker, and as of now Draco's sworn enemy. Which said a lot, considering Harry Potter had always been at the very top of his list.

"He was up all night." Blaise mumbled, his eyes darting nervously towards Draco. "Reviewing plays for hours," Theo added with a scoff, his voice barely a whisper. If looks could kill, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott would both be six-feet under with the way Draco was looking at them. His gaze, icy and lethal, sent a shiver down their spines. "Draco," You coaxed, taking a seat next to him, hoping to somehow diffuse his anger. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, his muscles tensing beneath your touch.

"We've talked about this. You can't let him get to you." He sighed, running a hand down his face in frustration, the lines of anger deepening on his forehead. "I know, darling," He admitted, his voice rough with suppressed fury. "But the bastard knows how to get inside my bloody head." Looking up at the three boys in front of you, judging by their expressions you knew Draco was already way over his head about this match in particular. "You're the best seeker in all of Hogwarts," You praised, smoothing out the crease in his perfectly pressed tie.

"He's just jealous," You added with a reassuring smile, punctuating your words with a sweet kiss to his cheek. He closed his eyes momentarily, leaning into your touch, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. A contented sigh escaped his lips, a low rumble that vibrated against your ear. "Thank you, darling," He muttered so softly under his breath, if you hadn't been close you were sure you wouldn't have heard him. "I'm sure I'll get over it before the match." He reassured, his gaze, though still a little guarded, held a warmth that melted away the last remainder of his earlier anger.

Yet before you could even continue to ask him what was actually bothering him, he threw an arm over your shoulders and pulled you closer, his hand resting possessively on your waist. Luckily for him, Pansy arrived at the table, her voice a shrill counterpoint to the hushed murmurs of the Great Hall. "Y/N, you will not believe who I just saw…" She began, her voice a whirlwind of gossip and exaggerated pronouncements. Her arrival pulled your attention away from your boyfriend and the lingering tension that still clung to him, replaced by a forced smile and a polite inquiry into Pansy's latest conquest.

Draco, in fact, did not get over it. All throughout your shared Potions class, you'd catch him zoning off, his gaze flitting around the room. He would absentmindedly tap his foot against the stone floor, a nervous habit you hadn't noticed before. Unfortunately for him, you weren't the only one who seemed to notice his off-putting behavior. Snape, his eyes narrowed to slits like a venomous snake, watched Draco with disdain. You could only guess what was going through his mind as he calculated his best students every move.

Thankfully, you were able to turn Draco's attention back to the task at hand before Snape could intervene. You gently nudged his elbow with yours, a silent message that you were there for him. He looked up, startled, his eyes meeting yours. A flicker of gratitude passed, before he quickly returned his attention to the bubbling potion in his cauldron, trying to focus on the task at hand. You knew the last thing Draco needed was to get reprimanded before his big match. He was already battling enough inner demons without Snape adding to his inner turmoil.

After class was over, you barely had time to blink before Draco was jumping out of his seat, pressing a kiss to your cheek before rushing out of the classroom, presumably towards the Quidditch pitch. As you gathered the rest of your belongings, your eyes connected with Hermione Granger's who seemed to share your expression of concern. After all, Draco's personality was known to be strong and passionate in a classroom setting, but his competitive spirit, when ignited, could be truly terrifying.

You gave her a reassuring smile, trying to project an air of confidence you didn't entirely feel, before making way out of the classroom yourself. Holding your books tightly to your chest, you made a beeline for Draco's dormitory, the stone walls of the castle looming large around you. You needed to see him before the match, to make sure he was alright. Reaching his room, you quickly dropped off your books and grabbed yours his favorite scarf, wrapping it securely around your neck, knowing it would be bitterly cold on those stands.

As you walked towards the Quidditch pitch, the vibrant green of the field a stark contrast against the grey stone of the castle, the nauseating pit of anxiety grew in your stomach. It was like a physical manifestation of your fear, twisting and churning within you. Although Draco had played against Hufflepuff before, these matches had always been a mere formality. But ever since Bryce Cavendish had joined the Hufflepuff team, something had shifted. Draco, usually so confident and arrogant, had become strangely subdued, preoccupied with thoughts that seemed to weigh heavily on his mind.

Anytime you'd even try to bring up the subject, Draco would resort to his usual tactics to shift the conversation away from what was truly bothering him. Thankfully, Enzo was able to sneak you past Madame Hooch, her attention momentarily diverted by a particularly boisterous group of Hufflepuffs. You knew he needed a little positive reassurance before the match, if not you were certain the boys would all get their heads chewed off by the time the first bludger flew.

As you neared the entryway of the boy's changing rooms, you spotted Enzo, Blaise, and Theo leaning against the wall, their faces a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. "How's he doing?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes searching the room for any sign of Draco. "Hasn't lost his quip and sarcasm that's for sure," Blaise replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "He's been giving poor Theo a hard time about his choice of socks." You let out a small laugh, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "That’s good," You whispered, a genuine smile finally gracing your lips.

Theo, ever the observant one, noticed the shift in your demeanor. "He'll be fine, Dolcezza. He's a Malfoy. He thrives on competition." You nodded, though the lingering anxiety still clung to you. "I know," You murmured, "But… I just worry." You admitted. "We all do," He admitted, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare display of vulnerability. "He's our friend, after all." Just as you were about to respond, the doors to the changing rooms opened and out walked the rest of the Slytherin quidditch boys, all except Draco.

"He kicked everyone out," Adrian Pucey explained, his voice subdued, "Said he needed a moment alone." That was your cue. With a surge of adrenaline, you pushed past the remaining boys, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. With a final deep breath, you pushed open the door to the changing room, your heart pounding in your chest. If there was one thing that never failed to make you swoon, it was Draco in his Quidditch gear. The emerald green of the Slytherin robes seemed to deepen the grey hue of his eyes, making them sparkle with an almost predatory like intensity.

His usually pale skin was flushed with a healthy color, and his normally perfectly styled hair was slightly disheveled, giving him a rugged, almost dangerous charm. He looked every inch the confident, arrogant Slytherin, but beneath the bravado, you knew there was a vulnerability, a fierce protectiveness that only you were privileged to witness. "Shouldn't you be outside along with everyone else?" You questioned watching as his body tensed momentarily upon hearing your voice. He hadn't expected you. You could see it in the way his eyes widened slightly, the way his jaw clenched. "You shouldn't be here," He muttered, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Enzo let me in," You explained, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Besides," You added, walking towards him, "Who's going to keep you motivated and wish you good luck before your match?" He grinned, the tension that had been plaguing him earlier visibly melting away, replaced by a warmth that spread across his features. He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "You," He said, his voice husky, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Always you." He leaned in, his eyes searching yours, a mixture of longing and possessiveness burning within them.

You closed your eyes, tilting your head up, meeting his lips with a fervor that mirrored his own. His kiss was demanding, passionate, a whirlwind of emotions that swept you off your feet. The world around you faded away, leaving only the intensity of his touch, the taste of mint and something faintly metallic, the scent of his cologne mixing with the earthy aroma of the changing room. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your hands tracing the contours of his face, memorizing every curve, every imperfection.

He groaned softly against your lips, pulling you closer, his body pressed against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the strength of his arms around you, a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions. Time seemed to cease to exist, replaced by the intoxicating rhythm of his kisses, the intoxicating scent of him. Finally, he pulled back, his eyes searching yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “There’s plenty more of where that came from, after you win.” Upon hearing the implication in your words, a mischievous glint returned to his eyes.

You smiled, your heart pounding against your ribs. "Now go out there and show them what you're made of. Go kick some Hufflepuff arse!" He grinned, his eyes sparkling with a newfound confidence. "For you," He murmured, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your lips before turning and striding towards the field, his Quidditch robes swirling around him. You watched him go, your heart overflowing with pride and a fierce protectiveness of your own. Sneaking out, before Madame Hooch could scold you, you made your way towards the stands.

Your chest burned with pride among seeing fellow Slytherin’s decked out in house pride, eagerly awaiting the match to start. "Where were you?" Pansy pulled you into her side, eager to shield herself from the cold. "You were gone forever!" Astoria, who was beside you, smirked. "Oh Pans," She drawled, reaching over to poke your rosy cheek. "Just look at her." She pointed to your blushing complexion, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I bet you ten galleons that Malfoy and her were snogging." She snickered. "Shut up!" You exclaimed, though a blush crept up your neck despite your denial. You knew Astoria was right, of course. But you weren't about to admit it.

Thankfully, the roar of the crowd as the Slytherin and Hufflepuff Quidditch teams took to the field was able to distract both girls from questioning you further. Draco, resplendent in emerald green, looked every bit the confident Seeker, a glint of determination in his eyes. You watched him from the stands, your heart pounding in your chest. He caught your gaze and gave you a small, encouraging smile, the tension that had plagued him earlier completely gone. At the sound of Madame Hooch’s whistle the match began with a flurry of activity. Bludgers whizzed through the air, narrowly missing players.

Chasers weaved and dodged, their expressions grim as they battled for possession of the Quaffle. Draco, however, remained calm and collected, his eyes scanning the field, ever vigilant for the elusive Golden Snitch. The first few minutes of the game were a fierce battle for dominance. Neither team seemed to have a clear advantage. Then, in a spectacular move, Draco, with a sudden burst of speed, intercepted a Hufflepuff pass, soaring through the air with a grace that took your breath away. The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices a thunderous roar that echoed through the stadium.

However, the joy was short-lived. Bryce Cavendish, a look of pure hatred etched on his face, veered sharply towards Draco, his broom dangerously close to colliding with the blonde's. Draco, agile and experienced, managed to avoid the collision, but the near miss seemed to have rattled him. He shook his head, trying to regain his focus, but it was clear that Cavendish had gotten to him. “You can do it, Draco!” You shouted hoping he could hear you over the crowd. Your eyes met Cavenish’s, the smirk on his lips making your fists and jaw clench. Bloody bastard.

The match continued, a tense and hard-fought battle. Draco, despite his initial setback, played with a fierce determination, his every move calculated and precise. He made several impressive catches, weaving through the Hufflepuff defense with a skill that drew gasps from the crowd. But then, disaster struck. As Draco soared through the air, his eyes fixed on the elusive Snitch, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. He felt disoriented, his grip on his broom loosening. You watched in horror as he tried to regain control, but it was too late.

The crowd gasped as Draco plummeted towards the ground. He landed with a sickening thud, his body crumpling against the grass. A hush fell over the stadium, broken only by your panicked cries. You felt your blood run cold. You pushed your way through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest. As you reached Draco's side, the sight that greeted you stole the air from your lungs. He lay motionless on the ground, his face pale and drawn, a thin trickle of blood snaking from the corner of his mouth. His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle, the bone clearly visible protruding through a tear in his robes.

His eyes were closed, his usually arrogant features slack and vulnerable. Madam Hooch was already at his side, her face etched with deep concern, her wand glowing with a soft, diagnostic light. She was muttering under her breath, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up at you, her eyes filled with a grim understanding. “He’s sustained a number of injuries, a broken arm. He’s also… he’s hit his head quite hard.” She gestured towards a small but rapidly swelling lump on Draco’s temple, half-hidden by his pale blonde hair. “We need to get him to the infirmary immediately.”

You knelt beside Draco, your hand trembling as you reached out to touch his face. His skin was cold and clammy. “Draco?” You whispered, your voice barely audible. There was no response. Panic clawed at your throat, making it difficult to breathe. “Draco, please,” You begged, tears stinging your eyes. You pressed your fingers against his wrist, searching frantically for a pulse. It was faint, thready, almost imperceptible. Madam Hooch placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but gentle. “He’s unconscious. We need to move him carefully. I’ll summon a stretcher.” She raised her wand again, this time a burst of red sparks shot into the air, signaling for assistance.

Within moments, two medi-wizards arrived, pushing their way through the throng of onlookers. They knelt beside Draco, their faces professional and detached, a stark contrast to the fear and concern etched on the faces of the students surrounding them. They quickly assessed Draco’s injuries, their movements precise and efficient. You watched as they placed him carefully onto a floating stretcher, securing him with enchanted restraints. As they lifted the stretcher, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from Draco’s still form. You followed the medi-wizards as they floated the stretcher through the crowd, your heart a lead weight in your chest.

The whispers of the onlookers followed you, hushed and anxious. You ignored them all. All you could focus on was Draco. That was until out of your peripheral you spotted the man who did this to him. Bryce Cavendish, his face flushed with an adrenaline-fueled high, was grinning triumphantly at the crowd. The cocky smile he was hiding behind his fist made your blood boil. You surged forward, rage blinding you. "You bloody bastard!" Before you could strike, Cedric Diggory, had his hands around your waist, pulling you away from Bryce. "As much as I would love to see you put him in his place, I have a feeling Malfoy needs you right now."

Cedric's words brought you back to reality. You couldn't afford to be distracted by your anger, not when Draco needed you. "Okay," You surrendered pulling yourself out of Cedric's hold. You were never one for conflict, but the way he was smirking cockily, knowing he had succeeded in hurting Draco, made your anger resurface. Before you could even think about it, you were already in front of him, your right arm pulled back, striking him across the face before he could even react. As you heard a sickening crack, when your knuckles met his nose, you felt an unexpected surge of satisfaction. You had never punched anyone in your life, but the feeling of adrenaline coursing through your veins was exhilarating.

"Consider yourself lucky it wasn't an unforgivable curse," You hissed, your voice dripping with venom, "I won't be as nice if there's ever a next time." He stared at you, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief as he clutched his now broken nose in pain. "Oi, Diggory!" He hissed, his voice a mixture of pain and indignation. "Aren't you going to do something?" Cedric, who had been watching the exchange, simply shrugged. "I didn't see anything," He replied casually, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Turing towards you, he gave you a reassuring smile, motioning towards the hospital wing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him, you have my word.” You didn't need to be told twice.

You were sure your fingers were on the verge of bleeding with how much you were picking at them, the raw skin a testament to your anxiety. But that was the least of your problems considering the love of your life was laying motionless in front of you. The crisp, sterile scent of the Medical Wing filled your nostrils, a constant, unwelcome reminder of the gravity of the situation. The only thing keeping you sane was the steady rise and fall of his chest against the sheets.

You were sure the only reason as to why Madam Pomfrey had let you stay overnight was due to how distraught you looked. Your face, pale and tear-stained, was probably a picture of despair. You'd practically begged her, your voice a desperate croak, to let you stay by his side. The thought of leaving him alone, even for a moment, was unbearable. Your grip on his hand did not falter, no matter how uncomfortable the chair was on your back. The hard, unforgiving wood dug into your spine, but you didn't care.

You weren't leaving his side until those grey eyes you loved so much were staring back at you. Each shallow breath he took, each labored rise and fall of his chest, was a precious lifeline, a fragile thread connecting you to the boy who was everything to you. Time seemed to crawl, each agonizing second stretching into an eternity. "I knew I'd find you in here," Theodore Nott's voice interrupted your thoughts, but your eyes stayed glued to Draco. You barely registered his presence, your mind consumed by the fear that gnawed at your insides.

"Dolcezza," He coaxed, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and swollen, and managed a weak smile. "He hasn't moved all night, Theo. I'm so fucking worried." Hearing the pain in your voice, the raw, unfiltered fear that laced every word, was all it took for Theo to pull you into an embrace. "He's a stubborn bastard, he'll be alright." He held you close, his own body trembling slightly, as if mirroring your own. “While I admire the sentiment, I’d appreciate if got your hands off my girl, Nott.” Draco’s voice, raspy with sleep, cut through the hushed silence of the hospital wing.

You pulled back from Theo, your eyes widening in surprise. Draco was sitting up in bed, his face pale, bruises darkening on his temple, but his eyes sparkling with amusement nonetheless. "Draco," You breathed out, immediately separating yourself from the brunette boy and carefully climbing into the open arm of your boyfriend. Despite your attempts to be mindful of his bruises and broken arm, he pulled you closer. "I'll go tell the other's you're awake," Theo interrupted giving you and Draco a smile. "I'm glad you're okay, you twit." In response Draco merely waved him off, giving you his undivided attention.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face for any sign of lingering pain. "How do you feel?" You asked, your voice soft with concern. He shrugged, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, "Sore," He admitted, "But otherwise, I feel surprisingly well." You nodded, feeling the tightness in your throat return as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. "Don't ever do that to me again." You whispered, shaking your head. "Darling," He coaxed, raising his hand to wipe the tears from your eyes, his thumb gently tracing the path they had left behind. "Don't cry," He murmured, his voice filled with concern. "You know I hate it when you cry."

"You scared me, so much," You whispered, burying your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he might disappear again. He held you close, his arms wrapping around you like a protective shield, his heart beating a steady rhythm against your ear. Proof that he was okay, and alive. "I'm sorry, love," He murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You both laid there for what seemed an eternity, the silence broken only by the soft rhythmic thumping of his heart and the distant murmur of conversation from the hallway.

Draco couldn't seem to let you get you closer to him, even when you both were practically intertwined. You smiled as he pressed a kiss to both your temples, cheeks, purposely skipping your lips as he grabbed your hand and brought it to his face. "Why are your knuckles red?" He questioned, concern etched on his face. “Well,” A small smile made its way onto your face as you recalled what you did. "I might have punched the daylights out of Cavendish." You muttered nonchalantly. Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "You what?" He questioned, wondering if he had her you correctly or if it was the concussion talking.

"He used a Confundus Charm on you," You explained, shrugging your shoulders as if it were no big deal. "And I wasn't going to let it slide." Draco stared at you, a mixture of amusement and disbelief on his face. He burst out laughing, his laughter echoing through the quiet room. "You," He managed to get out between laughs, "You actually punched him." You couldn't help but laugh with him. It felt good, exhilarating even. You had never punched anyone before, but standing up for Draco, protecting him, it felt… right. You looked up to find him already looking at you with nothing but pure adoration.

"Merlin, I love you so fucking much." Before you could react and reciprocate his words, he had grasped the sides of your face before pulling you into an unexpected kiss. This kiss, unlike the one you two shared on the pitch, was different. It was raw, vulnerable. It held so much love and so much fear all at once. It was as if the world around you had faded away, leaving just the two of you in that moment. The intensity of emotions was overwhelming, a silent conversation of hearts beating in sync. Every touch, every breath, every lingering second felt like a promise, a confession, and a plea all rolled into one.

"That's my girl," He praised as you separated for air yet he remained close. Nose to nose. Chest to chest. “My brave and badass girl, I can’t believe you punched someone for little old me.” You couldn’t help but blush at his words, no matter how many times you had heard him say them before. "I love you too," You echoed giving him a chaste kiss despite his intentions to deepen it. "Consider yourself very lucky to have someone like me, Malfoy." You smirked playfully pushing his platinum locks away from his eyes. The ones that were currently looking at you as if you hung the stars. "Always do, darling." He admitted, pulling you into another kiss which stifled your giggle. Lucky indeed.

[astrcmoni]

. ⏾ ⋆ dusk til dawn ⋆☼.

MASTERLIST

synopsis: after being invited to the met gala, you and billie are caught in between the spotlight and quiet intimacy of your growing relationship.

genre: fluff

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 6.05k

warnings: slight cussing, light alcohol consumption

authors note: so sad she’s not attending the met this year😓

moonlight streams through the open curtains, bathing the living room in a soft, silvery glow. the faint hum of a late-night talk show drifts through the air—it’s billie’s most recent appearance on jimmy fallon. your body sinks deeper into the couch, the plush cushions cradling you as your tired eyes follow the screen. the black throw blanket draped over you clings like a second skin, its soft, fuzzy fur wrapping you in a tender embrace. a candle flickers on the coffee table, its warm light spilling over the scattered remnants of your quiet evening alone—a half-empty mug of tea sits nearby, the once-hot liquid cooled to room temperature and forgotten on a coaster. next to it lies your book, a slender bookmark jutting out to hold your place. your phone, nestled beneath the blanket by your thigh, vibrates every few minutes with notifications you can’t bring yourself to check, the faint buzz a whisper against your skin.

the faint jangle of keys interrupts the silence, their metallic clink scraping softly against the door before the handle turns. the quiet, familiar click of the latch releasing echoes through the room, followed by the groan of the door as it swings open. the wind rushes in briefly, carrying the cool night air with it before the door closes, the hinges squeaking faintly as they settle back into place.

you glance over your shoulder, catching sight of billie as she steps inside. she pauses near the door, bending to kick off her shoes with a soft thud against the floor. her brown hair is gathered in a loose, low ponytail, strands framing her face in lazy curls. the oversized hoodie and baggy sweats she wears seem impossibly cozy, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of her day—errands, hours spent in her brother’s studio, and the residual energy of the spotlight still clinging faintly to her.

you turn your gaze back to the tv, watching her animated hands flit across the screen as she answers questions, the familiar cadence of her voice filling the room. the deep red roots of her hair peek through in the interview, a reminder of a look you dearly miss. behind you, the sound of her keys clattering onto the kitchen island mingles with the shuffle of papers, followed by her light footsteps as she crosses the room.

billie leans over the back of the couch, her presence warm and grounding. she presses a kiss to your temple, her lips soft and lingering, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the touch.

“you look nice and snug,” she murmurs, her voice low and comforting, like a melody meant only for you.

you nod, offering a soft “mhm” in response, the sound more exhale than word. the top of your head brushes against her face as she hovers near you, her warmth wrapping around you like an invisible blanket. leaning back slightly, you catch her lips in a gentle kiss, her skin soft and familiar against your own. the faint taste of mint from her gum cools your lips, the sensation spreading like a whisper of winter across your tongue.

when she pulls away, there’s a quiet, velvety pop, the delicate sound of connection breaking. her lips curve into a smile, the diamonds on her teeth catching the flicker of the candlelight, gleaming like scattered stars.

you reach up, cupping her face in your palm. your thumb brushes tender strokes along her cheek, the simple touch enough to make her nose wrinkle slightly. the sight draws a soft smile from you.

“hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as though the words are meant to wrap around her soul and nowhere else.

“hi, mama,” she replies, the nickname slipping from her lips with practiced ease, her voice as smooth as silk. her breath fans lightly across your face, carrying a warmth that lingers.

your fingers drift upward, tangling softly in the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck. her eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch, her lips parting slightly as a quiet sigh escapes her.

“long day?” you ask, your gaze tracing her face, taking in the freckles scattered across her skin like constellations.

“you have no idea,” she replies, her brows lifting briefly before relaxing again. “i feel like i just aged up twenty years.” her eyelids open slowly, revealing the piercing blue of her eyes, oceans of emotion that meet your own.

her attention shifts suddenly as something on the tv catches her ear—a sound or phrase that makes her stiffen slightly.

“ no, it never feels like that ever. no, i never am like, ‘yeah! got it.’ ”

she groans softly, her face scrunching in mild disgust as she catches sight of her past self on the screen. her body tenses briefly before she glances back at you, her lips forming a pout as she casts you a dramatic side-eye.

“why are you watching this?” she whines, her voice laced with playful exasperation.

“because i can,” you tease, raising your voice just enough to mimic her tone, your words dripping with faux defiance.

“whatever,” she mutters, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair.

you take the hand that rests on the back of her neck, pulling her down toward you. your lips meet hers in a flurry of light, playful pecks, the wet sound of smooches filling the space between laughter. her pout melts away, replaced by a grin that spreads slowly across her face, her joy as warm and luminous as the candlelight that dances across the room.

breaking the kiss, she moves toward the kitchen, collecting the stack of mail and packages piled near the edge of the counter. sliding onto the floor, she tucks her legs beneath the coffee table, her back resting against the couch as her head finds a place on your knee. the rug beneath her feet feels soft, a textured contrast to the cool air that lingers in the room. with a low sigh, she reaches back, loosening her ponytail, letting waves of chestnut brown cascade past her shoulders, strands curling softly down her back like ribbons unraveling. her fingers sift through the scattered envelopes, sorting the mundane from the meaningful, her nails lightly tapping on paper as she works.

“bills,” she mutters, sliding a pile toward you. her lips quirk in mock irritation as she meets your gaze.

you give her a pointed look, eyebrows arching. “oh, so now i handle all of these?”

she shrugs dramatically, the ghost of a grin tugging at her mouth. “you’re better at it.” her voice drips with faux innocence as she tosses her hair over her shoulder, sending you a playful, teasing glance.

you shake your head, suppressing a smile, and turn back to the tv. the faint hum of voices fills the room as youtube automatically queues another video. billie releases a quiet, relieved sigh as her face disappears from the screen, her shoulders visibly relaxing. still, her fingers work through the mail, opening envelopes, flipping through glossy magazines, and tossing aside collaboration offers. the rhythm of her movements is interrupted when her hands still over one particular envelope.

“what the hell…” she murmurs under her breath, her tone curious and tinged with intrigue. the envelope in her hands feels different—thicker, sturdier. its texture is slightly rough beneath her fingertips, like pressed parchment, its edges precise and clean. her name is written across the front in an elegant, flowing calligraphy, the ink embossed and raised just enough to be felt as her thumb brushes over it. flipping it over, her eyes fall to the wax seal on the back, a shimmering gold stamp pressed into intricate details, cool and smooth against her skin.

your attention shifts at the sudden change in her demeanor. leaning forward slightly, you watch as she carefully breaks the seal, the faint crackle of wax filling the silence. she pulls out a sheet of cardstock, cream-colored and sophisticated, the same delicate script flowing across its surface. her lips move as she reads, some words slipping into the air while others fall silent, her voice alternating between muted murmurs and audible whispers. the faintest smile spreads across her lips as her eyes trace the contents of the letter.

“what is it?” you ask, leaning toward her, curiosity blooming as you try to peer over her shoulder.

she tilts the letter slightly in your direction, her grin widening. “an invite to the met gala. they want me back this year.” her voice is soft, but there’s an edge of excitement to it as she hands you the envelope. “and they said i could bring a plus one.”

your fingers skim the paper, taking in the luxurious feel of it as your eyes scan the invitation. her words echo in your mind, but they blur momentarily as you try to read and process everything at once. once you lower the letter, you find her watching you, her expression open, hopeful, and maybe a little nervous.

“do you want me to come with you?” you ask, your voice matching the softness of hers.

her smile falters, only slightly, as she considers her words. “do you want me to want you to? i mean… this would be our first time going public, you know, as a couple. not just friends.”

the word couple lingers between you, warm and affirming, wrapping around the two of you like a quiet promise. it’s been nearly two years since your friendship evolved into something deeper, something sacred and tender. in that time, your relationship has become a sanctuary—a bubble free of prying eyes and the unrelenting pressure of public opinion. billie’s fame has always been a double-edged sword, and while the world knows you as her close friend, they’ve never suspected the truth of what lies between you. it’s been intentional, this secrecy, a deliberate choice to protect what you’ve built.

but now, the possibility of stepping into the spotlight together tugs at both of you—tempting, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. the thought of shedding the secrecy, of calling each other “mine” without hesitation, feels like freedom. but so does the safety of what you already have.

billie’s shoulders slump slightly, her head dipping as she releases a soft breath. she picks at the fibers of the rug, a nervous habit you’ve noticed over the years, her fingers working absentmindedly as her thoughts whirl.

you reach down, brushing her hair behind her ear, your thumb grazing the edge of her temple. “i’ll go,” you whisper, your voice gentle but resolute.

her head snaps up at your words, her eyes wide with surprise and glistening with the beginnings of joy. “really?”

“yes, really. i’d love to be your date to the gala.” your fingers trail along her jaw, resting on her neck as your thumb rubs slow, soothing circles over her pulse point. her face lights up with a smile, the kind that makes her whole expression glow, and she leans into your touch, her earlier tension melting away like ice under the warmth of a flame.

“you have no idea how much that means to me,” she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of her gratitude and affection.

“oh, i think i do,” you reply, your lips curving into a smile as your hand drifts to her shoulder, grounding her. and as the candlelight flickers around the room, casting both of you in its golden glow, you feel the quiet anticipation of what’s to come—a new chapter, written together, with the world finally watching.

a flush of pink rises to her stardusted cheeks at the mere thought of it. you as her date and her as yours, stepping into a night draped in elegance and glittering possibility. she glances back down at the rug, her fingers idly twisting the threads as if anchoring herself, trying to play off the sheepish smile threatening to bloom across her face. “okay, cool,” she murmurs, the words slipping out like a secret.

and for the rest of the night, that’s all you two talk about, voices overlapping in excitement as you discuss the theme, the gowns, the energy of it all. you call up her network of famous friends, voices warm and lively through the receiver as they share their plans and hesitations, making the whole thing feel more real.

the months pass in a whirl, time unspooling like a ribbon caught in the wind. the living room becomes an evolving mosaic of fabric swatches, discarded sketches, tea-stained mugs, and the occasional half-eaten granola bar. laughter fills the air, bouncing off the walls like music as the two of you brainstorm designs late into the night. the chaos is oddly comforting, each small step pulling you closer to the vision.

planning starts the day billie opens the envelope, the seed of an idea taking root and sprouting almost instantly. you both dive headfirst into research, poring over past themes and iconic looks, your phones cluttered with saved images and bookmarked articles. you sketch your initial concepts with hesitant strokes, unsure at first but growing more confident as the vision sharpens. trial after trial leaves the floor littered with crumpled paper, but finally, after weeks of adjustments, you settle on a design that feels like you.

finding a designer is the next step, a meticulous search through portfolios until one name stands out: erdem moralıoğlu. his work feels like poetry stitched into fabric—textured, vibrant, and alive. you reach out, sending over your sketches and descriptions, and before long, you’re in contact.

the process is intense but rewarding—zoom calls where the two of you gesture wildly, emails where the fine details are ironed out, and even trips to london to stand in his atelier. the space feels sacred, each corner bursting with creativity. mannequins draped in shimmering silks and bold prints stand like statues, their presence almost reverent. fittings are delicate rituals, the fabric cool against your skin as billie sits nearby, watching you with a soft smile. the dresses, when finished, leave you breathless—dreams made tangible, their beauty spilling into the room like sunlight through stained glass.

as april folds into may, the days quicken their pace, each one disappearing as quickly as it arrives. in between fittings and final touches, billie navigates the chaos of awards season, her shelves filling with trophies that glitter in the evening light. you handle the rest—flights, hotels, stylists—ensuring every piece of the puzzle fits seamlessly into place.

then, suddenly, it’s may fifth, and the met gala is no longer a distant vision but an imminent reality.

the morning breaks softly, sunlight spilling through the hotel windows in golden streaks. you wake to the faint sound of the city outside, cars and footsteps blending into a gentle hum. billie stands by the window, her silhouette bathed in light, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. the scent of jasmine and hibiscus mingles with the crisp air. she turns when she hears you stir, her face soft and open, her eyes catching the light. “mornin’, gorgeous,” she says, her voice low and warm as she crosses the room to press a kiss to your forehead.

the day feels suspended in a surreal haze, a quiet thrill thrumming beneath every moment. the suite becomes a hive of activity as your stylist teams arrive, carrying racks of shoes, trays of jewelry, and endless brushes. curling irons hiss, the air fills with the faint aroma of hairspray and perfume, and the room vibrates with quiet focus. billie sits beside you, uncharacteristically still, her gaze flicking between her reflection and yours.

music hums softly in the background, a calming undercurrent to the chaos. your voice drifts above it, low and unhurried, as you hum along to the melody. the nail technician works with careful precision, the faint vibrations of the drill traveling through your fingertips, grounding you in the moment. billie glances over occasionally, a half-smile tugging at her lips as she watches you, her expression tinged with something tender.

outside, the city roars on, oblivious to the quiet symphony unfolding within the suite. for now, the world feels distant, and all that exists is this—the two of you, side by side, preparing to step into something new, something shared.

“nervous?” billie’s voice dances through the air, light and teasing, pulling your eyes from your nails to meet hers in the mirror. the softness in her voice is familiar, grounding, and her blue eyes hold a spark—like she can read you, even in this fleeting moment.

you turn instinctively, but before you can respond, her hand—warm, soft—cups your jaw, fingertips grazing your skin as she gently turns your head back toward the mirror. the contact is so gentle, so intimate, it catches you off guard. a soft ‘sorry’ spills from your lips, almost forgetting the makeup artist’s quiet presence. billie chuckles softly, her laugh the kind that stays with you, echoing in your chest.

“but no, not really,” you admit, the excitement more prominent now than any trace of nerves. “i’m just… excited. tonight is big, that’s all.”

billie nods in agreement, her touch warm against your knee, nails painted dark and mysterious, reflecting the quiet light of the room. “it’s huge,” she says, her words firm and certain. “and it’s ours. nobody can take that from us.” she gives your knee a reassuring squeeze, and you feel the weight of her promise in it.

as the final zippers are pulled and gowns settled into place, there’s a brief, timeless pause. standing before the mirror, you both take in the sight of each other—striking, elegant, everything you’ve worked for reflected back at you. billie steps behind you, wrapping her arm around your waist with a fluid motion, her fingertips brushing the curve of your side as she takes out her phone. soft clicks of the camera, the flash blinking briefly in the mirror, marking this moment in time.

you let your gaze linger on her for just a second—her eyes, a constellation of thoughts, her smile, quiet but knowing. “you look perfect,” you murmur, the words tasting like something real.

“so do you,” billie responds, her voice thick with something unspoken.

she hands you the overcoat—golden and rich—and you slip it on, the soft fabric flowing as you stand, both of you ready for the world to see. the black fabric envelops billie, hiding the brilliance beneath.

as you make your way to the car, your heart beats faster. the ride is silent, save for the hum of the limousine, a soft prelude to the storm of attention waiting for you both.

when the car stops at the metropolitan museum, the atmosphere shifts—like air before a thunderstorm. the doors open, and a flood of lights hits you both.

stepping out first, you feel the world pause. your gold overcoat sweeps behind you, the fabric an extension of the anticipation. billie follows close behind, her black coat almost a shadow, contrasting with the glint of her eyes.

hand in hand, you both walk the carpet, your steps synchronized as the crowd holds its breath. midway, you stop, the moment stretching out before you. you both unclip your coats in perfect harmony, the fabric falling away like a revelation.

the crowd erupts—camera flashes, whispers, gasps. billie’s gown, dark and starlit, catches the light, the midnight blue fabric swirling around her like it’s alive, and the detachable cape, embroidered with golden constellations, billows like the night sky itself. her hair is a wild thing, dark and free, but the diamond crescent moon above her brow gives her an ethereal edge.

your gown is sunlight personified. gold and soft as liquid dawn, the train fanning out like the rays of the morning sun. delicate metallic threads trace the path of light, and your gown seems to shimmer with the warmth of the sun. your overcoat falls away to reveal the intricate embroidery, the story of the night and the day meeting each other—your own private metaphor in the form of fabric.

the cameras can’t seem to capture it fast enough.

you and billie stand together, posing, your fingers brushing in the stillness. there’s a softness to the way she gazes at you, like she’s seeing something just for her, something the world can’t touch.

a photographer calls your names, desperate to immortalize the scene, and then the whispers start.

“is that her girlfriend?”

“they’ve been friends for years—are they… are they confirming it?”

“best looks of the night, no competition.”

billie reaches for you then, her hand slipping into yours as she places a soft kiss on the back of your knuckles. the warmth spreads through you, a smile curling at the corners of your mouth. her lips find the inside of your elbow next, the lightest of touches, just enough to send a thrill through you.

as you ascend the stairs to the museum, you’re stopped every few steps—interviews, compliments, requests for more photos. the whole night a whirlwind of attention. finally, billie grabs your hand, her fingers intertwined with yours, and leads you inside.

it’s like stepping into another world.

the museum is transformed, a mythical landscape of flowers and sculptures, the lighting soft and surreal. it’s dreamlike, this world you’ve entered, a place where time seems to stretch, where anything feels possible. you move through the space, sidestepping whispers and smiles, navigating conversations with designers, artists, and celebrities, all the while the eyes of the room on you.

someone pulls you aside—a fashion editor, wide-eyed. “you two didn’t just follow the theme,” she says, breathless. “you are the theme.”

through the exhibits, billie keeps a steady hand on your back. the painting of the sun and moon, its gold and blue hues so reminiscent of your gowns, catches her eye. “look, baby. that’s us,” she says, her voice warm and playful.

“oh, it most certainly is,” you reply, your hand sliding back to cup her chin. you pull her toward you, capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

the sound of a string quartet fills the air—dreamy, aching. billie takes your hand, her touch firm yet gentle, and leads you to the dance floor.

billie places your champagne flutes down onto a passing tray without a second thought. her fingers pull you closer, her eyes never leaving yours. and then, in the silence between the notes, she asks, her voice quiet, “may i have this dance?”

turning back around towards her, billie grabs your hand and pulls you closer, her fingers warm against yours. you glance around briefly, taking in the fluid movements of the other dancers—how their bodies seem to move as one, a seamless blur of grace and harmony. their steps are effortless, in sync with the music, and you find yourself questioning whether you’ll be able to match their elegance.

swiveling your head toward billie, you raise an eyebrow, uncertainty flickering in your gaze. “i’m not even going to lie… babe, i don’t know how to dance like this.” you sigh, the words coming out in a soft, unsure laugh.

rubbing the back of your hands with her thumbs, billie gives you a gentle smile, the kind that makes your chest feel lighter. “that’s okay, baby, just put your hands here.” she guides your arms around her neck, her touch soft but confident. her hands find your waist, steady and reassuring. “and follow my lead.”

she moves into a simple box step, her body light and fluid, as if dancing is second nature to her. you watch your feet, trying to stay in rhythm, afraid of stepping on her toes. you don’t, but you do misstep, your heel catching the floor awkwardly.

billie’s thumb brushes against your jawline, sending a spark of warmth through you. her index finger tilts your chin up, gently guiding your eyes back to hers. “just keep your eyes on me and let the music guide you,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing, like a whispered secret meant only for you. “you got this, babe.” her smile is soft, knowing, and it melts any lingering nerves away.

you both glide across the floor, your movements synchronized, as if you’ve waltzed together countless times before. sure, there have been moments when you danced in the kitchen, but never like this—never this close, this connected, with the weight of her touch grounding you.

your fingers brush the soft hair at the nape of her neck, the small strands delicate beneath your touch. you try not to disrupt the neat style, but the temptation to run your fingers through it is too strong. your skirts brush against each other with every turn, the fabric whispering against the air, adding to the quiet symphony of the moment. the warmth between you both is undeniable, charged with an electric connection that doesn’t need words. billie’s gaze is all adoration, her eyes so full of it, it’s almost too much to bear. the intensity of her attention has you shyly glancing away, the heat of her stare igniting a flush on your cheeks.

billie draws you closer, pressing your bodies flush together, closing the distance until there’s no space left between you. “are you blushing?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, the words brushing against the shell of your ear. her breath sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps rising in its wake.

“shut up, please and thank you.” you whisper, a playful retort slipping from your lips as you bite the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to suppress the smile that’s already tugging at the corners of your mouth. billie laughs—a soft, steady chuckle—and you feel it deep in your chest. she presses a gentle kiss to your temple, the warmth of it lingering long after.

but before you can respond, a figure approaches—sharp black suit, a man who billie seems to recognize. he taps her shoulder, his voice cutting through the quiet rhythm of the dance. “so sorry to interrupt,” he says, his tone apologetic but firm. “billie, could i borrow you for a moment? it’s about the exhibit’s partnership.”

billie glances at you, her brow furrowing slightly, a trace of reluctance crossing her features. “i’ll be right back, okay?” she says, her voice soft but tinged with something almost apologetic.

you nod, giving her a reassuring smile, though there’s a flicker of disappointment that you try to hide. “go. i’ll be fine, promise.”

her lips brush against yours in one last chaste kiss, tender and lingering. her hand hovers for a moment on your right cheek, the warmth of her touch searing even through the space that begins to grow between you. then, she’s pulled away, disappearing into the sea of guests, her silhouette swallowed by the crowd. you step back, the connection between you suddenly lost, and the vastness of the room feels overwhelming. the music, once so close, now seems distant, and the energy in the air feels too heavy. the laughter, the chatter—it all blends together into a distant hum. you need a moment of solitude, a space to breathe, to recalibrate.

you slip away from the center of the floor, seeking out a quiet corner, where the noise fades into a soft blur. the weight of the evening settles on your shoulders, and for the first time tonight, you feel untethered.

grabbing another slender flute of champagne from a wandering waiter’s tray, you lift it to your lips, hoping the cool liquid might ease the heat that’s been bubbling inside you since you stepped into the room. the soft murmur of chatter and the rhythmic clink of glasses fade into the background, as if the world around you has softened and quieted, leaving only the sensation of the glass in your hand. you tilt it back, letting the golden liquid slip over your tongue, the bubbles dancing lightly against your taste buds before you tilt your head further, draining the glass in one smooth motion.

the bubbles sting your throat as they travel down, sharp and fleeting, but you don’t flinch. you welcome the coolness, feeling it settle in your chest, a brief reprieve from the heat radiating from your cheeks and the warmth that still lingers in the pit of your stomach. you lower the empty flute with a soft clink against the table, your fingers lingering on the stem for a moment, as if to steady yourself. exhaling sharply, you glance around the room, your eyes skimming the crowd, deliberately avoiding the spot where billie stands. your heart beats faster, a flutter of nerves taking over, and you fight the shy grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

after a moment, you slip away, retreating from the crowded space, the noise and clamor of the gala fading as you wander through the museum. you pass beneath gilded archways and quiet galleries, the sharp contrast between the noise of the event and the hush of the galleries almost surreal. you find yourself outside in the garden, the night air welcoming in its stillness.

the difference is immediate—the hum of the gala swallowed by the soft chorus of crickets and the gentle murmur of the night breeze. you step onto the balcony, your gaze lifting to the sky. the moon hangs high above, its silvery glow casting everything in its path with an almost ethereal, dreamlike light. you place your hands on the cool stone of the banister, fingers trailing over its smooth surface as you tilt your head back, letting the crisp night air wash over you, calming the frantic thoughts swirling in your mind.

you descend the steps, the gentle rustle of your skirts against the stone floor barely audible. the garden sprawls before you, an oasis of serenity in the midst of the city’s heartbeat. you walk slowly, brushing your fingers against the lush greenery, feeling the varying textures beneath your fingertips—soft petals, the sharp edge of leaves, the smoothness of bark. the mingling scents of flowers and the faint trace of city air surround you, a comforting blend that grounds you in the moment, offering a strange sense of peace you didn’t know you needed.

you finally take a seat on a stone bench, the cool surface beneath you a contrast to the heat still lingering in your skin. you close your eyes, letting the quiet settle over you, and the weight of the evening fall away. the night is still and gentle, and for a moment, it feels like the world has paused just for you.

then, you hear it—the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. it’s familiar, a sound you know without needing to look. you turn to see billie standing at the edge of the garden, her silhouette framed by the soft moonlight. her hands are tucked into the pockets of her gown, and the light catches the shimmer of her dress, making her appear almost otherworldly, like she belongs to this tranquil, ethereal setting.

“thought i’d find you here,” she says, her voice a smooth blend of warmth and curiosity.

you offer her a small smile as she steps closer, the cool air between you giving way to the quiet intimacy of the moment. her gaze locks with yours, and she continues, her words soft but laced with a tenderness that makes your heart skip. “you looked lost,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. “or maybe i was the one who felt lost without you.”

the distance between you closes, and for a moment, the world feels still again. it’s just you and billie, the moonlight, and the quiet hum of the night. everything else seems so far away.

you smile, patting the spot beside you on the bench. “come join me, moonchild,” you joke, your voice light and playful, the warmth of the moment settling around you both.

billie chuckles softly, her eyes flickering to the bench before she gracefully takes a seat. she doesn’t speak at first, just tilts her head back, letting the moonlight bathe her face as she admires the sky alongside you. the silence stretches out between you, but it’s comfortable, enveloping you in a shared quiet that feels as natural as breathing.

“they don’t tell you how overwhelming it all is, do they?” you murmur, breaking the stillness, your voice soft and contemplative.

“not really,” billie admits, her gaze drifting from the stars back to you. “i mean, i’ve been to big events before, but this… tonight felt different.”

“oh? why?”

“because of you,” she says, turning to meet your eyes. her gaze is steady and soft, and there’s a vulnerability in her expression, as if she’s revealing a piece of herself she doesn’t show often. “i’ve been to a million carpets, smiled for a million cameras. but having you by my side tonight… it made it feel real. like i wasn’t just performing for the world. i was sharing something real with them—for once.”

her words hang in the air, catching you off guard, and you look down at your hands, the shyness that had briefly faded creeping back into your chest. “i didn’t know if i was ready for all this,” you admit, the vulnerability in your voice almost as raw as her confession. “but walking into that room with you… i don’t think i’ve ever felt more sure of anything in my life.”

billie reaches for your hand, her gloves now off, and her fingers are cool against yours, the simple touch grounding you in the moment. “i never want you to doubt this—us. whether we’re in front of the world or hiding out on your couch, i’m all in.”

you lean your head against her shoulder, feeling the weight of her words settle in your chest like a promise. “me too,” you whisper, the sincerity in your voice matching the tenderness in her touch.

for a while, you sit like that, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment, the world outside seeming distant and irrelevant. the moon watches over you, casting its silver light across the two of you, a silent witness to the love you’ve nurtured in private and are now ready to share with the world. in its glow, everything else feels secondary, as if this space—this garden—is the only place that matters.

eventually, billie speaks, her voice low and teasing, breaking the spell. “you know, this might be my favorite part of the night. sorry to the met gala.”

you laugh softly, the sound light and free. “mine too. but don’t let anna wintour hear you say that.”

billie grins, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering for a moment. “our secret.”

the garden remains quiet, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the museum’s walls. billie’s hand is warm in yours, a steady comfort as you sit together on the stone bench. the night air wraps around you both like a blanket, the cool breeze carrying the faintest scent of jasmine and earth. the moonlight catches in billie’s blue eyes, making them shimmer like stars, and she watches you with an intensity that feels both familiar and new.

after a moment, she breaks the silence, her voice soft but carrying a note of mischief. “do you want to leave?”

you blink, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “leave? the met?”

billie shrugs, a small, playful smile curling at her lips. “yeah. i mean, we’ve already done the whole thing—walked the carpet, mingled, got our pictures taken. we even danced. i think we’ve hit all the marks.” she pauses, her thumb gently brushing against your hand, her touch sending a shiver through you. “but honestly? i’d rather just be with you. away from all… this.”

the suggestion lingers in the air, heavy with possibility, and you don’t have to think twice. “god, yes,” you say with a laugh, turning to her fully, your eyes bright. “let’s get out of here.”

billie’s grin widens, and she stands, her hand reaching for yours as she pulls you up with her. “best decision we’ve made all night.”

hand in hand, you walk back toward the museum’s exit, leaving the lights, the glamour, and the cameras behind. the night feels different now—more yours than ever before. the world can wait.

astrc’s tags: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 17)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death,

Word Count: 3058

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16)

Notes: heyyyy what do you know, i found it in me to get this part out. im proud.

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Day 195 Part 3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You never been one to throw caution to the wind, but with what sits before you, the urge is strong.

Animals were one of the first things to go when disease swept across the world, which is why it’s so difficult not to pick up the juicy chicken breast that’s steaming on the plate in front of you, and completely ravage it.

Your mouth waters at the sight. There are greens, too. A blend of spinach and vegetables cooked to perfection in animal fat. It’s the first real meal you’ve seen in…fuck you don’t even know how long it’s been since you’ve seen real meat like this, nor food that wasn’t expired and from a can.

The only thing keeping your restraint in place is your companions' determination. The sprinkle of common sense that hasn’t fizzled into a ravenous beast at the scent of your meal is easy to overlook, but Azriel’s menacing presence beside you isn’t. His back is ramrod straight in his own seat, and the food doesn’t seem to be affecting him in the slightest. He’s undeterred by their taunts. Instead, his woody eyes drink in your surroundings for the umpteenth time, as if there might be a hint as to what’s really going on here. 

On your other side, you’re flanked by Cassian, who does look like he’s struggling to keep himself from sinking his teeth into the juicy thigh on his plate, however little it might be. It’s more than he’s had to eat in days, months, and he wants it so fucking badly.

In fact, no one’s touching their food, which is a red flag of itself, but your head is swimming at the smells, your stomach a mess of knots that loosen at the idea of food, and tighten at the thought of where your best friend could be.

You’re also a little afraid, if you’re being honest, of getting sick should you eat something this…real after having gone so long without.

Nesta watches you from across the table with a piercing stare. There’s a malice you’ve become accustomed to being fed in the little time you’ve known her. You understand that she’s worried for her sister, out there with little protection, but you’re worried too. You feel as if Feyre is your sister as well. You’ve been winning your own little war against the undead for too long to remember.

At her side is who you can only decern to be her lover, Eris. You ponder their relationship, what you saw in the woods. Perhaps they’re nothing more than companions, but with the way the auburn-haired man keeps stealing glances at her, worry etched in his brow, you know there must be more.

The chair beside Eris is filled with a near clone of him. They have twin eyes and looks of caution on their fox-shaped faces. The unnamed man wears his hair long down his back, a single braid hangs down the side of his face. It’s not a nice one, practiced, but messy, like whoever put it there was distracted more often than not during styling. The only differentiator is the color of their skin, because even the shape of their eyes and their stature is eerily similar. It’s clear that they are nothing like their scumbag of a father, and the thought of Beron alone makes you shiver in your seat.

There’s an empty seat beside him, and you can’t help the stab of guilt you feel at the sight of it. You don’t know if they’ve lost someone important to their little unit they have going on here, or if there’s a reason for the unoccupied seat.

Cassian’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the terse silence. 

“Everything is safe to eat, I can assure you,” Eris mentions after clearing his throat. Nesta shoots him a look that could make even a zombie cower, but he must be used to it because he takes the betraying look with grace, gently settling a palm onto her lap.

Nesta doesn’t shove it away like you expect her to. Instead, her lips go razor thin. The pair stare at each other so intensely that you feel like you’re intruding on something monumental.

Eventually, Nesta breaks. With a sharp inhalation, she turns her gaze to you. She doesn’t look happy, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants to reach across the table and maul you for losing her sister.

“Eat,” she all but demands. She cringes, grits her teeth, and adds like the words are truly poison in her mouth, “Please.”

“You’ll excuse us if we don’t trust you,” Azriel replies curtly. Your eyes soften as they land on him, even if his gaze is trained on your hosts. Weeks ago, he’d been wary of you, and now he’s here protecting you from the outsiders that are holding you captive.

You’ve never been so thankful for him, and you remind yourself to thank him for it later.

“Don’t eat, then.” Nesta shrugs as if his words don’t bother her in the slightest. Your whereabouts of Feyre seem to have caught her off guard because right now she is the perfect poise of excellence. Her nature could give any queen a run for their crown.

She’s the first one to dig into her meal. She uses the cutlery as if they’re weapons, tearing into the meat with a force that has you praying to any higher being that Feyre and Rhys are on their way to you, because you do not want to be on the other end of Nesta’s knife.

Your eyes flicker back down to your plate, to the shiny silverware placed on either side of your plate. Hell, you’re not even sure you remember how to use them anymore, with how long you’ve had to make do on the road.

“Please, eat,” Eris counters with a stern look that doesn’t affect Nesta in the slightest. Eris motions to his brother and they both pick up their forks, as if trying to show you everything is okay.

“I don’t trust the animals, either,” Azriel responds.

“How about the vegetables, then?” Eris offers, and you think you catch a glint of pleading in his amber eyes. You think he’s trying to keep things civil and calm for Nesta’s sake. You’re sure she’s worried to pieces about her littlest sister out there when the sun is so close to hiding away for another night of hell. “The animals are perfectly healthy, though I assure you the food will not go to waste if you don’t eat it.”

“How are they safe?” Cassian questions, grimacing down at the meat. You know that he out of everyone in your little group needs it the most. You’ve seen his protruding ribs only yesterday, and with him being the biggest in your group, he needs the nutrients more than anyone.

A sudden urge of protectiveness washes over you. You want him safe and healthy, want both him and Azriel safe and happy, and you wish more than anything that you could give it to them.

Only time will tell.

Eris gives a very diplomatic response. “My family has owned this land for generations,” he starts, and you don’t like to think of how he is Beron’s son. It makes all of the desperation to eat, subside. “We have been raising and breeding our own meat and dairy for just as long. They have never showed signs of disease, but perhaps it’s because they live a life unknowing of what goes on in this world.” You’re not following, but Eris continues before your confusion causes you to blurt out questions.

“My brother—Lucien,” he nods toward his brother beside him. “Takes care of them. When our father first heard the mumblings of a pandemic so devastating, the world as we knew it would never be the same, he built a bunker of sorts, where we continue to monitor and raise our animals to this day.”

“That was about the only smart thing he ever did,” Lucien mumbles, looking green at the mention of his father.

You get the feeling.

Azriel says, “Yeah, we’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting the bastard.”

Lucien’s utensils fall to the table with a clang that startles you in your seat. He looks sick to his stomach, his ying-yang eyes drawn down to his plate in shame. His shoulders are stiff and he’s gone so still you think he might be comatose, turning into a zombie right in front of your very eyes.

“You’ve met him?” Lucien asks, and he sounds like a little boy, reliving a trauma so ghastly that it’s altered his brain chemistry.

“Met him, killed him,” Azriel shrugs as if it was no big feat. Your stomach roils at the memory and you must look paler than normal because Cassian’s placing a. warm hand over yours in comfort. Azriel’s brashness isn’t new to you, but the reminder is too fresh. You try to focus on your hand in Cassian’s, offering him a weak smile.

The tension in the air seems to disperse with Azriel’s words. You’re pretty sure you see Lucien’s shoulders physically drop in relief, like he feels the same way you do about his father. Eris sits in his seat, stunned, but he doesn’t look upset about the news, he looks more disappointed, like he missed out on being the one to kill the crazy cannibal.

“Well, I think this calls for the good wine,” Nesta says, and you swear you see the corners of her mouth threaten to tug into a satisfied smirk.

She glances at you from across the table, and you pick up your fork.

You hope that this is the first of many things that you will agree with her on.

There is little conversation while you eat. Azriel’s brows are drawn in tight, and his mouth is set in a hard line. He keeps glancing over at you with a scolding heat in his eyes, but there’s a sliver of worry that makes you ache, like he thinks you might keel over from the chicken.

If you do, you’re not even sure you’ll be mad. It’s good fucking chicken.

You try to savor it, to eat slowly so that your body doesn’t reject the first real meal you’ve had in forever, but you can hardly control yourself. You feel like a rabid animal, hungry enough to gnaw your own arm off. You wonder if this is what the zombies outside feel like, an insatiable hunger, or if they’re so mindless they don’t feel anything at all.

You reckon you have only minutes before the food makes its reappearance, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you slide your silverware onto your empty plate, trying to deter yourself from leaning forward and licking it clean.

Cassian has no such reservations.

“How long has it been since you’ve tried to contact my sister?” Nesta asks when the three of you have finished. Even Azriel couldn’t help but clear his plate, though he did take the longest of the three of you, more than mindful of your captors.

It makes your heart swell that he has kept an eye out for you and Cassian.

Azriel and Cassian share a look over your head, debating how much to indulge. But this is Feyre’s sister, and they want to find her and Rhys just as much, so they relent.

“We tried getting through to them this afternoon, before we ran into you,” Cassian explains. “They were too far out of range.”

“Call them again,” she demands, and Eris opens his mouth to protest but Nesta is clearly done with niceties. “No,” she snaps at the man beside her. “We have given them a place to stay and a warm meal. It’s time for them to do something in return.”

You don’t mention how you didn’t have a choice but to be here, and that they wouldn’t have had to give up their food if you were still wandering out in the woods, but your stomach is too full to argue that point.

Cassian tugs the walkie-talkie from his pocket and switches it on. The static is loud, and you all wait in anticipation until the signal calms a bit before he clicks the button on the side and makes the call. “Rhys? Feyre? Are you out there?”

It’s like waiting for a cure as the six of you listen to the channel. Nothing comes through, and Cassian calls again, to no avail.

“We’ll keep trying,” he says, a determined look in his eye. You’re pretty sure that’s the only thing keeping Nesta in her seat, because she looks like she will reach across the table and stab you with her knife.

Movement in the corner of your eye makes you flinch. Cassian’s arm reaches out to block you and Azriel’s already halfway out of his seat, ready to tear you away from the threat that stumbles into the doorway.

The threat comes in the form of what must be Feyre’s other sister, Elain. She looks ghastly, skin as white as sheet, and as well-fed as Eris’ claims them to be, she’s all skin and bones. Her brown eyes are dull and sunken, purple-rimmed as if she hasn’t had a peaceful night of sleep in years. Her blonde-brown hair sits limp on her head, knotted at the back, as if she’s been drained of all of the health in her life.

She looks like a zombie.

Nesta jumps from her chair at the same time Lucien does, the both of them rushing for Elain. Lucien gets to her first, catching her just as her knees give out and scooping her into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest as if the effort to keep it upright is a burden too much, but her dazed gaze sharpens when it lands on you.

You’re frozen in your seat. You have no words for what you’re seeing, the sickly girl who looks closer to death than a zombie. Your heart pounds a thousand miles a minute in your chest, and your fingers are white-knuckled with confusion and fear where they’re wrapped around Cassian’s forearm.

Elain’s brown eyes widen in a way that looks unnatural for her once beautiful face. Her cracked lips form husky words that are so ominous it has the hair on your body standing on end.

“Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black. One has an injured wing.”

Lucien hushes her softly, murmuring to her as he removes her from the room. “Shh, Elain. Let’s get you back to bed, petal. You shouldn’t be expending so much energy until you’re feeling better.”

Guilt stabs you a thousand times over as he takes her away. It doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots with what you’ve seen. How sickly she looks, the faraway look and ramblings that don’t make sense.

“When did it happen?” You blurt, eyes darting from a stoney-faced Nesta to a grimacing Eris to the door Lucien and Elain disappeared through. You don’t like the feeling that overcomes you, the one that wants you to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.

Something isn’t right here.

“It’s late,” Nesta states, looking between the three of you like she’s deciding how she’s going to kill each of you. You suppose she might, if she feels any sort of threat to her sister. For now, she needs you alive, if only to help find her other sister. She won’t dump any of you out yet, unless you can’t prove your worth.

Not unless Feyre is dead.

Azriel tucks you carefully behind him, more than aware of the threat before you. You can tell that he’s just as confused as you are. There’s a tightness to his shoulders that you don’t like, an edge to the strain of his body that screams danger.

His mouth opens to speak, but he’s cut off by the sudden voice that comes over the walkie-talkie.

“Cassian? Azriel? Do you copy?” Rhys’ panicked voice sounds through the machine. More than one emotion threatens to consume you, relief and worry. The full meal in your belly swarms like crashing waves, and you might just throw up after all.

Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta all lunge for the radio. Eris gets his hand around Nesta’s bicep and pulls her away, much to her reluctance. She claws against him but he’s only keeping her away from the three of you, still very much a threat.

Not that you’d be of any assistance should either party try to attack. You’ve collapsed in the closest chair.

“Rhys?” Cassian calls back, just as frantic. His terrified hazel eyes are locked with Azriel’s, and it’s all the black-haired boy can do to console Cassian with a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Can you hear me? Where the fuck are you?”

It wouldn’t mean much to Nesta, who’s given up her struggling to listen into what’s happening, but to Cassian, you know the touch means everything.

Anticipation skyrockets throughout the room, bringing the temperature up to boiling as you await his response. Each second feels like an eternity, and you’re sure the vein throbbing on Nesta’s forehead is about to explode when Rhysand finally responds.

It sounds like he’s running. You pray that’s not a groan of the undead you hear in the background. “Fuck,” he curses in such a hopeless way that makes your heart drop to the floor. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not going to be good. “I need you to come find us. I don’t know where the fuck we are, but we need help.”

Azriel rips the walkie-talkie from Cassian’s hand, ready to take the lead. He pockets one of the knives at the table and you can’t even muster the energy to joke about how a butterknife won’t be the best weapon against a horde of zombies because you’re more than ready to follow him into the fray, sans weapons, if all to save your friends.

“Where are you, Rhys? I need landmarks.”

 “Az,” Rhys breathes, but he doesn’t sound relieved. In fact, he sounds spent, and there’s no sign of Feyre on the other line. “We need help. Badly. Feyre’s been bitten.”

And hey, your dinner does make its reappearance after all.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36  @bionic-donut @queserasera @applepie02  @azrielsbabyg  @arcadianmoonlight  @pradaxstyles  @illyrian-dreamerdreamer @reiincarnatiion  @fuckthatfeeling  @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001  @fallmyriad  @sstrohma  @tcris2020 @jeannineee  @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite @lees-chaotic-brain @eternallyelvish @lilah-asteria @randombibitch @st4r-girl-official @nanisearchinginnerpeace (i hope you see this idk if this tag worked 😭)

IDK if any of these tags are going to work but someone plz lmk 💙

[doumadono]

Warnings: dark ending, smut, exhibitionism, blood, overstimulation, p in v, creampie, death

Summary: as the high priestess, you lead a ritual to summon the powerful King of Curses, offering your body and soul as a willing sacrifice, only to meet your inevitable demise at the hands of the very deity you revere

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

The torches crackled and hissed in their sconces, bathing the ancient temple in flickering light and casting shadows that danced across the walls. Your heart pounded against your ribs like a caged animal, the anticipation making your palms sweat as you stood in front of the altar, your fingers fumbling slightly with the crimson silk robe draped over your shoulders. You weren’t supposed to be nervous, not when you had performed similar rituals countless times before - but tonight was different.

Around you, the other believers swayed in unison, their eyes closed, their lips moving in fervent, whispered chants. Their voices rose and fell, a symphony of devotion that vibrated through your bones, a palpable force that seemed to draw power from the very air itself. You could feel it - thrumming through your veins, wrapping around your heart, filling your lungs until every breath you took felt heavy with anticipation.

Tonight, you were calling upon the King of Curses himself.

"Brothers, sisters," you called out, your voice commanding yet gentle, a whisper that carried power, "tonight, we offer ourselves to him. Our bodies, our souls - everything belongs to our Lord Sukuna."

Your words were met with a chorus of whispered agreements, their voices merging into one, an endless, hypnotic hum that resonated through the chamber. You took a step forward, the hem of your crimson robes trailing across the cold stone. You could feel it - a rising tide of energy that thrummed beneath your feet, creeping up your legs, twisting around your spine like a serpent.

The silk robe draped over your shoulders was barely a barrier, translucent, whisper-thin, catching the dim light of the torches and clinging to the curves of your body. It was the only thing shielding you from the eyes of other believers. As you moved, it slid against your skin like a lover’s touch, revealing glimpses of bare flesh, the swell of your hips, the curve of your breasts and the perky nipples that hardened due to the cold air in the chamber.

You had studied ancient texts, whispered tales passed down through generations, and listened to the trembling voices of elders. They spoke of a creature, a god-like demon, who could bring salvation or damnation with a flick of his wrist. And you needed him. You needed his power, his strength, to protect what was left of your home from the relentless enemy forces that threatened to devour everything you loved.

Your master had always warned you that summoning such a powerful entity could be dangerous. In fact, most would consider it sheer madness. But you had practiced, studied, and prepared every day for this moment. And the time had finally come. 

You took a deep breath, pushing the doubts and fear from your mind. The ritual demanded absolute confidence, unwavering faith, and total submission. "Great Ryomen Sukuna," you began, your voice strong despite the fear coursing through your veins, "I call upon you, the one true King of Curses, to grace us with your presence. We offer our devotion, our loyalty, and our souls as tribute." 

The wind seemed to howl in response, the flames of the torches flickering more violently as if acknowledging your words.

There was no turning back now.

You repeated the incantation, your tone growing more fervent, your body swaying with the rhythm of the ancient words. 

The wind howled around you stronger, rustling your hair and the hem of your ceremonial robe. With trembling fingers, you took the knife from the altar, its blade gleaming in the moonlight. "O, King of Curses," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath, "I offer you my blood, my flesh, my soul. Come forth and answer our call."

Without hesitation, you sliced across your palm, the sting sharp but brief. Blood welled up and dripped onto the cracked stone altar, seeping into the ancient symbols you had painstakingly carved into its surface. The ground trembled beneath you, as though the earth itself recognized the power you sought to unleash.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, the wind died down, the air becoming unnervingly still, and a sense of dread settled over you like a thick, suffocating blanket. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt an overwhelming presence, one that pressed against your very soul and made your body ache with fear.

From the back of the altar, a shadow stirred, a darkness so thick it seemed to swallow the flickering torchlight. The air grew heavy, stifling, and a hush fell over the temple as the believers knelt lower, trembling in anticipation. From the depths of that black void, a figure emerged - slowly, deliberately, as though he had all the time in the world to make his presence known.

Sukuna emerged from the darkness, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. He towered over all, a god among mortals, cloaked in light, flowing robes that barely concealed the powerful form beneath. His muscular body, honed and perfect, moved with the grace of a predator, every step deliberate, echoing with the weight of his authority. His skin was pale, but not with any human fragility - it was alabaster, almost ethereal, in contrast to the black, intricate markings that wound across his chest, arms, and neck. Those tattoos, like dark serpents, seemed to shift with the flickering light, symbols of his immense power and ancient origins, each line coiling and twisting like chains of darkness binding the god of curses.

But it was his face that captured you - the sight of him, fully revealed. His hair, a wild, chaotic pinkish-red hue, framed his angular features, strands catching in the torchlight like flames burning in the night. The color was unnatural, vibrant, a stark contrast to the coldness of his expression. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones gave him an undeniable, cruel beauty, a face that seemed carved by the gods themselves for the sole purpose of commanding and conquering.

His eyes, though - those were what ensnared you. Crimson and burning with an unholy light, they bore into you with terrifying intensity, gleaming with malevolence and ancient hunger. Four of them, two set above the other, creating a gaze that felt impossible to escape, as if they saw through everything - your soul, your mind, your very existence laid bare before him. 

Two pairs of arms remained folded across his chest, the motion languid, casual, as though he had all the time in the world. His hands, adorned with black markings like the rest of his body, exuded a dangerous aura, as though each movement was capable of bending reality itself to his will. 

His gaze swept over the temple, pausing only when it found you. Beneath the thin silk robe draped over your naked form, your skin prickled under his scrutiny. His eyes lingered, dark amusement playing in the depths of his four crimson orbs. His lips curled into a cruel, knowing smile, a smirk that told you he had seen this moment long before you had ever whispered his name. "Well," Sukuna's voice was deep, resonating with the power of an ancient god. "It’s been a long time since anyone dared to summon me in such a way. I thought all of my worshippers had been swallowed by the sands of time. And yet here you are, kneeling before me like a lamb to the slaughter, sacrificing yourself so willingly, little priestess.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to tremble under his scrutiny. "I am here to serve you, my Lord Sukuna," you uttered, bowing deeply until your forehead nearly touched the stone floor. "I have dedicated my life to you, and I wish to offer myself as your vessel. I am yours to command." 

Sukuna's laugh was harsh, echoing through the chamber like thunder. "Is that so? And what makes you think that you, a mere mortal, could be worthy of serving me?"

"I have prepared for this moment my entire life," you answered, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "I am willing to give you everything - my body, my soul, my very existence - if it pleases you, my Lord."

"Hmmm." Sukuna stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they roamed over your form. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a tangible aura of power that made your skin tingle. He towered over you, the sheer presence of him enough to make you feel like an insect beneath his heel. "Stand," he ordered, and you obeyed, rising to your feet with as much grace as you could muster. 

He reached out with one of his many hands, the claws grazing your cheek, drawing a single line of blood. He observed the crimson droplet with a glint of amusement before pressing his thumb to your lips. "Lick it," he commanded, and without hesitation, you parted your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the coppery tang of your own blood. 

"Interesting," Sukuna mused, watching you with a predatory intensity. "You do not cower or flinch. Are you not afraid of me, little priestess?"

"I am," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But my fear is nothing compared to my desire to serve you, my Lord."

His laughter reverberated through the temple once more, and this time, you could sense a hint of genuine amusement beneath the mockery. "Very well. Let’s see if you can truly entertain me." 

In a blink, Sukuna's fingers curled around your throat, lifting you off your feet as if you weighed nothing. 

You gasped, your hands instinctively gripping his wrist, but you didn’t struggle. You couldn’t - wouldn’t. 

He brought you closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Do you know what happens to those who disappoint me?" he whispered, his tone dark and laced with malice.

"No, my Lord," you replied, your voice choked but unwavering. 

"They die," he mused simply, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Painfully. Slowly. And I enjoy every second of it."

He released you, and you crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. But even in the face of such raw power, you felt no regret. You pushed yourself back up onto your knees, bowing your head. "I will not disappoint you, my Lord," you promised.

"Prove it," Sukuna growled, gesturing toward the altar. "Strip."

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the sash of your robe, but you obeyed, letting the silk slide from your shoulders to pool around your feet. You stood before him, naked and vulnerable, feeling the weight of his gaze as it roamed over every inch of your body. 

Despite your nakedness exposed to the cold air of the temple and the eyes of the other believers kneeling around you, you felt no shame, no fear. Their gazes, if they dared to lift their heads from the stone floor, meant nothing in the grandness of this moment. You had prepared for this - body, mind, and soul. Each prayer, each offering, every ritual bath had cleansed you of doubt, stripped you of earthly concerns. Your purpose was singular, unwavering. It wasn’t their eyes that mattered; only his. You stood bare not only in flesh but in spirit, ready to fulfill the sacred role of high priestess, ready to meet the eyes of the god you had summoned. This was the moment you had waited for, and no mortal gaze could shake your resolve.

Sukuna took his time, savoring the sight of you, and a dark chuckle escaped his lips. "Such a delicate little thing," he murmured, almost as if to himself. "I wonder how long you'll last before you break."

He approached you, each step sending a jolt of electricity through the air, and with a flick of his wrist, you were laid out on the altar, your back against the cool stone. The sensation was jarring, but you didn’t dare protest. 

Sukuna’s hands traced the length of your body, his touch both gentle and brutal as he gripped the plush of your skin occasionally as if he were mapping out all the ways he could destroy you. His smile widened, revealing sharp, pointed teeth that gleamed in the dim light. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth claiming yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You could feel his other hands moving, one pinning your wrists above your head, another spreading your legs wide for him, and the last caressing the soft flesh of your inner thigh, drawing out a shiver that left you weak.

He played with your hard nipples a bit, then reached up and stuck a finger in your mouth. 

You sucked on it for a second, and then the king of curses pulled it out and smeared the wetness on your left nipple. 

Once it was wet, he blew on it, and it hardened even further.

You moaned softly, sucking your lower lip into your mouth, rubbing your thighs together.

He parted your legs unceremoniously. 

As his fingers brushed against your pussy lips, you gasped, your body instinctively reacting to the sensation. "Please…" you begged, the word slipping out before you could stop it. 

"Please, what?" Sukuna taunted, nipping at your lower lip, drawing blood and drinking it willingly. "You’ll need to be more specific, little priestess."

"Please, take me," you pleaded, the desperation evident in your voice. "Make me yours, my Lord Sukuna."

Sukuna’s grin was feral, and without warning, he thrust two fingers inside you despite the resistance of your tight pussy, making you cry out in both pleasure and pain. "Such a pretty little thing," he cooed mockingly. "So eager to be ruined." He moved his fingers with a deliberate slowness, savoring every reaction, every gasp, and moan that escaped your lips while his thumb brushed over your clit.

It was overwhelming: the heat, the sensation, the knowledge that you were entirely at his mercy. Your legs were already trembling like leaves on the cold autumn wind. You writhed beneath him, your body straining against the hold of his hand on your wrists, and he watched you with those crimson eyes, drinking in your every movement.

"Beg," Sukuna commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Beg for me, and I might consider being gentle."

"Please," you whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Please, my Lord. I want you. I need you."

He laughed, the sound vibrating through your very bones. "Very well," he purred, "I’ll grant you your wish." He pushed his white hakama pants down his muscular legs, revealing the monstrous size of his member. His cockhead bounced back firmly against his toned abdomen, an audible slap as flesh met flesh. He slowly jerked himself several times, watching you writhing in anticipation, gently playing with your breasts as you looked him right in his crimson eyes. His cock got rock hard nearly instantly. Ryomen positioned himself at your entrance, and with a single, brutal thrust, he filled you completely, the angry, red tip of his cock kissing your cervix as he settled himself within your wetness. 

You cried out, arching off the altar, your fingers digging into the stone as he began to move, each thrust harder, faster, and more demanding than the last.

The pain was there, sharp and searing, but it was drowned out by the pleasure, the feeling of being completely and utterly claimed by the King of Curses. "You belong to me now," Sukuna growled, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck after he leaned in. "You’ll serve me, obey me, worship me until the day you die."

"Yes," you gasped, clinging to him, feeling your release building, the heat coiling tighter and tighter within your abdomen. "Yes, my Lord, always."

Sukuna's laughter was the last thing you heard before he drove you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure so intense it felt as though you might shatter. And as you fell apart in his arms, the only thought that lingered in your mind was that you were finally his.

The world around you blurred as your body quivered beneath Sukuna’s relentless assault, every nerve alight with sensation.

His nails - sharp and jagged - scraped across your skin, leaving thin red lines in their wake. He grope your breasts, squeezing them between his calloused digits, brushing the nipples with the pads of his thumbs. "You're so fragile," Sukuna murmured, almost as if in awe as he kept of fucking your already overstimulated pussy. "So breakable. Yet you begged for this. Tell me, does it hurt?" He improved your position and hoisted your legs up onto his muscular shoulders. Sukuna began a fierce pounding, hammering away from the start.

"Y-Yes," you stammered, your voice hoarse from screaming, from crying out his name. "But it feels so good. My pussy is so sore, my Lord!”

He chuckled darkly, leaning in close until his breath ghosted across the column of your neck. "That's because you belong to me now, little priestess," he whispered, each word a venomous promise. "I will make you mine over and over again until there is nothing left of you but a shell that worships my very existence."

After abruptly pulling out of you, he flipped you over, dropping you on all fours. He quickly positioned himself behind you, his fat, swollen, cockhead pressed against your wet needy pussy so hard it almost forced you open. 

Grabbing your hips, his rough fingers digging into your fleshy hips that supported your fat fuckable ass, he threw himself toward. The power of his thrust would've forced you off the altar if not for Sukuna holding you in place. Your entire body surged forward as a cock too big to take was forced into you with unstoppable strength. Sukuna’s hand shot to grab your hair and pull you head back, arching your back against his chest as he kept on slamming into the tightness of your core. His other hand moved to wrap tightly around your neck.

The muscles in his arms bulged as he quickened his pace, slamming into you with a force that sent shockwaves through your sweaty body. ''There will be no breaks for you tonight, little whore of mine. I want to fuck this fucking cunt of yours non-stop, do you understand?”

You gave a nod and made a quiet sound, and Sukuna pushed his cock in deeper, making you squeal a muffled cry as you bit on your lower lip, drawing blood from the flesh.

The wet slamming of your bodies filled the huge chamber.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel him. The sensation of his heat, his strength, and his utter dominance was enough to drive you to madness.

Soon, you were flipped on your back again, and immediately his massive cock pushed back into your abused pussy. His eyes burned with violent lust, yours were filled with a satisfaction like you'd just achieved your life's work.

One of his free hands moved up, tangling in your hair, jerking your head back so that you were forced to look into his eyes. Those crimson orbs gleamed with sadistic pleasure, reflecting the flickering flames around you, and you were certain you'd never seen anything more terrifying or beautiful in your life. "Say it," Sukuna commanded, his voice ragged. "Say that you belong to me."

"I… I belong to you," you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks, the rawness of your voice echoing in the chamber. "I am yours, my Lord Sukuna." You took immense pleasure in being watched by the other believers. Your body, already beautiful on its own, became a sight to behold when joined by Sukuna's presence.

The satisfaction in his expression was palpable, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as much a claim as it was a punishment. He kissed you with the same brutal intensity that he took you, his tongue invading your mouth, leaving no room for resistance, no space for doubt. His other mouth, placed on his abdomen decided to have some fun too, so the slimy tongue darted out to lap at your clitoris.

You felt the pressure building again, that unbearable coil tightening in your core, threatening to snap at any moment. "Please!" you gasped, your nails digging into his skin, your body arching against him in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer. "Please, my Lord, let me… let me…!"

"Not yet," he snarled, his grip tightening painfully on your wrists. "You will not come until I allow it. Do you understand?"

You nodded frantically, the desperation evident in every fiber of your being. "Y-Yes, my Lord.”

"Good," Sukuna purred, thrusting harder, deeper, his movements growing more erratic, more frenzied. The sound of your flesh meeting echoed in the chamber, mingling with your ragged breaths and the low growls that rumbled from his chest. And still, he denied you, holding you on the precipice of pleasure, refusing to let you fall over that edge. His dick brushed all of the right spots deep within your pussy, and since you were dripping wet at that point, some of your juices were pushed out of you by his massive length.

"Please…" you whimpered, your entire body trembling, your mind unraveling as you teetered on the brink. "I can't… I can’t…"

"Beg," he demanded, and the cruelty in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. "Beg me for your release."

"Please, my Lord Sukuna," you sobbed, your voice breaking, your vision blurring as the tears streamed down your face. "Please, I beg you. I need it. I need you."

For a moment, he said nothing, merely watching you with that infuriatingly calm expression, his crimson eyes glowing with a light that seemed to come from another world. And then, without warning, he drove into you one final time, his body tensing, muscles rippling as he found his own release, spilling his thick, warm cum within you in nearly five massive spurts. The sensation was overwhelming, like fire spreading through your veins, igniting every nerve, every cell in your body. Slowly he withdrew the whole length of his cock and jerked himself while he kept on spraying thick liquid all over your helpless body. He covered your abdomen in hot cum until you were completely drenched in white, sticky goo. "Now," he growled, his voice rough and ragged. "Now, you may come."

It was all the permission you needed. The coil snapped, and you shattered, your body convulsing, waves of pleasure crashing over you in an endless, merciless torrent. You screamed, your voice hoarse and raw, the sound echoing through the temple, mingling with Sukuna’s own guttural groans as he continued to pound you, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure from your trembling form, not minding the hot tears rolling down your flushed cheeks. You shuddered in orgasm, cumming just from looking from under your half-closed eyelids, and imagining your Lord Sukuna fucking you again. "My body was made for you, my Lord.”

You were dimly aware of his hands on your body, caressing you, grounding you as you slowly came down from that euphoric high. Your vision blurred, your body limp, utterly spent, and you collapsed against the altar, unable to do anything but lie there, gasping for breath.

Sukuna’s fingers traced lazy patterns across your skin, and despite the roughness, there was a gentleness to his touch now, a possessiveness that made your heart flutter. "You did well," he murmured, his tone almost tender. "You pleased your lord."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Thank you, my Lord," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but he heard it. 

He smirked, leaning down to capture your lips once more, this time in a kiss that was slow, lingering, a silent acknowledgment of what you had just shared. Looking directly at where you were connected, Sukuna pulled his semi-hard cock out of you, grinning like a kid while watching how your mixed cum dribbled out of your reddened, abused hole. He scooped some on the pad of his index finger and took a closer look at the slimy, pearly white liquid slowly streaming down his digit. He pushed his finger past his parted lips, tasting himself and you on his tongue. “Such a delicious, little lamb,” he praised within a grunt that rumbled deep in his chest.

His fingers still traced across your skin, but their touch now carried a different weight. 

You sensed the shift immediately, though your body, still dazed from the euphoria, struggled to react.

“Such a good little lamb,” he mused, his voice low and silky. “But even the most loyal lambs must be sacrificed.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but your body was too weak, too drained to move. You had known from the start what this ritual would cost you. You had prepared for it, accepted it. And yet, as you lay beneath him, his shadow swallowing you whole, that acceptance turned to a quiet, desperate hope for more - more time, more moments, more of him.

His hand wrapped around your throat with deceptive gentleness, his grip firm but not yet cruel. Sukuna leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve served your purpose,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “And now, you’ll give me one final gift.”

A flash of panic surged through your exhausted body, but it was too late. His fingers tightened, cutting off your air, and his crimson eyes glowed with an almost loving intensity as he watched the life slowly being drained from yours. You clawed weakly at his wrist, but there was no malice in his actions - only inevitability.

As the darkness crept in, your vision narrowing to a pinpoint, Sukuna pressed one last kiss to your forehead. “Rest now,” he murmured, his voice soothing, as if he were putting you to sleep rather than ending your life. “You’ve earned it, satisfying your lord.”

The world dimmed, your body going limp as your final breath left you. The last thing you saw was his cruel, satisfied smile, and then - then was pure nothingness.

The temple fell silent, save for the distant murmur of the remaining believers, aware that their high priestess had become nothing more than a sacrifice, her blood and soul claimed by the king of curses.

As Sukuna’s laughter echoed through the vast temple, the gathered believers knelt in silent terror again. Their faces, once filled with awe and reverence, were now twisted in fear. They had witnessed the culmination of the ritual, the ultimate sacrifice of their high priestess - the one who had led them, who had spoken the will of their dark god. And now, she lay still, her lifeless body draped across the altar, pale and motionless, while Sukuna stood over her, drenched in the eerie glow of the temple’s firelight.

Some of the followers dared to look up, trembling, their eyes wide with horror. The sight of Sukuna towering above her was both majestic and terrifying - a god who had claimed his offering without hesitation or remorse. The air hung heavy with the smell of incense and the iron tang of blood, a solemn testament to the price of their devotion.

One brave soul, trembling with fear, took a step back, his face pale. Others followed, their belief shaken as they witnessed the brutal truth of the god they had summoned. Whispers broke out, hushed and frantic, the terror rising in their chests as they realized that if even their high priestess could fall to Sukuna’s insatiable hunger, then none of them were safe.

Sukuna turned his gaze on them, his crimson eyes gleaming with malevolent amusement, and in an instant, the whispering ceased. Every believer froze in place, their hearts racing as they cowered under his piercing stare.

"Frightened, are we?" he drawled, his voice low and mocking, sending a chill down their spines. His presence was overwhelming, dominating the space as he stepped away from your lifeless form, leaving it to rest as though it were nothing more than a discarded toy.

He scanned the kneeling figures, a smirk playing on his lips. "You shall be," he continued, his tone dripping with cruel satisfaction. "What did you think would happen when you called upon me? That I would take, and not demand more?"

The fear in their eyes only seemed to amuse him further. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his bare feet silent against the stone floor, but every movement radiated power. "This is what it means to serve me," he said, his voice a dangerous purr, each word like a blade slicing through the tense silence. "To give everything. Your bodies, your souls, your lives."

He paused, his gaze narrowing, daring any of them to defy him. None did. "But take heart," he added, almost teasing, his tone shifting as though speaking to children. "Your devotion has pleased me. You live, for now. Consider yourselves fortunate, mortals."

A dark chuckle escaped his throat. “Continue to worship me," Sukuna claimed, his voice turning cold. "But remember - this is the price. When your time comes, there will be no mercy."

With that final, ominous warning, Sukuna turned away from them, disappearing into the shadows that had birthed him, leaving his followers trembling in his wake. 

The oppressive silence returned, broken only by the faint crackling of the temple’s torches and some quiet sobs, as the believers remained frozen in place, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

In the center of the altar, your body lay still, a solemn reminder of the fate that awaited those who dared to summon the King of Curses.

[caitified]

teacher

kate martin x reader

warnings:none

kate teaches eva to play

after tucking in your six-year-old daughter, eva, you headed to your bedroom, thinking the day was finally winding down. she had been at school all day, and all you wanted was a quiet evening. little did you know, kate had other ideas.

once you were out of sight, kate peeked into eva’s room, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “hey, superstar,” she whispered, nudging eva awake. “how about a little adventure?” eva’s eyes lit up as she nodded eagerly, excitement bubbling within her.

they tiptoed down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, their giggles echoing in the stillness of the house. outside in the driveway, the moonlight cast a soft glow, perfect for some secret fun. kate pulled out a mini basketball she had stashed away, and eva squealed in delight.

“okay, here’s how you shoot,” kate said, demonstrating with exaggerated flair, her tall frame bending slightly as she flicked the ball toward the hoop. the ball arched beautifully before landing in the grass. “see? easy peasy!”

eva, with her hair tousled and eyes shining, took the ball eagerly. “my turn!” she exclaimed, mimicking kate’s stance. she bounced it awkwardly, giggling as it slipped from her grasp and rolled into the driveway.

just as you were settling down for the night, you heard the sounds of laughter drifting in from outside. curious, you peeked through the window and felt your heart swell at the sight of kate and eva sharing this moment, their laughter blending in the night air.

you couldn’t help but smile but decided to put on a show. you opened the door, stepping out onto the driveway with a faux frown. “and just what do you think you’re doing out here, young lady?” you called, crossing your arms in mock disapproval.

eva turned, wide-eyed and giggling. “mommy! we’re just practicing basketball!”

“is that so?” you said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “and you thought i wouldn’t notice you sneaking out?”

kate shot you a cheeky grin. “we were just having a little fun. i promise she’ll be ready for the wnba in no time!”

“hmm,” you replied, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “and what do you think your other mommy would say about this little escapade?”

“not a word!” kate exclaimed, her smile infectious. “just a few more minutes, i swear.”

with a dramatic sigh, you stepped fully into the driveway. “alright, but just for a few more minutes. then it’s straight back to bed!”

“yay!” eva cheered, bouncing the ball. the three of you spent the next few minutes playing under the stars, the driveway transformed into your little basketball court.

you joined in on the fun, teasing kate about her form while cheering for eva’s every attempt. “look at you! you’re a natural!” you encouraged, clapping when eva made her first shot, albeit a little lucky.

as the night wore on, you felt your heart warm at the sight of kate and eva together, their bond unbreakable. eventually, you knew it was time to call it a night. “okay, basketball stars, time to head inside. we can’t let the neighbors think we’re crazy.”

“can we do this again tomorrow?” eva asked, her voice sleepy but hopeful.

“of course,” kate replied, wrapping her arm around eva’s shoulders as they walked back inside. “every day if you want.”

as you tucked eva in once more, you couldn’t help but smile at how magical the evening had turned out. you exchanged a glance with kate, and in that moment, everything felt perfect.

“goodnight, sweetheart,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from eva’s forehead. she smiled sleepily, clutching her favorite stuffed animal. you turned off the light, leaving the door slightly ajar, and settled into your own bed.

but you couldn’t shake the warm feeling that lingered from the evening. as you lay there, listening to the soft sounds of the house settling around you, you heard a quiet shuffle in the hallway. curiosity piqued, you peeked out of your room just in time to see kate and eva sneak back outside.

you chuckled to yourself, shaking your head at their antics. it was moments like these that made all the chaos of parenting worth it. even though they were supposed to be winding down for the night, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy watching them bond.

with a smile, you returned to bed, knowing that tomorrow would bring more laughter and love. after all, with kate and eva in your life, every day was an adventure waiting to happen.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Rhaenyra with prompt 10 plz

Prompt list - 10. Mutual Masturbation [F/F]

--------------------------------🐲-----------------------------------

Rhaenyra sighed as she sat at her vanity. Preparing for bed, but even looking at her own reflection seemed exhausting at this point.

Had she known the burden of taking the crown and wearing it would be so much, she may have just laid it down to begin with.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenyra turned from her reflection and frivolous thoughts, “are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I am fine.” She told her ladies maid before returning to getting ready for bed. “Just a little tired. That’s all.”

“Hmmm…yes. It has been a long day, hasn’t it.” The young woman came up behind her Queen. Taking the brush and taking over the duties of brushing her long, silver hair. “Any word from Prince Daemon?”

Rhaenyra’s face soured but played it off as if she had hit some knot. “No. Not yet. But we will.” The last part was added as more of a hope than a fact. “I do not wish to talk about that right now. I do not wish to think about anything right now.”

The Queen sighed and slouched in her chair. Her maid chuckled a little and sat the brush down. “Shall I help with that instead, your grace?”

Rhaenyra looked up at the other woman. Her face sincere and non-judgmental. The first face in days she had seen that wanted nothing of her, save Rhaenyra’s happiness. “Yes.”

They come over to the bed and the maid helped her strip out of her nightclothes. “You too.” She ordered. This was not the first time they had done this. Her maid helping her ‘relax’. But Rhaenyra preferred them both to be naked when they did. There was something…vulnerable about it when she was naked and her maid was not. Too much the potential for danger; but perhaps that was her paranoia of late.

“Of course, your grace.” She agreed and stripped out of her simple clothes as well.

They lay on the bed facing each other. A long moment passes over them. Both waiting for the other to move and initiate. No one was sure who moved first, but soon enough they were kissing and the maid’s soft but still calloused hands roamed over Rhaenyra’s body.

Rhaenyra moaned softly into the kiss. Realizing now how devoid of touch she had been since Daemon had left. Her girl’s finger tips brush over a swiftly pebbling nipple. Down her center and over her naval. Finally seeking  purchase between her thighs. “Oh Gods…” Rhaenyra moaned. Hips almost instantly bucking against those practiced fingers.

The digits stroke at her core and moistened folds. Brush over her pearl in a way that makes her shiver. Mind going blank in the fog of passion, just like she wanted.

Rhaenyra’s own hand reached out for her maid and started to touch her as well. “Your grace,” the other woman sighed wantonly, “you needn’t….this is to help you. About what you want.”

“This is what I want.” Rhaenyra told her. Thighs trembling as their panting breathes mix together amongst the whispers of their secret. “Would you deny your Queen?”

The other woman whimpered and leaned in to kiss her Queen.

Their hands continue to touch and fondle each other in the dark. Soon enough, they were rutting against each other like animals. Devoid of the pleasantries of their stations and replaced with the primal urge for climax.

Rhaenyra came first. Apex seizing around her maid’s fingers as her whole body shook. Grasping at her with her free hand while the other toyed with her maid’s clit further to send her over the edge as well.

When it was over, and the fuzzy feeling of the fog had lifted, Rhaenyra turned to slide herself beneath the sheets and felt the bed shift for her maid to leave. “Wait. Don’t go.” The other woman paused, dress in her hand. For a moment looking just a pen drop fearful as Targareyn’s were known to change their mood like the winds. “It is rather cold tonight. I could use a bedwarmer for the evening.”

It was no lie. Dragonstone was much cooler than King’s Landing. Cooler in climate. Cooler in company. Cooler without Daemon here beside her.

Her maid smiled shyly and dropped her dress back to the ground. “Of course, your grace, whatever you need.” She crawled back into bed with Rhaenyra. Coiling about her as the Queen wished before the two fell asleep.