#like sometimes you get lucky and manage to keep in touch with a few of those people

[aroaceofthesea]

Summer camps and similar very intense for 2 weeks and then suddenly finished activities are so tragic because you'll form one of the deepest connections of your life and then you never see those people again

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[remlionheart]

Dazai with a reader who got a HUGE oral kink, like they just cant stop giving him oral

₊ ⊹MDNI₊ ⊹

ft. whiney, whimpering, overstimulated dazai :(((

Dazai had little to no self control when it came to most things in life, but especially when it involved the feeling of your soft lips wrapped around his overly sensitive tip. The content little hums you'd let out in between breaths while you flattened your tongue and ran it faithfully up his length for the third time in only a few hours.

"Oh - fuck, fuck... fuck." He groaned, teetering on the verge of overstimulation. He wasn't sure what he'd done to get so lucky. Wasn't sure what he'd ever done so right to deserve a girl that loved to devour him the way that you did, but god damn, was he thankful to whatever divine intervention had led him to you.

Every time he thought there was no possible way he had another drop of cum left to spare, you somehow always managed to coax it out of him anyway.

“Angel,” he nearly whimpered, little tremors hitting his slender body in waves, making his legs shake against the firm grasp of your palm. “I’m - mmm, so… sens...itive - hah-”

His breathy obscenities went straight to your center, making you all the more determined to take him in deeper. A mixture of guttural moans and lewd slurping filled the room as you continued to grind against his leg. Your clit desperately searching for friction while your hand and mouth worked in perfect synchronicity against him.

“You want me to stop?" You asked, batting your eyes up at him through heavy lashes. You already knew the answer from how feverishly he kept thrusting into you though, his tip hitting the back of your throat in a way that slurred and strained your words. "All you have to do... is - tell me to stop... and I will...."

His mind was on fire - stuck somewhere between wanting you to go slower and faster. Easier and harder. "S'too much, angel" and "Don't you dare fucking stop."

He was delirious, spilling out the prettiest, whiniest noises as his long fingers tangled into your hair while he watched you. His mouth dropping open in awe. "I can take it." He gritted out, not ready to pull himself away from the salacious warmth your tongue was gracing him with. "I can take it. Keep going."

It was cute, how hard he tried to seem in control while being at the mercy of your touch.

"I just want one more," your voice was velvet across his tender skin, pleasure mixing with pain as you let out the softest demands. "You're doing so good," you praised, noting the way his eyes had began to roll back. "Good boy, just like that."

Having two switches in a relationship could be a real problem sometimes - neither one of you easily willing to submit to the other. It was a competition almost in the way that you'd both fight for dominance, but today - oh today, you had him right where you wanted him. Even if he wanted to deny it, he couldn't. Not with the way he was writhing under you and whimpering out your name in the neediest voice you'd ever heard from him. Cock twitching when the words, "good boy" left your mouth.

"Give me one more, baby. Just one more." You let the spit that you'd gathered up pool down over his shaft as your hollowed out your cheeks to take him in further, trying not to smile at the way his hips bucked up towards you. His grip tightening in your hair as more incoherent little nothings echoed out into the space between you. "Yeah, there you go. Look at you, you're so close."

"I'm -" he struggled, his pretty brown eyes nearly watering from how overwhelmed his senses were. "Fuck” he hissed. “I’m gonna -”

Your stare locked with his, a wicked smile splitting across your face as his release coated the back of your throat. Cum leaking graciously down your chin as you swallowed every last drop you could before placing a light kiss on his tip, admiring how swollen and perfectly pink it was.

He wasn’t sure if it was an angel or the devil himself that had brought you into his life with the beautifully depraved way you were looking back at him, but either way - he was fucking thankful.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day eight.

Car Sex (1k words)

summary: Lando was eager to use his brand new car with you.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, stablished relationship, unprotected sex, public-ish sex.

Having a secret relationship with a Formula One driver meant having to sneak around even in the most private places; somehow, someone always managed to find him, but so far, you had been lucky.

There is no denying that it was a little annoying how hard it was sometimes to not even be able to have him come into your apartment building or come into his, since you were both worried someone would spot you leaving each other places, start a rumour, and have people even more interested in his love life than they already were, so sometimes, meeting somewhere to spend time together inside his car was the best option.

Like tonight. He had just come back from England and you knew he had to leave soon for the American triple header, so you needed to make the most of the time you had together before leaving again, even if it was just a few hours.

“I’ve missed you- so much,” Lando said in between kisses. He grinned when you straddled his lap. You struggled a bit, but when you finally managed, his hands immediately finding your hips.

“Yeah?” You asked, slightly moving your hips to create some friction, the action making him moan. “How much?”

“So much, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, softly biting at your lower lip. His hands explored your torso like he had never touched you before, thumbing at the soft flesh under your shirt.

“Really? You couldn’t stop thinking about me?” You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and moving your hips one more time.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “I can’t seem to get you off my mind, love.” You smiled at the pet name and leaned in for another kiss. It always got really heated really quick after he had been away for a while, and you loved to get him all worked up, to the point where he couldn’t keep himself from dragging your hips against him to intensify the pleasure. 

“I missed you too," you mumbled back against his lips that were slowly moving along his, keeping your hands on his hair. Lando occasionally travelled from under your shirt to your thighs, humming and moaning softly into the kiss until he allowed his hands to explore further down, finding the hem of your skirt. 

He teased you for a bit, but eventually he decided he needed to take you, to feel you. 

One of his long fingers sneaked past your underwear and into your soaked folds, making you slightly lift your hips to give him more acces. He smiled at this, loving how needy you were for him. Lando started rubbing your clit with his thumb while his middle finger teased your entrance.

At this point, you were a moaning mess as he worked to get you to an orgasm. “More,” was all you managed to say, and he happily complied, rubbing harder and faster as his finger slowly entered your hole. He was planning on making this quick, because the sooner you finished, the sooner he would get to be inside you.

His pace was desperate, and even more desperate were your moans, making Lando needier than he already was. He entered a second finger, and he knew it was over when you started to squeeze them hard. 

“Come for me, baby,” he said in a tone you could never get tired of. This really pushed you over the edge, because before you knew it, your orgasm finally hit you. “There we go.”

Lando slowed down as he helped you through your orgasm, and when you stopped moving, he quickly pulled his painful cock out of his trousers. 

You couldn’t help but look down, almost salivating at the way he gave it a few slow pumps before pushing your underwear to the side again and running his head through your folds to coat it in your juices. This made you hiss, but God, you were dying to have him inside you. 

A loud moan scaped both your mouths when you started to sit on him, fully taking him in, and as soon as he was deep inside you, he took your hips to lift you up and then made you go down again. You tried to set a pace for the both of you, but the small car made it harder than you were expecting.

“You couldn’t have brought a flashier car?” You told him, trying to ride him in the very limited space.

“No, this car is perfect for this.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, knowing you couldn’t expect anything less from him, but that eye roll was quickly replaced by one full of pleasure when he hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“See? You are still enjoying it.”

“Shut up.”

Lando continued gripping at your hips, helping you move as he thrusted up to meet you half way so you wouldn’t have to do all the work alone.

The car was hot and the windows were foggy, his Ferrari F40 bouncing with the intensity of your own movements. If anyone drove past you, they would know exactly what was going on. But honestly, neither of you could care less about that; you were just chasing that so-close release.

You would never admit it, but you did find the situation kinda hot, and maybe it was just that you hadn’t been intimate in a while, but you already found yourself with the feeling on your tummy about to snap. 

“‘m close,” you whimpered, and he was so lost in pleasure he just let out a ‘uh huh’ before intensifying his motions. You knew he was close too, so you started devouring his neck just the way he liked. 

A few more thrusts, and he was already there, the warm feeling of him inside you making you come just seconds later. 

You stayed like that for a few minutes, trying to come down from your high, and once you fully caught your breath, you carefully went back to your seat, sitting on his hoodie so you wouldn't stain his new car. 

His jeans, on the other hand, were a complete mess. You could see your juices mixed with his own, trying hard to contain your laughter as he visibly worried about how he would get into his apartment looking like that.

↺ back to navigation — Kinktober masterlist

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to ?? | fame au p2 | p1 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

The picture itself is not incriminating.

In the five years since Eddie’s wet dog apology they have been cordial to each other. Eddie seemed to have finally grown up. Finally got the hint. He doesn’t bug Steve after that night. He stays in his lane.

After a few years it’s a nod at a charity event. A half-smile at the town’s trendy new restaurant. A card when Steve gets an Emmy nod for his HBO series. Steve tries to not mind it. Tries to not let it get under his skin. He doesn’t send Eddie anything when he gets his Grammy.

LA is a small town. Eddie moved back once he finished his first tour. Steve does his best to keep his circle separate but LA is a small town. He nearly ends up at Eddie’s 30th after his coworker tries to drag him to some “rager in Loz Feliz.”

Sometimes, after another break up leaves him feeling shit-all, Steve drives past their dingy old place in West Hollywood. Tries to picture the version of the story where Eddie wasn’t eaten by his monster ego. Lets himself imagine them happy. Lets himself cry over it again. Like it happened yesterday instead of a decade ago.

But then he blinks and it’s been twelve years and yeah, maybe he hasn’t felt home like he did with Eddie, maybe no one else has fit him quite so right. But maybe he was just young and everything felt bigger then.

He feels weirdly at peace about it all. It’s not forgiveness, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stomach that, but it is acceptance. It took a long time to scar but it's finally just a faded pink line. He’s happy.

And then the photo starts to circulate.

The picture itself is not incriminating.

It’s their old WeHo apartment. Eddie’s hopped on the grimy kitchen counter, acoustic guitar in hand. He’s smiling at Steve and Steve is leaned against the wall and he’s smiling back. And it’s Them. And Steve thinks they’ve never looked so young.

He doesn’t know who took the photo. Maybe Robin or Nancy or Jon. They visited a lot in that first year.

He doesn’t know how it ended up digitized, posted to a random pop culture subreddit.

What he does know is that he and Eddie have never publicly acknowledged each other.

The internet treats the picture like a cute little chachki in the first few days. A buzzpop factoid #67. It’s “Did you know Tommy Lee Jones and Al Gore were college roommates?”

But then news outlets were picking it up. And Eddie was halfway through promoting his third album.

They’re dead lucky the picture is not incriminating.

Steve’s still not technically out– he’s had quiet relationships with men but his team preferred a starlet on his arm at the carpets.

Eddie’s out the way a rockstar is. He’d fuck anything as long as it made him a pervert.

Their teams move fast.

The official story is that they’d both moved to LA to pursue their careers. They roomed together because they knew each other from their small town. Then Steve booked his show and Eddie moved to London and they lost touch.

Eddie repeats it on talk show after talk show. He lies and says they’re still friendly now, but their schedules keep them both so busy. They haven’t caught up in a while. He goes wistful when he says it. Steve tries not to feel downright bitter. It does quiet the chatter down.

In November, his manager tells him he’s presenting at the Golden Globes. The studio had asked him specifically, still under contract to promote their animated movie. He agrees cause he needs eyes on the tiny indie he'd finally gotten made.

In December, he finds out who he’s presenting with.

Steve throws a fit. It’s uncharacteristic. It’s not at all in line with the nice-guy persona he’s spent years cultivating. But they’ve managed to get this far without him actually having to talk to the guy. He doesn’t ever want to have to talk to Eddie Munson again.

His manager lures him off the ledge. It’s too late to change the line-up. He's put in years of work to get his movie made. She reminds him that it’s Hollywood. Everyone has to deal with this shit. Not worth blowing it all up because he can’t handle 30 minutes with his ex.

So Steve plays nice but Eddie skips out on rehearsal. Of fucking course. Twelve years and he’s still so predictable.

Steve reads the teleprompter next to a random PA and decides then and there to say Fuck Healing. He did that. And now he’s being punished. Again. He’s fucking pissed.

He’s pissed that the photo got out. He’s pissed at whoever leaked it. He’s pissed enough to convince himself it was Eddie. He’s pissed Eddie’s shouldering his way back into his life even if it wasn’t him.

And yeah, he’s still fucking pissed that Eddie left in the first place.

Steve first sees him on the carpet. It’s from a distance, and he’s determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. He wishes Eddie dashed for the real thing too, but he knows his ego couldn’t take the blow. Eddie Munson loves attention too much.

Eddie looks great, cause he’s a celebrity & it’s a 10-person job to make him look great.

Eddie looks great cause he’s always looked great. Even when his hair was all frizz and his hygiene habits were questionable at best. And Steve hates him but his dick has never gotten the memo.

Steve deals with it by drinking a lot. It’s the Globes! He sits at his table and smiles and they give him alcohol and he drinks it. It’s stupid and it’s reckless and it’s the only thing that’s gonna get him through this torture. So he picks at his ugly velvet suit and he drinks.

The wranglers grab them 20 minutes before they’re set to present. It’s earlier than usual but Munson’s been known to dash.

They’re sitting on opposite couches in the green room. Eddie’s vibrating. Leg jittering nonstop. Steve’s starting to feel woozy. They’re not talking.

After five minutes, Eddie clicks his tongue and gets up. “Gonna take a leak.” His wrangler starts after him. “Follow me and I cut off your dick.”

Steve looks at the kid, weighing tearily whether his job was more important than his penis, “I’ll- I'll make sure he’s back on time.”

Steve stumbles riled down the hall, opens the door with a slam, “You leak the photo, Munson?”

Eddie’s already washing his hands. Steve catches his reflection in the mirror. He looks weirdly hurt.

“Steve,” Eddie says his name so... sad, “C’mon, man. I- I wouldn’t do that.”

Steve laughs cold, puts his hands in his suit pockets. “Sure, yeah, man. You’d just disappear for seven years. Come back with some horseshit apology because you finally got what you wanted. Cause your ego could finally handle being around me. But sure. You wouldn’t do that.”

Eddie steps back into the wall, looks at Steve with those watery brown eyes. They’re framed by crows feet now. “Steve, I–”

Steve boxes him in, makes it so he can’t slip away this time, “You know there was a week there where I thought you'd fucking died.”

He feels like a live wire. He feels every awful thing he’s felt for a dozen years bubble to the surface.

“Mike Wheeler told me where you went. Mike. Wheeler. I thought you were dead in a ditch, you asshole. Thought I’d lost you forever. But no. You just skipped town– Skipped town because I loved you and you fucking hated me.”

He doesn’t know when grabbed a fist into Eddie’s shirt. He wants to tear it. It’s probably insured.

“Stevie,” Eddie’s blubbering. Their faces are close enough that Steve can see his lip quivering. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Now Steve really wants to laugh. Baby. It’s such garbage. Total bullshit.

“I wish you’d died. It would’ve hurt less.” He says it dry, with his big wide movie-star smile. Then he spits, bullseye on Eddie’s cheek, “I fucking hate you.”

It’s so strange to see Eddie up close after all this time. He’s blurry in the memories but so vivid here, so harsh. Makeup cracking into nicotine wrinkles. Different. A mask of the person Steve knew.

He breathes, “I know.”

----

Eddie's tongue still tastes the same.

[soapcloth]

Fantasy au -> Warrior!Soap x Healer!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI, light bloodplay, noncon undertones, dacryphilia if you squint

not edited - 800 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

You’ve had just about enough of that axe-swinging asshole, built like an ox and thrice as stubborn.

You’re absolutely beside yourself asking why you’re sticking it out in his half-baked party. John, as he had practically breathed the name down your neck, couldn’t keep a decent healer and now you know all too well why. He was mean, smelly, loud, and worst of all- overly familiar despite your best efforts to stamp out any flame of acquaintanceship. You could write ballads dedicated to reasons you should leave this party, but truth be told? You were down on your luck. You wondered sometimes if you were cursed with misfortune, a hilariously horrid timeline of events leading you to this very position right now. So you’ve made a few mistakes, hasn’t everyone in the pursuit of dungeon crawling?

Even so, was the state of your freelance healing career really so bad that you had to saddle up with someone like John MacTavish? The man had been naught more than a trail thief brute-forcing his way into other parties’ treasure a few years ago, but because of a few lucky encounters in monster slaying, suddenly he was picking up jobs in adventurer hubs like it was something he was born to do. It pissed you off to no end and he knew it. Loved seeing your indignant scowl while you healed him up knowing better work was near impossible for you to come by.

“Och- that’s it, ‘m sore there.” He’d groaned, humid breath fanning your skin, god, why was he always so close? “Gonna show me that pretty glow, lamb?”

“No.” You bit, rubbing the salve a touch deeper than needed. Your lips twitched seeing his eyebrows draw tight. “It’s not so bad that you need healing, stop being a baby.”

The man snorted in response. “That’s why no other parties’ll take ye on, lamb.” His deep blue eyes searched your own, a wild smirk twisting across his mouth. “Terrible bedside manner.” You flushed slightly, shooting him a sharp glare that caused him to lean back on his makeshift fallen and rotted log seat with a pleased grin as he inspected his wound. Like the ever-expressive man he was, his face suddenly took on a shade of concern. “Ach-!”

“Huh?” Was all you could muster, confused as to what he could be so worried about.

“Think I got nicked by something venomous, lamb, need yer healing.” He seethed out. “Oh for- let me see.” You sighed, grabbing his uselessly huge hand. As expected, his palm was fine, albeit still a bit bloody as the salve worked to stop it.

Wrong move.

Upon inspecting his wound, the adventurer managed to shove his palm into your face with a vicious grin, huffing through his nose a bit as he smeared blood across your mouth. Sputtering only invited the acrid taste of bitter salve, sweat, and copper onto your tastebuds as he laughed and continued to wipe his hand across your face. “See?” He chuckled “M’still hurt.” His eyes seemed to glisten like the northern stormy coast seeing his own blood on your skin. “Suits you.”

You pushed his hand away, misinterpreting his words in a way that scratched at a sore spot of your own. “I didn’t kill them, John! Stop holding that over my head!” You snarled, causing his eyes to widen a fraction. You wiped his blood off your face with your arm, only to smear it around more and get it on the limb. Great. It was then you realized you had a runny nose as well, were you starting to cry? “I fucked up- but my god, they lived, okay?” And now you couldn’t get a gig better than this one because of that fact, a voice in the back of your head snarked. It’s true too, they made sure no party worth its salt would ever take you on. You still have no idea why John did either in all honesty, for all his faults and the high turnover rate, he had a seemingly bottomless fount of healers willing to take a shot at being the one to stick.

John cupped your cheeks. “None of tha’.” He spoke lowly. One of his calloused thumbs swiped at an emerging tear before it could fall and you had to watch, mouth slightly agape as he brought the pad of his thumb to his lips without much thought, tongue darting out to taste. You blinked as he clapped that hand down on your shoulder, leaning closer. “None of tha’…” he repeated, quieter this time. He looked so focused. “Dinnae give a shit about those no-names, lamb, neither should you.”

You swallowed audibly when met with his intensity, his voice a rolling growl. “Fuck- seeing ye all covered in my blood’s got me stiffer than a rock. Palm’s busted and you won’t heal me. Cannae do a thing about it, feel like ah’m gonna-“

“I can heal your hand.” You urged, the oppressive haze he left you with suddenly lifting.

He snorted in response. “Though so, lamb.” His palm connected with your hair, ruffling his blood into your locks before moving down to pat your cheek. “What a dutiful healer ye’ are… So good te’ me. Let me see tha’ gorgeous glow.”

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡

Derek Morgan x reader || Main Masterlist || Spotify

summary: It was not your plan to dump into a tall, handsome FBI agent, but sometimes you get lucky.

word count: 666

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟔) 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐮𝐭𝐞

It is a typical Tuesday morning at your favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place where the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans mingles with the sound of clinking mugs and soft chatter. The morning crowd buzzes, and you are nestled in your favorite corner, sketchbook open, pencil flying across the pages as you capture the vibrant energy around you.

You are so engrossed in your work that you don’t notice when the line for coffee snakes its way closer to your table. Your concentration breaks when the barista calls out a name, you stand up, but you didn’t really hear what was called and you are unsure whether it was yours or someone else’s. You look up, slightly confused, just in time to see a tall man brushing past you, his shoulder barely grazing yours.

“Sorry about that,” he says, his voice deep and warm. 

You glance up to look him in the eyes and your pencil pauses mid-air, he is muscular with a charming smile and warm brown eyes. He wears a leather jacket that hugs his athletic frame, and you can tell he is someone who knows how to take charge of any situation.

“No problem at all,” you manage to say, trying to keep your composure. “I get lost in my own world too.”

The man chuckles as he leans over your sketches, an appreciative glint in his eye. “Wow, you’re really talented. Is this coffee shop your studio?”

“Something like that,” you reply, your cheeks warming at the compliment. “It’s a great place to people-watch,” you say, gesturing to the rest of the coffee shop.

He glances around the bustling coffee shop, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he returns his gaze to you, smirking, a spark of interest flickering in his eyes. “People-watching is an underrated art form.”

“Sure is, I like capturing the small moments… It’s nice.”

He glances around, then back at you with a smirk. “You might be capturing my moment, then. I was just getting coffee to gear up for what could be a long day at the office.”

“Office?” you ask, intrigued.

“Yeah, FBI,” he says casually, as if it is just another job.

Your eyes widen in surprise, thoughts racing. “Like, really? You must have some incredible stories to tell then.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I can’t share those. Privacy and all that, you know?” He winks, making your heart skip a beat.

Before you can respond, the barista calls out his name: ‘Derek’. It suits him, you think. He sighs dramatically, turning to grab his coffee. “Guess I’ll have to keep some of my secrets, but I think I’m able to tell a few… Perhaps you can exchange  stories with me sometime?”

His boldness catches you off-guard. “Sure, if you promise to tell me one of yours, I’m telling one of mine.”

As you exchange smiles, something shifts in the air between you. You jot down your number on a napkin, along with your name, handing it to him as he reaches for his drink.

With the warmth of your touch lingering on the napkin, Derek looks at you, a confident grin plastered on his face. “I’ll take that as a challenge. Coffee soon? Or maybe a drink?”

“I’d love a drink,” you reply, heart racing in anticipation, feeling a secret thrill at how easily the conversation flows between you.

Derek jots down a quick line on his own napkin before handing it back to you. “Text me when you want to meet up.”

With that, he turns to leave, but not before glancing back over his shoulder, that captivating smile promising an adventure that lies ahead.

As the door chimes behind him, you can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, fate has decided to add a dash of excitement to your routine. You smile to yourself as the barista calls out your name and you turn to get your coffee.

[pen-observing]

beauty and curiosity

synopsis: As Dottore's research assistant, you had to keep your curiosity on par with what he expected. You never thought that what sparked it after so much time would be Capitano himself

word count: 3k pairing: capitano x gn! reader (slight dottore if you wish to imagine it so, I did)

The door that greets your open eyes is the same like always. Brown wood that someone else picked before you. You can't say that they had bad taste, the door is placed nicely to the right corner and you little friend from last night - the spider- greets you even with this dawn. You wonder if he stayed there the whole night while you were sleeping as a thank you to the mercy you extended him. You did not kill him, and he did not move to make a new web. maybe he saw that as an equal trade? You probably would have left him alive anyway. Someone told you long before that seeing a spider was like a hint that you will get lucky in the following few days. So, even as your feet touch the cold wooden floor, you decide to still have mercy and to open the door without killing him to get breakfast. 

Maybe they are lucky omens, maybe they are not. But it is not like killing him or carrying him out the window would change much for you. Your eyes would see the same door tomorrow. The floor would feel cold again and you would pick the same mug off the drying dishes in your kitchen to start the day with. 

These routines did not bother you themselves, no. What was bothersome was the fact that you realized how, eventually, everyone develops to have them as creatures of habit. It was inevitable to turn into someone who repeats the same things over and over again. Even the harbinger you serve - one with multiple bodies, had his own routines. His younger clones had far more rebellion towards them but even they still had a need to keep a specific space, to prioritize one thing over the other like second nature. 

Truth be told - you were not asked to pick who you would serve. Dottore ended up being the harbinger you would serve as an assistant. and you were not the only one picked for that role. He liked to keep plenty of staff. Part of it was that he needed an audience to showcase his own talents and immense intelligence to, while another part of him was a bit less selfish. Dottore was willing to teach those who had true curiosity and spirit according to his own criteria and for whatever reason, you managed to remain as one of the few assistants he kept close at hand. As close as he would allow that is and with a man like him that still meant millions of lightyears away. 

You do not mind that in the slightest. What kept you around despite your failures and 'shortcomings' of having a moral compass in his lab was that he deemed your curiosity the highest out of anyone he had met. He once told you that if you were not serving him, the abyss would have swallowed you whole because you would wonder about its properties the same way you wondered about colors when you were younger. 

"Why are apples red and why is the sky blue? from your childhood would just turn into questions about the inside shapes of the abyss and you would be swallowed by curiosity." Were his exact words. 

Dottore believed that true curiosity could not be fabricated even at his own hands so while you were the not best person for experiments at the start, you were the one who suited his own curious nature. 

'What good is a doctor who cures a disease without wondering about the cause? Without wondering about its transformations? What good is an engineer who cannot disassemble parts at the same speed he would assemble them at? And what good is a person who cannot see beyond the usual?" 

He said you could see beyond the usual but in all honesty, sometimes it feels like you can't see past this mug. Or this window looking out into the street next to your breakfast table. Sometimes you felt like you could not see beyond the speck of dust or the peel of a citrus fruit. 

Maybe that is why when he gave you a choice to leave, you decided to stay. While every Dottore clone had his own routines, they managed to keep a constant cycle of novelty. Working at his lab eventually brought more interesting things than you could have found yourself. 

Was beauty in the new? Or was it in the old? 

You were deeply unsure. 

Dottore was not above punishing you despite keeping you around. For a few days, Dottore did not hear you utter a singular question in his lab and he found it so offensive you would dare to become ignorant to his breakthroughs. It seemed like you were bored of him and his research and he decided that a proper punishment would be to have you spend a whole month in the city farthest away from the main fatui base and from the tsaritsa. 

if you were so bored of constant novelty - you might as well experience true boredom by residing in his abandoned lab in a peaceful town where everyone with something exciting to offer already moved away. The worst part? You did not feel like anything changed. 

Numbness even touches curiosity. So, what if your door is now on the right instead of the left? What if the mug is pink instead of white? What if you were there or here? Differences are miniscule and nothing could make your curiosity perk up. If you were still like this when he summoned you back - you would be sent home and that is all there was to it. Or, he would further punish you by extending your stay. He could laugh at you when you mixed the things in the wrong way or when you failed to fix a core and it would explode. But what he absolutely refused is to have your curiosity dim down. If it did, you would be useless. 

And it isn't like you have not tried to find something interesting. While you were on the trip to get to here, you tried to find something interesting. Perhaps some plants that would show something new or an animal that would make for a good study case. You did want to try and see how many generations it would take for animals to break a trauma response their parents exhibited alone but even that went out of the window after a few seconds. 

If you could not find anything worthwhile in this town - you would be doomed to feel this way forever. Black and white thinking but not without basis. Stubborn curiosity and stubborn numbness started to go hand in hand for you. Maybe if you closed your eyes and prayed, your spark of curiosity would find an object for it to love and latch onto? 

In the next moment, your spoon made a small noise. It moved from one side of your mug to the other. Nothing unusual, right? You just wanted to make the tea and honey come together but when you looked down you realized that your hands did not make it move. You already finished doing that around three minutes ago. To prove to yourself what it feels like, your hands moved to make the same motion and the fog over your brain lifted as you felt that danger was near. Somehow this spoon moved and it was not your doing. 

With all your senses, you tried to pinpoint what exactly had happened but you were unsuccessful. Even if something was here, it masked its presence so well that a ghost would be ashamed. You did not feel a void, but you did not feel any warmth either. Unnerving. Unusual.   Interest could be found in fear but you were unsure where to search. 

Luckily for you, the presence had decided to make itself know. With a slight thud, footsteps approached you without your door ever opening. Was this mercy extended towards you in the same way you treated your spider? It sure felt that way. 

"My sincere apologies for startling you." Now you had to look up from the mug to search for the stranger. But, with his deep voice and polite manner of speaking, you knew who it belonged to already. Capitano, the first of the eleven fatui harbingers. Your own Lord always said he did not care much for rankings but a certain sour taste would be in his words whenever he spoke of this man. You had not made contact with him previously but in a way, you felt that it was cruel fate that only one number separated you from the most noble and righteous harbinger and a heretic. 

"Based on my previous visits to this abandoned small lab, I never encountered another soul here. When I felt your presence, I had to judge if you were sent here or if you were trying to steal information that belongs to our organisation." 

You stood up and saluted him. It comes like second nature. "Lord harbinger, you were doing your duty. No need for apologies." 

"Nonsense. I felt that I had startled you and should have thought of Dottore sending his own forces to abandoned labs before I made such a move." 

Talking to other lords never came quite easy to you. Dottore enjoyed much of questioning and random rambles but other Lords were known to punish just for being asked a question by wretched vermin. But suddenly, you felt that Capitano filled the room with a presence. It seemed like he could choose to be a void or actually have spiritual warmth. How many years had he taken to perfect this? 

In fact, how many years has he been alive? Did your lord simply hate him because he was branded with number two? Why did he always wear a mask? 

You had heard so many rumours in bars and gatherings of other servants and soldiers but Capitano's own men never gossiped. Not even when they were at their most drunk. That is - they never spoke of their own lord with anything other than praise. 

Where did that admiration come from? Had anyone seen him without a mask or cry perhaps? 

"Your silence makes for a rather awkward companion. But I can tell you have questions." 

"I have been called curious before, but it has been a while since I was curious about anything deeply." 

Capitano moved a few steps to open a drawer with syringes in it. 

"Are you not a researcher and is this not a lab of your famed lord?" 

"Yes is my answer to both of those questions." 

His gloved hands picked up two syringes and he did not look at you while he was doing so. You were not part of Dottore's team when he made them and their unique mix of colors piqued your interest. One of those colors looked like synth vaguely but the other one was similar to lava. Just how many experiments of Dottore's were you unaware of? 

"And should this not be a prime place for you when the answer is yes to both. What have you been doing all this time?" 

"Looking around this lab without actually touching anything for longer than a few seconds. I also kicked out a lot of spiders but last night I let one stay." 

Capitano did not seem perplexed with your paradoxical answers. He could see your eyes eying his syringes with interest when you refused to take them apart and analyse the contents for however long you have been here. He felt no malice or dishonesty in your being, so he simply continued to move like you were not here. He had done this countless times before. 

"I will not tell you what is inside of these syringes if that is one of your questions." 

He sat down on a chair on the other side of your mug. 

"I did have questions about the contents but I would have asked the syringes themselves not you. Even if it seems that I might melt or change shape from simply being exposed to them in any capacity. 

"Hmm. You make a valid point. What keeps me a monster would make you disappear. I suggest you stay away from these unless you wish to meet a cruel fate." 

"Lord first, you give me a kind warning but you speak of being a monster." 

"And what is your observation meant to accomplish?" 

"Nothing. Well, I could say it will help me keep my form too." 

"You are an ordinary human." It didn't feel like an insult. It felt like he was praising such simpleness. 

"What form do you speak of?" 

This time he was looking at you. You could not see his eyes from his helmet but you could feel his gaze on you. Without flinching or moaning, all while keeping his eyes solely on you - Capitano stabbed his thigh and his heart with the two syringes he had prepared. 

It seemed like he felt nothing but you felt both warmth and cold at once and in a second the overwhelming feeling was gone. It was so overwhelming that your curiosity made you run over and place your hands over his own to feel any remnants of energy. Touching any other harbinger so casually would have meant a number of different fates but Capitano was a kind man. 

"If you are here to inspect me, there is no need. I know what I am doing and these will not kill me." 

You helped him remove them even if he truly seemed like he did not need help. You could run towards the drawer he pulled them out from but the object of your interest were not the syringes themselves. 

Your curiosity was this man himself. For the first time in a while, your brain started to race with questions and theories. Just who was he and what was he hiding. 

"What is the reason you are so familiar with using these? Why are you here? Are you a monster?" 

"Indeed. I belong to them." 

"Beings? You speak of yourself as if you are not human. Just what is behind that mask of yours?" 

Perhaps Dottore was right, the abyss would swallow you whole if it interested you. Maybe it still can? If you get out of this situation alive - if you survive removing the mask of the famed and powerful harbinger - you could go out to uncover new condensed abyssal energy. 

You finally got your curiosity back and allowing it to run out would be a crime against yourself. Curiosity filled your whole body and Capitano felt cold to your touch as you looked at his face. 

"You call yourself a monster because of this?" 

"Are you perhaps about to call it beauty like that twisted doctor you serve?" 

Maybe he expected a bigger reaction than this. Maybe you failed him, but you did not fail yourself. 

"Beauty? There is nothing beautiful about it." 

"At least you don't call rot beautiful like your own master." 

"Your ice is above my head so I suppose your reputation proceeds you. You are kind enough to let me get my words out." 

"Speak." 

"There is nothing beautiful about the rot of skin. However, you are not a monster. You are undoubtedly human." 

"Laughable." 

But he did not laugh. He found you foolish. You dared to overstep twice. Removing his helmet was one thing but trying to comfort him was another. 

"You are human, lord harbinger. Did you know that my own lord does not rot? Did you know he has made others unable to rot? In an odd way, this rot makes you more human than you believe." 

You can't tell if your words caused a change or if they were comforting or insulting. This man has lived more lives than you ever will and he had seen and spilled more blood than you can imagine. He does not need comfort from you. That much is clear. 

Still, as the ice descends, he makes it disappear with his hand and you emerge unharmed. 

"Your curiosity saved you." 

"I always thought it would eat me alive." 

"It almost did. I never heard of anyone gaining a vision and immediately aiming at themselves." 

A cryo vision had manifested in your lap without you even noticing. When you looked back up, Capitano had already pulled down his mask. 

"Why didn't you stop me? You could have made me regret my choice the instant I tried to touch you."  

"I had never seen anyone gain a vision in such a way. I suppose my own curiosity got the better of me."  

He got up from the chair and you noticed just how much taller and imposing he was from such close proximity. You really were in the presence of danger and still chose risk instead of safety. Capitano was already moving towards the door and something compelled you to sit back down and finally drink the tea that had grown cold.  

He was in the doorway now. You were thinking of what would happen to you now that you had a vision. Maybe you could try to boil it? You heard they were indestructible but surely something could dissolve it? Visions were not a completely natural thing in this world.  

"Come. Bring that vision and follow me." 

"I still do not have orders to leave this place." 

"Since when were you allowed to refuse any orders from a harbinger? Dottore is not the only one you ought to listen to and I doubt he would be suitable to teach you how to use your new power." 

You would be risking Dottore's wrath and plenty of unpredictable outcomes based on which clone greets you once you are back. But, losing the object of your curiosity would doom you to a worse fate in your own eyes.  

Following Capitano would unlock a new world for you. Something told you that you would be able to find new beauty and curiosity if you took him up on his offer. 

a/n: guess who is back !! after a year!! I hope my mutuals are around still to actually guess that it is me who is back. i realized the last time i wrote was in november and the new archon quest finally inspired me.

to give you a few updates: i changed two jobs and I became less creative I am afraid. I got into a situationship/delusionship with a narc for a few months but i did not cry. i am welcoming any thoughts because after so long this was vv hard to write.

i hope you are well and that you have enjoyed this at least a little bit

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Playing With Fire

24/12: A Fancy Party & Praising - modern!Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: raunchy texts, pussy slapping, public sex, p in v sex, praise, dirty talk A/N: missed these two??? It's our Perfect Score duo!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

She hates these events. Hates the pomp and ego. Her situation has changed but the figure skating business certainly hadn't.

Since returning to Singles, Rhaenys had encouraged her to get involved in it all again, as much as she knew she loathed it. Connections were everything after all. And she supposed it was an excuse to have a glass of bubbly.

Rhaenys was in her usual flawless getup. A floor length pale blue, with the corset littered with sparkles. Except this time, instead of dragging her around by her forearm, she'd bought her doting husband, Corlys, and was dragging him around instead.

She gravitated instantly to Baela and Rhaena, dressed in matching blues. Baela wore a skin tight dress without sleeves and it was such a dark blue that in some light, it could've been black. Whereas Rhaena matched her blue to Rhaenys, bar all the sparkle, since she insisted it was 'tacky'.

She'd rolled her eyes at that.

Some things never change.

"Hello, you", she turned to find a familiar face, voice and mop of curly brown hair.

"Jace!"

He gave her a tight-lipped smile and a friendly hug somehow without really touching her, "nice to see you out on the ice again."

"Oh, you know me, can't keep away", she smirked, throwing a lock of waved hair over her shoulder.

Yet another familiar face poked from the shadows, "miss me?"

Both Jace and her smiled brightly, "Cregan, nice to see you!"

"You too," he smiled, "fucking hate these things."

She gave a dry laugh, "yeah, me too. Just an excuse to have some fancy food really."

Cregan laughed, "at least you're honest."

As the glasses of bubbly began to work their magic, her head swirling pleasantly, she watched Jace and Cregan laugh with each other, and then Baela and Rhaena alike.

There was a full ache in her chest, tapping her fingernails against the glass flute, wishing that a certain person was also here to accompany her.

She had respected Aemond's decision to not attend events such as this.

He would support her at matches, cheering from the sidelines, even watching when she practised, sometimes joining her, but he couldn't for the life of him force himself to go to an event where he might catch a glimpse of Alys Rivers.

He'd get no judgement from her for that.

Besides, if Alys Rivers ever dared to show her face in the same building as her, she'd face her wrath.

She finds herself, absentmindedly sipping the tart prosecco, her third she notes, listening to Corlys Velaryon harp on about how amazing Rhaenys was in her day. How sensually she moved, how she used to wink at him from the sidelines and-

“Okayyy…I think I've heard just about enough.” She says awkwardly. Without that he might have gone on forever.

“Apologies. I can't say enough things to describe her.”

She nods, “I'm lucky to have her as a manager, certainly. Excuse me.”

She blinked a few times as she slid away, through the brilliantly dressed people, downing the rest of her bubbly as she pushed the glass doors towards the back of the hall to get some fresh air.

She fanned herself with her hand, feeling all hot from the humid air vaped off everyone’s bodies inside. Her phone illuminates her face as she pulls it from her clutch, a smile rising to her lips to find Aemond’s name as the most recent contact to have sent her a message.

She laughed quietly, her thumbs moving quickly to reply, heart all aflutter.

There’s a long quiet. Those three lines to say he’s replying come on, then off, then on again.

Um.

What. 

Okay. What the fuck.

Her eyes were like saucers, the cold blue light bouncing off them as she stared at his response.

Gods, what the fuck was Aemond on??

She found herself looking around briefly.

Aemond hadn't known what she'd worn. How could he have?

She was stunned for a moment, her thumbs unmoving as her eyebrows furrowed at her screen in confusion.

It was a good job she was outside, the squeal she let out bounced off the walls when she felt two hands sliding around her waist.

If she were a different person, she'd have used her clutch as a weapon, it was certainly heavy enough.

But in the end she's glad she didn't as she whips around to be greeted with the familiar smirk, platinum tied-back hair and mismatched eyes of Aemond.

Her phone nearly falls from her hands in shock, "Aemond, what the fuck?!"

He chuckles breathily, "Nice to see you too, princess."

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, gaining her breath back slightly, her chest feeling hot but at the same time, a smile rising to her lips at his presence. Stupidly, seeing him is just what she needed.

"Thought I'd come and see my girl, only to find that yet again that cunt Northerner is trying to get into her pants."

She swallowed at the way he'd said it, all low and halfway between flirty and angry. And ashamed as she is to say it, a warmth drifts between her thighs, her insides clenching around nothing, remembering perhaps the borderline dirty words he'd typed over text.

"I was...just being nice-"

"Oh were you now?" he drones, leaning forward impossibly close, a platinum strand falling from behind his ear to frame his sharp features. His hand on the wall on one side of her head feels close, half caging her in and the anticipation of his proximity is suffocating.

His gaze drops to her outfit, akin to the one she wore when her and Aemond had to attend their first shmoozing event back when they worked in Pairs.

"You do look gorgeous," he starts, humming appreciatively, "I remember you wearing something like this back when we hated each other."

"We didn't hate each other." She rolls her eyes, not able to help the smile that quirks at her lips.

But Aemond cocks his head, narrowing his gaze, "Uh huh, sure. Well you hated me then," he grins, "in any case, princess, I'm not sure I can wait for us to ditch this place."

Her lips part, unsure what he means until he has her pressed to the wall, his tall, broad form easily framing her in to trap her, rather enjoying the lost, dumb look on her face as his fingers trickle down to the hem of her dress.

"Aemond!" She whisper shouts, looking around as her face burns at the thought of being so brazen out in public like this. If anyone came through those horrendous glass doors... the thought has her core throb with danger and her skin alight with nerves.

"What? I promised, didn't I?" He muses, his lips descending to place open-mouthed kisses on her neck, below her ear, "I said I'd fuck you stupid."

Yes, but I didn't think you meant here, is all she's able to think.

But her mouth fails to move as he rucks up her dress to her middle, surprised in himself to find there was nothing beneath.

"Trying to impress someone?"

"Can't wear underwear with this dre-ah!"

She has to cover her mouth when Aemond slaps her harshly right onto her hot core, throbbing with want for him by now she's sure. The action, so lewd and exciting, has her clenching around nothing.

"Yeah yeah, don't want your pathetic fucking excuses, princess," he utters darkly, his tongue running over the bit of skin he'd just bitten lightly, and she mewls, turning into a choked moan the second he eases two fingers into her.

She's not as wet as she would be with some preparation, but right now that's half the thrill. She's still excited enough from his words over text alone that there's no pain but only the stretch of his fingers as he crooks forwards, brushing that spot inside her that has her toes curling in her heels.

She grabs his wrist, "fuck-Aemond-"

"There it is. Such a dirty fucking girl for me, aren't you."

She nods feebly, not even really listening, too focussed on tightening her grip on him as he pistons two fingers into her, the tightness in her belly beginning to crest as Aemond brushes her sweet spot with every push inside.

"Fuck-I can feel you tightening around me you little slut."

He punctuates it with yet another wetter slap as he pulls his digits from her, making her let out a muffled squeal.

She barely has time to crack her eyes open before Aemond is pressed up against her, his hands grasping her thighs to pull her up the wall against him. He only really needs one hand to do it, his chest anchoring hers to him as his other fumbles with his belt.

"Tell you what, if you can be quiet for me, I'll let you cum." He breathes against her lips, his jaw all tense like this is all he's been able to think about since he saw her.

"Aemond, wai-"

He doesn't.

Both of them have to stifle a sort of relieved moan as he slides into her, the stretch of him never failing to steal the air from her lungs. Her arms tighten around his back, all ideas of being caught or the fact that there are several dozen people inside the building next to them right at this moment, is completely distant.

The first genuine thrust he gives makes her want to cry out, but she thinks better of it and presses her lips together, each movement of himself inside her making that task ten times harder. But the prospect of not being allowed fulfilment is the thing that keeps her from it.

"That's my girl - that's my good fucking girl - doing so well-"

She's ashamed to say how the praise shoots straight to her core, tightening around him so impossibly much that she swears Aemond fucking whines when he tries to push inside her again.

"Aw, did you like that, baby? - do you like being my good girl?"

She's not sure if she nods or if it's the force of Aemond's brutal thrusts that is making her head move, but he takes it as confirmation nonetheless.

"Fuck - I could stay buried in your pretty little pussy all fucking day -" he muses, his voice all strained the longer he continues his rapid pace, his skin that pokes out from beneath his shirt meets hers with a soft slap, her face heating up when she feels that her slick is beginning to come away on him each time.

And she knows she's done for as soon as his hand drifts down between her legs, his thumb playing with her pearl with the aid of her arousal.

And he expects me not to make a sound or cum? she thinks to herself.

She keeps herself together through sheer stubbornness if anything, the two overwhelming pleasures at once threatening to have her topple over the edge at any moment.

"My perfect girl - come on, I can't wait any longer, want you to fucking soak my cock, come on-"

He almost sounds impatient, and if the needy tone of his voice doesn't propel her into rapture, the way he presses his thumb against her clit certainly does. And she falls over the edge with a muffled whine into his neck, near sobbing with pleasure as Aemond doesn't let up, fucking into her with abandon to chase his own when he feels the way she clamps around his length.

She lets out another moan to chase the last as she feels Aemond's shuddered breath and the warmth fills her as he hits his own high. Staying like that for a brief, warm moment, before he sets her down on wobbly feet.

He grins at the exhausted look on her face as he pulls her dress down, not missing the way he's already started to leak out of her. But he can't talk, he's all flushed in the face as well, tugging his trousers back over his hips.

She adjusts her hair, all frizzy from the moisture in the cold winter air.

"Come on then." He grins wolfishly.

He walks the opposite direction she expects. And her brows furrow in confusion as Aemond heads to the glass doors, to go inside the venue.

"Where are you going?"

"Can't go without at least saying hello to everyone, now can I? Maybe I'll speak to Cregan Stark."

Her mouth hangs open in shock, "Aemond-"

Your cum is running down my thighs. She wants to say.

And he seems to understand, based on the way he smirks at the warmth that graces her cheeks in embarrassment, "Come on, princess, don't be rude now."

She bites her lip in annoyance, hooking her arm into his.

If she didn't love him, she'd kill him.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[mariamakeslemons]

Kinktober 2024: Day 13 Pregnancy/Aftercare

Warning: Reader is AFAB and pregnant (I know it's not for everyone, so heads up), mostly fluff

Price moans, pumping in what feels like his last load into your slick heat, before dragging his now limp cock from you. The whimper you let out is so sweet that, were Price less tired, he’d dive back in, just to hear more. However, it’s been three months since he last saw you, and all he wants to do now is curl around you and pamper you. He drops down beside you, leaving his hand to gently rub at the growing protrusion that he found out about mere days before he left.

“They’re not causing you troubles, are they, Sweetheart?” he asks softly. You shake your head, your skin glistening from sweat and eyes drooping in exhaustion.

“Nah,” you whisper back, “They’ve been saving it for your return.” Price chuckles at your poke, unable to stop himself from smiling as his hand stills to lay on your stomach.

“They better not,” Price tries to growl, but his smile is too wide and he’s too tired to keep up the joke. You laugh sweetly at his joke, before calming and just looking at him. He looks right back, still unable to believe that he gets to have this. Have you in his life. Have you as his partner in every sense of the word. Have a little one on the way.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, voice still low in the soft afterglow.

“How bloody lucky I am,” he confesses, “I don’t deserve you.” Your smile drops, as it always does when you have this conversation.

“John-”

“I know,” he cuts you off, “I know it’s not about deserve. But, God. You’re a miracle and I’m so lucky you chose me.” You huff, but your face smooths out into a neutral expression. You’ll probably bring this conversation up again, sometime during this leave, but right now, you’re willing to drop it. Price takes it as a cease fire and decides it’s time for aftercare.

Pushing himself up, he stumbles over to the bathroom, cursing at how stiff his legs are right now. It is made up for by your soft laughter from the bed. Chuckling again, he manages to get to the toilet and sit on it briefly to flex his feet and slowly bend his knees, coaxing limberness back into his legs before standing once more. Walking over to the bathtub now, he leans over to plug the drain and run the water, dropping one of your Twilight bath bombs after contemplating between it and the Intergalactic bomb. He lights up a few candles that he disperses through the room before heading back to the room.

“Alright, Lovely,” he declares, “You stay relaxed, I’m going to lift you.”

“Good luck,” you joke, as if you hadn’t watched him lift over 140 kilos to prove a point when you commented on gaining weight (he’s proud that you have. That just means you’re his soft treasure, safe and cared for). He huffs and lifts you, bridal style. You wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle against his throat, pressing lazy kisses to the skin there. Arriving back in the bathroom, he sets you on the toilet, letting you use it while he finishes putting the final touches on the atmosphere of the room and making sure he can take care of you once the bath is done. Your lotions and mask crème are pulled out for use.

“Here you are, Love,” he says, handing over the crème, “Go ahead and put it on.”

“Oh, you are not getting out of this, sir,” you playfully scold, tapping on the crème. Price blinks before huffing out a laugh and kneeling down. You work quickly, gently covering his face in the crème, careful to not let too much get in his beard, before letting him stand up and applying it to your own face. Price steps into the bath first before helping you in, wrapping his arms around your waist as you lean back on his chest.

You sit in a comfortable silence in the warm darkness of the bathroom, the soft lapping of the water soothing you both as any and all tension of the day melts out into the scented water. Price massages your scalp, humming as you turn into human putty under his touch.

“So fuckin’ pretty, Love,” he mumbles, fighting back the urge to pepper your face in kisses due to the mask you both are wearing. You laugh a little, moving back to be pressed more firmly against his chest.

“You’ll be just as pretty once the mask does it’s work,” you tease, laughing as his hands slide down to go after your ribs.

“Now listen here, you little shite,” he playfully growls over your laughter as he tickles your ribs. Neither of you care that the water is sloshing over the side, happily focused on each other over anything else. Later, when the water is cold, you both will wipe off the mask and let Price change the sheets before snuggling in bed. Later, you will sleep until morning light, only to blink awake and see Price already awake, his hand on your rounding stomach and a smile on his face. Later, you’ll tease each other over coffee and tea, exchanging kisses like secrets. But now, you lean against Price, his hands wrap around you to cuddle in the warm scented water and soft light.

[peachyscenes]

batter up! | j.wy x gn!reader x j.yh

SMUT!! mdni!!!

—————

they needed their good luck charm, they said.

you're the only reason why they do so well in their games, they think.

you can't even begin to explain how you got so lucky. you're the one who can't think.

jung wooyoung, pitcher for your university, was an enigma. he's not very talkative outside of his four friends and as wild as he looks, he's pretty tame. not once have you seen him at the few parties you get invited to and in your few shared classes, he's not even there sometimes. how did you manage to get him between your legs, even you can't tell.

then there's jeong yunho. he's from the rivaling university and funny enough, from the rivaling baseball team as well as the same position as wooyoung. he's like wooyoung in a way, two sides of the same coin. you met him at the few parties you attended and he was immediately hooked. right now, his cock was down your throat.

"we have a game tomorrow baby, wanna do so good for you- oh fuck!"

yunho throws his head back at as you somehow manage to fit even more of his length down your throat. you're on your back and yunho takes the liberty to play with your nipples, causing you to moan around his cock.

wooyoung's fingers are prodding at your puckered hole as he works his mouth on you. Your thighs are pinned down by his body weight as he puts your body to work. You can feel his saliva dripping down, working as a lubricant for him to be able to insert one finger. he takes his mouth off of you to speak.

"ease up f' me baby~ want you nice and relaxed when you take my cock-"

"i thought you said last game's winner would go first," yunho interrupted followed by a hiss when you fondle with his balls.

"well i don't see you helping baby to take you," wooyoung replies. he's able to insert another finger into your hole, making scissoring motions to open you up more. with his other hand, he touches your heat, building up your orgasm. had you not been distracted, you would have told them to quit arguing.

yunho let's out an annoyed sigh before he strokes your cheek lovingly.

"so good baby~ you take my cock so well. you gonna make me cum?"

you nod your head as best as you could, causing the man above you to chuckle. yunho grabs at your throat before he starts thrusting at his own pace. you make sure to keep your jaw slacked as best as you can. you can feel your spit and drool running down the sides of your face as yunho has his way with you.

at the same time, wooyoung's fingers build up speed and he inserts 3 of them before thrusting them in and out of you at a brutal pace. his other hand won't let up on your heat either and you feel your own orgasm reaching.

"gonna make you cum so good baby. you want that? want youngie to make you cum?"

you don't have time to answer wooyoung as yunho's thursts a couple more times before he comes down your throat. at the same time, you feel yourself cumming on wooyoung's face.

carefully, yunho pulls his cock out, leaving your throat feeling raw. wooyoung removes his fingers at the same time, admiring your gaping hole.

both men give you some time to breathe before you're being pushed down onto yunho's chest. yunho rubs at your thighs before holding them open, making room for wooyoung to get between them and line his cock up with your hole. you can feel yunho's own cock twitching behind you, getting hard again.

"we're gonna give it to you so good baby, one of us will have to win tomorrow, thanks to you."

[lecsainz]

Hi can you do some charles headcanons dating a emo girl (and she plays bass in a emo band)

SHE MAKES SONGS

˒ ⌕ masterlist . . .

parings: charles leclerc x emo!reader

an: I loved writing that! I was a bit scared of getting something wrong, so I didn't delve too deep into it.

summary: the one where you are a bassist in an emo band and date charles.

Charles loves when you play the bass. He finds the emo tunes you create both fascinating and alluring. The way your fingers dance over the strings makes him appreciate your talent even more.

You both complement each other in a unique way. Charles with his racing attire and you with your emo style; it's an unexpected but intriguing contrast that draws attention and makes people curious about your relationship.

Charles adores calling you by sweet nicknames in French, like "Mon Trésor" my treasure, "Ma Belle" my beauty, or "Mon Coeur" my heart . Hearing these terms of endearment from him makes your heart flutter every time.

Despite being at your gigs, you always manage to keep tabs on Charles's races. During breaks between songs, you discreetly ask someone from your band's crew for updates on your boyfriend's race position. Charles finds it adorable and loves that you're always keeping track, no matter where you are.

Charles loves brainstorming with you for new songs. He's always there to bounce ideas off, offering a fresh perspective and helping you fine-tune your creations.

Sometimes, during interviews or public appearances, Charles subtly mentions your band or a particular song, expressing his admiration for your talent.

"Ah, well, you know, I've got to say, my girlfriend is an incredible musician. She plays bass in her band, and honestly, she's amazing. The way she pours her heart and soul into her music—it's something else. I'm really proud of her. I mean, I know I'm probably going on about her, but it's hard not to when you're so impressed by someone's talent, you know?" smirks "She's got this way of captivating the audience with her passion for music that's just... it's something special. And yeah, I think I'm a pretty lucky guy to have her in my life, both as an incredibly talented musician and as my partner." grins "Sorry, got a bit carried away there, but I can't help it. She's just that good."

He absolutely adores it when you pick up your bass and play just for him. Your private jam sessions, where you perform songs specially dedicated to him, become treasured moments between you both.

Charles loves it when you share your new compositions with him first, feeling honored to be the primary listener and your biggest supporter.

There have been a few secret moments where Charles has joined you on stage, playing a simple melody on the piano while you perform. It's a beautiful surprise for the audience.

Charles is your biggest fan at your band's performance. He proudly attends your shows and, to your surprise and delight, wears a shirt emblazoned with "My Hot Bassist Girlfriend" in the front row. His unwavering support and cheering from the crowd make your performances even more special.

He frequently plays your band's songs in the Ferrari garage, showing immense pride in your musical talent.

One day, Charles surprises you by gifting one of his favorite bracelets, a piece he hardly takes off. He expresses that he wants you to have something of his close to you, a sign of his deep affection and trust.

On race days, you proudly wear Ferrari-themed outfits but add your personal touch, incorporating elements that reflect your own style. Charles appreciates the gesture, feeling a sense of unity when he sees you in his team's colors.

[acupofinkedblood]

Katana x reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Oh the grace of catching this gentle giant’s attention in a positive way, aren’t you just the lucky one?

• Not only did you manage to win his heart fair and square, you have assigned yourself as the companion whose he can return to after moving around on his self-proclaimed journey of cleansing the ‘corruption’. You have became his home, the place where he stores his heart with peace

• Despite his intimidating appearance, he is surprisingly gentle when one gets to know him well. Each touch of his against your skin never feels overwhelming. When you hold his hand for the first time, it’s obvious that he is nervous. He’s afraid of hurting you, even when it’s just something as simple as this. Even know, when he squeezes your hand, he makes sure to never make you uncomfortable with it

• Katana is a man of few words. He rely more on actions to declare his love for you. Simple acts of service on the daily basis, mostly like looking out for your physical health and needs in general, though it might be hard to notice at first. Just pay attention to his actions, he really tries for you without making it too obvious unconsciously

• Yet when he speaks up, you’re drawn to the deep yet soft voice of his. It might be a bit hard to catch on the words of wisdom he use sometimes, but other than that, he makes his speech clear without any subtle meaning. Completely straightforward, though thanks to his word’s choices, it sounds like music to your ears

• He will change some of his routine to have some times more beside you, though of course he will still have to leave for his duty. But he will come back to you eventually. After all, you are his home. Perhaps he might bring you some of the intriguing stuff back while he is on his way as well. Katana has already reminded you of an owl, and to your surprise, owls still collect stuff!

• The shared home of you two have this modest space for a backyard. But it’s enough for him to practice his skills. If you’re interested, feel free to join him. If not, then you can watch him. You already know this man is rugged, he usually kept the haori part of his chest opened. But when he engages himself to said training, he will get rid of it temporarily, so enjoy the view

• Speaking of that, his body is covered in various scars. When your finger traces on every single one of it, it sends a shiver down his spine. To be vulnerable is to have weakness, and you are his Achilles heel. He is reluctant to tell you the story of certain scars, especially if the cult is involved, but for he will tell you one of another

• And his mask, that’s quite the serious topic for him. At first, he was afraid whether his face would scare you or not. He insisted on keeping it on, and you didn’t urge him. You give him time to understand that you love him, no matter how many scars he bares with him

• When he finally works up the courage to take it off, he has mentally prepared himself for your disapproving attitude

• But to his surprise, you didn’t look at him with disgust — no no — your eyes are still as loving as before. Why would you be scared when in front of you is the man you love? Even when he calls himself a disfigured beast, you reassure him, cup his face in your hands gently and tell him that you only see the love of your life when he removes his mask

• Ever since that, Katana just finds himself falling deeper for you

• Remember Slingshot, Vinestaff and Shuriken? They are the children that the two of you never expect to have, yet you still tolerate them. Katana might be reserved of them, but to him, they are still good children with a dash of chaos here and there. But oh boy you still have to tell them to not break inside and just knock instead. Slingshot is definitely the favorite child because of his mature behaviors, but you two will never say that aloud

• Keep him company while he is drinking. Although it’s hard for him to get drunk, the possibility is still there. He can be quiet sentimental when he’s drunk

• If you also want to drink with him, he might prepare something lighter for you instead of his usual stuff. For your own good, mind you. Last time you tried his sake, you ended up dancing out of nowhere before tripped right on your face before he could even catch you. He just worries about you, don’t get him wrong. Drinking while looking up at the moon with Katana is an oddly comforting experience, the atmosphere is just right. This feels right

• Hyperlaser has definitely heard of you before. From what Katana told him, he can be sure that you are a good person. Who knows? You might get a chance to meet him soon

• Katana doesn’t really ask you for anything. You already give him the peace his heart yearn to have, already make him feel loved even when he thought his heart will never beat the same anymore, what more can he possibly ask from you? Your presence is everything to him. To be with you, that’s enough for him. His definition of eternity lies with you

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: Old man

[lunarw0rks]

omg… what would Val think if she walked into her bedroom and saw the reader like 3 fingers deep into themselves and trying not to cum? (They were waiting for Val to cone back)

warning(s): nsfw (18+), (f.) masturbation, fem!reader

CRAVINGS | VALERIA GARZA

you were supposed to be napping, relaxing, or organizing the bookshelves if boredom ever got that severe. anything to keep you occupied while valeria was out.

the long halls of the adobe-style fortress were lonesome, and the security guards assigned to you weren't much for conversation, if at all.

besides, all it took was a text message. within the hour, one of the humorless brutes delivered your craving on a platter. sometimes it was valeria's favorite tea because it reminded you of the warmth only you felt. or the leftovers from dinner the previous night, reheated by the chefs — and tasting just as good as it was fresh.

but today, it wasn't food you were craving.

it was her; in more ways than one.

her pillow still smelled of her coconut-scented shampoo, reminding you of how it tickled your chest when she lay on it. and the indent of her body still left on that side, reminding you of the touch you missed.

you couldn't take it anymore, even after a power nap and a movie you paid little attention to.

against the golden, silky sheets, you writhed. your fingers worked tirelessly on the verge of cramping from how long you'd been at this game of desperation. deep inside, you curled and pumped them until you got close — then withdrew them completely.

eventually, she had to open the door, didn't she?

any minute, perhaps any second. the wet sounds echoed off the walls, and so did your whimpers. every ounce of self-control kept you from going on and on, pulling multiple orgasms from yourself until you were in tears.

but you couldn't. you were doing so good for her.

and you never climaxed the same way you did with her — as if her touch was laced with her own product. either way, valeria had you hooked, and knew it.

after a few deep breaths, you composed yourself and sunk your fingers inside your entrance again, clitoris twitching despite not being touched. you stretched yourself out deliciously, imagining the magenta silicone of valeria's strap in their place.

how she'd probably be gripping your face and pounding it into your needy hole mercilessly, or forcing you face down into the sheets when especially merciless.

at first, the flashbacks aided you in getting off—or almost getting off—but now, they only reminded you that the fingers inside you weren't hers. not her hot pink manicure with the nails trimmed, managing to hook against your g-spot every. time.

you were close again, this round quicker than any of the last.

arousal dribbled from your entrance, soaking into the silk below you. so desperate, that you ignored the strain of your legs as you held them open, or how you had grown dizzy from tossing your head back violently.

valeria sighed and trekked through the halls, her natural powerwalk causing any of her employees to dart at the sight of her. a long day, filled to the brim with ungodly amounts of boredom; she almost started to miss the bullets, the thrill of car chases and bombs.

twisting the key into the rickety lock, she expected your slumbering figure behind the door. or how you'd always be binging a TV show she had no interest in.

instead, you were anything but relaxed.

your eyes pooled tears. legs spread wide. soaked onto the sheets.

your dominant arm reaching down, its fingers slowing to a crawl when you noticed her. and how you whined; a familiar sound ringing through her ears.

you weren't pleasuring yourself; you were edging. how your eyes darted up to her when she opened the door, begging for approval to finally come undone.

she shut the bedroom door hastily, not wanting any of the guards posted to get a free show of what was hers. you were goddamn lucky you caught her on an under-stimulating business day, otherwise, tonight would've ended in more tears.

you kept thrusting your digits, slow enough that you weren't going to risk wasting all the build-up. though, spotting her bisceps in that tanktop wasn't making it easy.

valeria stepped closer to the bed and removed her vest, then her holster, "poor thing." she muttered, acting as if she was paying you no mind. it was all a game. "all three fingers, nena? you must be dying."

pathetically, you nodded your head, spitting out some sort of answer. once again, you needed to remove your fingers to prevent climax. if not so delirious, you'd be proud of yourself for going on like this so long.

your eyes followed her, hearing the unzip of her boots. and then, your head perked up when you heard the familiar grind of her nightstand drawer. the nightstand drawer, filled with all of her favorite toys and straps.

finally, a brief moment of clarity after who knows how long.

the tears blinded your vision, but you caught a glimpse of purple in her movements.

the same hue as her favorite strap; girthy and ribbed, able to make you cum at record speed, even when not edged — which wasn't often.

luckily, you had removed your fingers because the sight of the toy had you salivating; even your core clenched as if craving the luscious fill of it.

"on your knees," she snapped her fingers, and you scrambled into position within seconds, like a dog that had been recalled by its owner.

you ogled the oversized toy, starved and drooling.

"i want you to get it ready for your pussy. i don't care how wet you are." valeria ran her finger along one of the veins to drive you mad, pink nails contrasting the purple.

"boca abierta, perrita."

˖⁺‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ⋆⑅˚₊

[hisui-dreamer]

gone to madness

Pairing: Floyd Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: if doing the same thing over and over was madness, then you supposed you weren't far off from insanity

Tags: friends to lovers, pining, angst with happy ending, kinda toxic relationships

Word count: 1.1k+

Notes: this was based off of my first love hehe highly recommend listening to cardigan and betty while reading this!!

Masterlist

How many times would you be willing to do the same thing, over and over, knowing it would all inevitably lead to despair?

They say madness is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results, but maybe your love for him had already driven you to the brink of insanity long ago.

Your love had sprouted early on, so much so you're not sure when exactly it happened. You just know that one day, when he came over to hang out with you just as he'd always done in the past, the butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and your heart thumped so loudly you almost thought the humans had thrown an anchor into the sea bed.

It was rather foolish of you to believe Floyd felt the same. Of course, he said he felt the same, but you're not sure how much you can rely on his statements.

Time and time again, you tried to become more than friends with him, to become the lovers in the fairytales. After all, the way you felt for him was so incredibly intense, it was the same way the mermaid princess felt when she decided to leave her home for love. You wanted to share that love with him, and for a while, he did too.

But you shouldn't have expected that much of him. Everyone in the deep sea knows how spontaneous Floyd can be—constantly tired of old hobbies, and seeking out new interests. It was surprising how long you remained in his life, but you assumed it was only because you provided him enough entertainment, but not too much attachment to be infringing.

It wasn't long before you realised a romantic relationship breached that line.

And so, the relationship quickly fell apart. The weight of heartbreak was almost unbearable, an unsettling pain in your heart that would not go away no matter how hard you tried, it was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You can’t deny the pain gets worse every time he’s in your line of sight, yet the sight of Floyd, his face contorted in a pout as he asked, "We're still friends, right, Shrimpy?" made it impossible for you to distance yourself from him.

This happened a few times, sometimes initiated by him, sometimes by you, all started by the hope that it would work this time. but despite the heartbreak that would always come when he got tired of the relationship, you always managed to rebuild your friendship, and your connection remained steadfast.

Then came the day Floyd left for school, along with his brother and the octomer they always hang around with. You considered all of you incredibly lucky: them, lucky for being so talented in magic to enter a prestigious school, and you, finally getting some distance from Floyd. The goodbye was filled with tears and promises to keep in touch, but as the months turned into a year, the void left by his absence was undeniable. You tried to move on, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was missing from your life. It was pitiful really, he was doing so well, probably thriving and making so many new friends, and there you were, still stuck in the past with your pathetic feelings.

And when he came back from school for the holidays, it was as if he had never left at all. His return was like slipping back into old habits. The two of you sat in your room chatting just like you've always done, catching up with lost time.

'I missed ya so much Shrimpy!" he giggles as he squeezes your tail, an old habit of his.

Just like clockwork, you reach over to pat his head. "I missed you too, Floyd," your lips curving into a welcoming smile.

He leans into your touch, locking eyes with a vulnerability in his expression. "Ya know, I was thinking about it a lot, but I wanna try dating again."

Your heart races, surprised that he even thought of you when he was gone, but you've been down this road before. You want nothing more but to snuggle into his arms, leaving pecks all over his face, feeling his tail wrapped securely around yours. But you also remember the sleepless nights and the heartache that followed each previous attempt to be together. You hesitate, torn between your love for him and your fear of getting hurt again.

"Floyd," your voice quivers as you quickly pull away your hand, "You know this never works out. It's... best if we just stay friends."

He bolts upright at your words, clasping both of your hands gently, staring into your eyes with a seriousness you don't recognise.

"Shrimpy... I know I hurt ya, and I can't change what I did wrong. But I've grown, I've learned, and I promise I'll ya you right. You're the only Shrimpy for me."

Your gaze weighs heavy upon him. His sincerity shone through and you want to believe him, yet the raw wounds of the past lingered vividly. "I'm not sure we can stay as friends after this time," you managed, a bitter smile flickering.

Silence enveloped the two of you, laden with unspoken emotions.

"Shrimpy," he said, his voice trembling with emotion, "I... don't really know much, and ya know I always change my mind, but I know I really really missed ya! I promise ya, this time will be different. I'll love ya more than I can express, and I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to ya and treasure ya so so much."

You look into those earnest eyes, the determination evident, and you find yourself hesitating. What if... it could work?

"Floyd," you began, your voice soft, "I want to believe you, more than anything."

He leans closer and rests his forehead against yours. "We'll take it slow, yeah. 'm all in to make things right and make sure ya never doubt my love again"

Tears well up, a mixture of emotions swirling within as you pondered his words. A glint of hope stirs, a faint spark of optimism that just maybe, you could find a way to heal the wounds of the past and start anew.

"Okay, Floyd," you whisper, a delicate smile gracing your lips. "One final chance, you silly eel."

Floyd's face lit up with a mix of elation and relief, lifting you and twirling you around. "Really? I swear, Shrimpy! This is gonna be great. I'll treasure ya, and I'll make things right every single day, forever, for the rest of our lives!"

You can only hope he'll keep his promise. They say there's always some madness in love, and the two of you have always mad. So, maybe, just maybe, you'll be alright.

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if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  GOD, IF YOU ARE ABOVE

SUMMARY : technically part two of demonology and heartache (which I haven’t posted, yet). an au in which dean is a priest and the reader is a demon with an obsession to corrupt him. 

PAIRING : priest!dean winchester x demon!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, voyeurism, smut, p in v, masturbation, corruption kink, priest kink, blasphemy, defiling a church, jealousy

WORD COUNT : 1.8k

A/N : falling in reverse song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — voyeurism and priest kink. no spoilers for the fic I haven’t posted. @jacklesversebingo card square — voyeurism. this is… uh… I’m going to hell XXXX

Dean attempted to act as if she didn’t affect him. He felt so guilty, he wouldn’t even dare confess to his superiors what he’d done or tell them that the new nun they brought to the church was in fact an ancient demon. 

The truth was, she hadn’t harmed anyone physically. But he had a feeling it was her that influenced the strange closeness between Sister Perlamaria and Sister Arelys. And the scent of cigarettes and alcohol that billowed from Father Calvo’s breath. And the dirty dreams he’s been having every night, more frequently than before, always with her. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to come clean about her to someone who could do something about her subtle corruption within the church, the defilement of all that was once in everyone in the church.

Dean wondered what she told the people who came by and how she so easily managed to make people believe her, how she convinced them to do as she suggested, not even having to lift a finger to get what she wanted. 

Well, that was the case for everyone else except him. For him, she made him dream about her, fantasies of doing things to her, and of her doing things to him. And when he was under her spell—which really wasn’t a spell at all, but rather his lust and desire for carnality—she pounced on him. And now, he was hers. 

He struggled to keep her promiscuous behaviour to a minimum, it was difficult to control her at all—and it was arousing all together, unfortunately for him. He couldn’t resist her and eventually, the dreams ended, but his desire for her was undying. She was truly wicked, burrowing into him and planting seeds that would grow of their own accord.

His desire for her bloomed on its own within him, a few intimate touches, sultry glances, and seductive words sent in his direction were enough to keep those flowers from withering away. They were more like weeds than flowers, he wanted to get rid of his desire, but he couldn’t. They invaded all that he was. 

But it was a nice feeling that made him… free. He didn’t want to stop, not after getting a taste of her sinful lips, not after getting his hands on her soft body, not after she slept with him. 

He walked to her room again, like he did every night. Sometimes she was nowhere to be found. Other times she’d be asleep. Or she’d read the Bible mockingly, marking the text and correcting the stories. If he was lucky, he’d catch her touching herself, moaning his name as she climaxed on her fingers. 

He was too much of a coward to enter her room. He knew that she knew he watched her when she touched herself. He wasn’t brave enough to enter her room to bury himself inside the warmth of her body. Instead he returned to his room to finish the job with his own hand.

Today, he was too tired to sneak around and add to the guilt that already weighed him down. As exhilarating as it was to be with her and to see her every once in a while, as a break from what his father wanted him to do. Dean just wanted to give in completely to something he wanted, to something new.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew it was not a coincidence that the doors were shutting by themselves as he made his way back to his room. A shiver ran down his spine, prickling his skin so his hairs stood on end, but there were no windows open. He knew it was her.

He got to his room, but the door didn’t budge. He sighed tiredly, but a smile tugged at his lips despite how wrong it felt to walk away from his room with a spark of thrill in his blood. 

He followed the chill around the cathedral, allowing self-shutting doors to take him wherever he knew Y/n was guiding him. 

Eventually, he made his way to the nave. The moonlight poured through stained glass, onto the walls and floor. Dean didn’t have to look around for her because he could hear her pleasuring herself, and straight across, on the altar, was her. 

Naked. His breath caught in his throat. He felt… offended. Afraid. Aroused. 

He froze where he stood, having a clear view of her skin and her body. Her hand moved between her legs, her other cupped her breast, and she arched her back off the hard flat surface of the altar. 

He wasn’t sure if it was all a show for him. Or if she wanted to get caught on purpose. He also thought of the possibility that she may even be trying to tempt the other Sisters or Fathers, the way she had with him. 

The dreams of carnal love-making ended. The escapes from her quarters into his to enact his fantasies had lessened. He didn’t know if she was bored of him and was moving on to a new victim or if she was teasing him, testing him. 

He was jealous, he could feel the heat rise up his face at the thought of her interest moving away from him to someone else. She was a demon, afterall, she had no loyalties to anyone, no conscience or care for the concept of monogamy. He couldn’t believe he had feelings for her, as if she would do the same. He knew she didn’t, she would never reciprocate, she couldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He stepped closer to her, his stomach fluttering, his heart palpitating… He felt hot all over, jealous, angry, so many emotions—including lust. His hands shook and walking felt uncomfortable from how erect he was within the confines of his black dress pants.

She was taking longer than normal to get off, smoothing her hands over her soft, fleshy body. Laying herself out completely over the decorated altar, staring up at the crucifix defiantly when her hand travelled back down between her legs. 

Dean wondered if she’d done it before, if she did it always. He knew nothing about her, except for the taste of her mouth and her pussy, the texture of her skin, her lips, and her warmth deep within… a warmth that simply did not reach her eyes, it was only lust in disguise. 

Her head rolled to the side, eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration, pants and moans echoing through the wooden walls. Her eyes fluttered open when one of his feet dragged loudly across the floor, and she lifted her head to see the intruder, a mischievous smirk growing on her face.

She spread her legs further apart, her fingers moving quickly against her clit, fingers plunging inside her pussy faster as he stood frozen in place. His lungs tightened as she stared into his eyes just a few feet away from him, her moans getting louder and needier. 

He was breathless and his legs felt like he was walking through tar, but he was still able to rush over to her, and slap a hand over her mouth to silence the lewd sounds she was making. His presence only seemed to spur her, she stared up into his eyes shamelessly, and he did the same for a few moments before looking away. 

His gaze slowly trailed down to her breasts as she arched further off the flat surface. He traced the curve of her waist with his green eyes, captivated by her arousing beauty. He felt her tongue against his palm and her teeth, and he stared back up at her lecherously, breathing heavily as she moaned his name against his palm.

He pushed her thighs apart and stared obscenely as she fingered herself and rubbed her clit, her thighs and fingers soaked in her excitement. He held his hand tightly to her mouth to continue muffling the hot sounds she was making, and brought his other hand down to keep her thighs apart, holding her leg bruisingly onto the altar, until she fell apart on her own fingers.

She cried into his hand, worshipping his name as she writhed and shook. Her eyes pierced his, shining with desire—and what he thought was reverence. 

When he released her, Dean tilted his head at her. She relaxed, catching her breath while staring up at him, her lust devouring him whole. 

“Do you always do this here?” He asked her, shoving his coat off his shoulders. She read the situation wrong, and excitedly reached for his belt to unbuckle it as she shook her head at him. “Don’t,” he implored quietly, placing his coat over her shoulders.

“Please,” she whispered, releasing him nonetheless. She leaned back on her arms and watched him, her eyes begging him to take her where she was. 

“I can’t,” Dean murmured, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. She breathed in and kissed him back, taking his hands to rest them on her warm hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning backwards until he was leaning over her. “My room,” he mumbled against her lips, but she pulled away to scowl playfully.

“You don’t have to take your clothes off,” she smiled cheekily, shrugging his coat off her shoulders. He stared down at her body and inhaled sharply, squeezing her hips. “It’s actually hotter if you leave it on, Father,” she teased, tugging his belt to encourage him, but she didn’t remove it. 

“You still want me?” He asked, kissing her shoulder. She pulled away and gazed up at him for a few seconds, confused by his question.  

“Yes…?” She started to unbuckle his belt slowly, waiting for him to stop her if he didn’t want her to go further. “Why are you asking?” She asked anyway, gasping when she felt two fingers push into her, her stomach fluttering. 

“I like the attention you give me,” he confessed as she worked his pants off faster. 

“Well…” she began thoughtfully, “you’re the most interesting person here.” Dean hummed in approval of her answer and slipped his fingers out of her to wrap them around his cock, teasing her wet slit like she’d taught him.

The word “good,” rumbled hotly through him and he pushed into her wet entrance, then grabbed her thighs to pull her to the edge of the table. Fully sheathed inside her, they both moaned quietly, her legs bending at the knees so she could press them into his sides, holding him close.

“There’s nothing good about my interest in you, Dean,” she purred sensuously, her fingers curling around the back of his neck, slipping through his soft hair. She pulled him down and kissed him, gratified by the arousal burning furiously in his green eyes like a forest on fire.

That look in his eyes was why she did this. Deep down, there was a purity in his soul she could never defile, not like she had done to everyone and everything in this church. The light within him burned so brightly, it could not be easily extinguished, and that was an exciting challenge she didn’t mind failing. 

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@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis @mrlonelycat @taylortots-world @evznackles

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