#my mind and emotions are a mess but it is so fun i enjoy it

[thesingingrevolution]

i keep gently berating my friend for dating grad students fully aware that i’m kind of in love with my tutor who happens to be a grad student

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part four

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Mattheo is in an awful mood after the party while Theo takes reader to the peony field.

Word Count: 4772

Warnings: Unrequited love & Mattheo and Theo get into it. Reader overthinks for a little bit. Mentions of drugging? One mention of Y/n. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 I can't tell you how nervous I am to post this, I feel like it's not my best work. But regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading, helping me with ideas, and just providing support and comfort. I love you endlessly!

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“Did something happen last night between you and Mattheo?” Pansy asks, throwing the door open with an expectant look. Despite your low mood, you can’t help but crack a tiny smile at the sight of her—hair a tousled mess, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She’s the perfect picture of someone who had way too much fun last night.

“Is there any particular reason you’re asking?” You reply cautiously, eyes following her as she saunters over and slips into bed beside you. She gives the blanket a hard tug, leaving you to huff in irritation when she claims more than her fair share.

“Because I heard him and Veronica fighting. I didn’t catch much, but I did hear your name.” Pansy looks you over, taking in your rumpled clothes and tired eyes. You’re not in much better shape than she is, and she can’t tell if it’s the lingering effects of last night’s drinks or the aftermath of whatever happened with Mattheo.

“Merlin,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed. You haven’t moved since Theo left about twenty minutes ago, and you’re not sure if you’ll find the energy to do so anytime soon. Honestly, the idea of staying curled up here is more tempting than you’d like to admit. “We got into it again last night.”

“Again?” Pansy raises an eyebrow, shifting to face you.

“Apparently, he does care.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and frustration.

“He told you that?” Pansy shifts so quickly it’s as if you’ve shocked her. Both of you know very well that Mattheo isn’t the type to open up about what he’s feeling. Years of watching him around his parents taught you why—with how many times you had seen them scold him for even a flicker of emotion, it was no wonder he kept everything locked up.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, “He said he wanted me to admit I have feelings for him too.” Pansy’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open as she stares at you in disbelief.

“Feeling for him too?” She echoes, and you finally turn to meet her eyes with a weak nod. Your best friend sits there for a moment, studying your face carefully before choosing her next words. She knows she has a nasty habit of saying the first thing on her mind without considering that it might not be what you need to hear.

Pansy sits up, grabbing the pillow she was using and hugging it to her chest as she stares at you impatiently. She’s waiting to hear if you’ve finally told the boy you’ve been head over heels for, for years, that you like him too. “Well? Did you?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Please, tell me it’s for the reason I’m thinking.” She all but begs, her eyes wide with hope.

You let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know when I stopped having feelings for him, Pans. I didn’t even realize I’d lost them until he asked me to tell him I felt the same, and there was just...”

“Just..?” Pansy prompts gently.

A pause hangs between you as you search for the right words.

You hardly slept last night; your mind raced with thoughts of the past few months, trying to pinpoint when and how your feelings faded so quietly. You had liked Mattheo for so long, even convinced yourself that maybe you even loved him.But how could you truly love someone who was so closed off? Sure, he turned to you when he was struggling, but that didn’t mean he ever shared what he was feeling. He liked your presence and relied on you to be there whenever he needed support, but he never trusted you enough to truly let you in.

Not in the way you wanted, at least.

If he wasn’t comfortable with his own emotions, there was no way he would be able to handle yours. Maybe that was the heart of it—the realization that he would never fully open up to you, and that had kept you from falling in love with him. And maybe that was the best thing that could have happened, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it was to come to terms with at the beginning.

Then there was Theo. Who had promised to help you get over Mattheo, and from that moment on, he was there for you without hesitation. He held your hand whenever you needed it, and honestly, you had begun to lean on him a bit too much—being close to him had become your favorite feeling. He never made it feel like supporting you was a chore; instead, he made it seem like something he had always longed to do.

In truth, everything had changed for you. Spending time with Theo was no longer just a way to distract yourself from Mattheo; it became where you wanted to be. Being around him made you feel safe and accepted in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

And that was absolutely terrifying.

You sit up abruptly, fully facing Pansy, “When you said that you thought Theo would give me everything if I let him, did you mean that?”

“Babes,” she begins, sending you a soft smile. “I’ve always thought you would be good for Mattheo. You bring something out in him; he’s happiest when he’s around you. Veronica seemed to make him happy at first—” she adds with a snort—“but nowhere near the level you do.”

“But with Theo…” Pansy trails off. “I’ve never seen you so happy—and not the kind of happy you were with Mattheo. It’s not the relief of him not having a one-night stand or flirting with you a bit bolder at a party. It’s genuine happiness; you’re truly yourself. Theo brings out a different side of you, and you do that for him, too.”

Glancing over at the vase of red peonies, battling the tightness in your throat and the sting in your eyes. You decide you’d rather not spend the day in bed.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Since last night, Theo has been struggling to push away the thought that maybe the idea of you having feelings for him isn’t so far-fetched. Especially after you’d implied that the two of you were together to the girl who’d tried to flirt with him. The way you’d intertwined your fingers with his, staking a silent claim that he was off-limits, had left him reeling. There was no way you’d be so possessive if you didn’t feel the same. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself all morning.

And then there was the way you hadn’t been able to answer Mattheo about your feelings. Theo’s whole heart had been in his throat as he waited for you to tell Mattheo that you did have feelings for him, that you’d had them for years. But you hadn’t answered.

In a way, though, you had, hadn’t you? You’d pushed past Mattheo without a word and gone straight to him.

“Are you coming with us to Hogsmeade or not?” Enzo nudges Theo, pulling him out of his thoughts. The boys had all planned to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend, a plan set firmly in stone since last weekend. But when Theo saw you this morning, he couldn’t hold back. On impulse, he asked if you wanted to spend some time together, suggesting—almost shyly—that he could finally show you where he’d been getting the peonies.

“No, I’ve got plans.” Theo shrugs, and Draco sends him an irritated look from the opposite couch.

“We made plans.” Draco huffs, clearly agitated with the change. He always hated it when the boys ditched at the last second.

“Something came up.” Theo sighs, hoping that he’ll let it go quickly. He’s well aware that Mattheo should be coming down the stairs at any second. Enzo had told them that he was taking forever to get ready, probably hungover from last night. 

“You mean your girl.” Blaise corrects, and Draco looks disgusted. His head swings back to look at Theo.

“You’re ditching us for her? Mate, that’s pathetic.” Draco scoffs. “She isn’t even your girlfriend.”

“She’s pretty damn close.” Blaise points out, and Theo tries his best to ignore the feeling that jolts through him when he thinks of you as his girlfriend.

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything—not that he would have—before Mattheo walks over to join the group. He claps a hand on Draco’s shoulder, only for Draco to shrug him off irritably. “C’mon,” Mattheo says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the others rise, stretching and adjusting their robes, Theo remains seated, gaze fixed on the fireplace in front of him. Mattheo pauses, giving him a puzzled look, one brow lifting in question. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” Theo answers curtly, clearly uninterested in extending the conversation. The truth is, he hasn’t spoken to Mattheo in quite a while, and when they do, it’s nothing but tension—a quiet frustration simmering beneath each exchange.

Mattheo’s curiosity sharpens. “Why not?”

“He’s got plans with his girl,” Draco interjects with a roll of his eyes, impatience seeping into his voice. “Now, can we go? We’ve waited long enough for you as it is.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Mattheo turns to face him fully, and Draco huffs when he realizes they’re not going to be leaving any time soon. “Your girl?”

“You know what he means.” Blaise interjects calmly, his eyes shifting to Mattheo as he watches tension coil through his stance.

Mattheo gives a casual shrug, though his jaw tightens. “No, Blaise, I really don’t.”

Theo huffs, rolling his eyes as he stands, making to push past. “Why the hell do you even care?”

Mattheo’s hand snaps out, stopping him mid-step. “You know why I care.”

Theo’s gaze darkens, voice low. “Oh, you mean because of your feelings for her?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Does your girlfriend know that you told Y/n you’ve always liked her?”

Theo’s eyes flicker over Mattheo’s shoulder, catching the shared looks between Blaise, Enzo, and Draco. There’s no shock in their expressions—only a knowing look as if they’d been bracing for this moment all along. It’s unsettling, the way they seem almost resigned, like they’ve seen the tension building between him and Mattheo from a mile away.

Mattheo scoffs, an edge of irritation slipping into his voice. “Did she go and tell you everything I said?”

Theo raises a brow, “No, I overheard you. But even if she did, what does it matter to you?”

Matteo narrows his eyes, “Because I care about her.”

“Bullshit. If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have put her in that position last night.”

“I care about her more than you think.” Mattheo bites out, and the boys watch carefully as Mattheo takes another step forward.

“Right,” Theo scoffs, “You care so much you went and found yourself another girl.”

Theo sees it before Mattheo even speaks—the subtle shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the flicker of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to—”

“So you weren’t ready for her? But you were for Veronica? I don’t get it. You can’t just expect her to always be there when you finally figure out what you want.”

Mattheo laughs in disbelief, “I wasn’t waiting, I—”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” Theo’s voice sharpens. “You had years to tell her how you felt, and you didn’t say anything. Then you get a girlfriend, she starts spending time with me, and all of a sudden, you care? Leave her alone and quit messing with her.”

“I’m not fucking messing with her—”

“You are. You’ve been doing it for years.” Theo’s eyes flash with frustration, and suddenly he feels the urge to make it clear that he wants you—that he always has, and Mattheo isn’t the only one. “She deserves better than someone who can’t make up their mind. She deserves to be someone’s first choice.”

Mattheo’s expression hardens and his tone drops. “And that’s you?”

Theo doesn’t have the chance to answer, because Veronica’s shriek causes both their heads to snap in her direction, “Matty!”

Theo watches as Mattheo steps back, anger giving way to frustration, a quiet curse slipping from his lips at the sight of his girlfriend. Veronica strides forward, pushing right past Blaise and Enzo without a second glance. Blaise shoots her an agitated look, irritation flashing in his eyes as she barrels through.

“I thought you said you guys were going to Hogsmeade.” Veronica smiles, reaching out to take Mattheo’s hand, but he subtly pulls away, dodging her touch with a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

“We are.” He grumbles under his breath, but Veronica keeps smiling sweetly, unfazed, as if her boyfriend hadn’t just blatantly brushed off her attempt to hold his hand. Mattheo turns to leave, muttering something to the boys, likely a brief comment about their plans.

Theo watches as an agitated Mattheo strides out of the common room, with the boys trailing behind him. But the boys glance back at Theo, their expressions a mix of caution and confusion. Theo turns to leave as well, but Veronica’s voice stops him, soft and pointed, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You should tell your girlfriend that last night was a mistake,” she murmurs, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. “Mattheo thought she was me; you know how he gets after a few too many drinks.”

Theo thinks about correcting her, letting her know that he doesn’t really know what she means at all. From what he saw last night, Mattheo was tipsy—not that drunk—and Theo has had enough years of experience to tell the difference. But instead, he shrugs it off, deciding he’d rather find you than spend any more time in the common room.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Hogsmeade is that way.” You say, a bit confused, gesturing in the opposite direction as you walk beside Theo.

“I know.” He replies simply, his gaze flickering back to the trail that you’ve never gone down before. Honestly, you had no idea it even existed. It’s evident that this path isn’t used often, as moss and grass have claimed most of the walkway. Vibrant wildflowers dot the sides, their colors brightening the greenery around them. 

He’s been quiet for most of the walk, which feels strange; you’re not used to this side of him. The more time you’ve spent with Theo, the more he’s opened up—sharing memories of his late mum, the weight of his father’s expectations, and his hopes for the future. These walks, where you slowly unravel each other’s stories, have become your thing, something that only the two of you share.

You frown slightly, glancing at him as you try to piece it together. “But I thought you said you got the flowers from a shop.”

“I never said that.” Theo’s lips curve into that soft, gentle smile that never fails to send your stomach into a flutter. “I said I’d take you with me the next time I went to get some. I never said it was in Hogsmeade.”

It takes you a second, too enamored with the view in front of you for it all to click. The walk isn’t long, but as you continue down the path, you spot a patch of red ahead. It stands out against the greenery, a cluster of flowers blooming a pretty, vibrant hue. You can’t quite tell what kind they are, but when you glance at Theo, you notice the way his eyes flicker nervously, and it suddenly feels like you’re walking toward something important.

But then it hits you all at once: “They’re peonies.”

On instinct, you grab Theo’s hand, giving it a playful tug to urge him along toward the blooms. He lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, and a warmth fills you as his earlier mood seems to lift, the tension in his shoulders fading.

When you reach the edge of the flower field, you pause, still holding Theo’s hand as your gaze lingers over the vibrant blooms stretching out before you. Theo glances at you, heart beating a little faster as he wonders what you’re thinking, but he brushes aside his nerves and releases your hand, shrugging off his jacket to lay it carefully on the ground. You murmur to him, urging him not to squish any of the flowers, and Theo smiles, his expression softening as he gently reassures you that he won’t.

There isn’t much room on his jacket, so you find yourself pressed against Theo’s side—though you don’t mind in the slightest. He’s leaned back on his hands, while you sit cross-legged beside him.

The quiet is soothing, broken only by the soft chatter of birds and the occasional hum of an insect drifting from flower to flower. The warmth of the sun on your skin feels heavenly, its heat a welcome contrast to the long, cold months that have passed.

“Is this why you left? The first night you stayed with me?” You ask, glancing to the right to watch his reaction. 

From where you’re seated, you can see how the sunlight catches every small detail of his face, highlighting any imperfections. There’s the faint mole on his cheekbone, his dark lashes that you’re secretly jealous of, and the thin scar along his chin from when he fell off his broom as a kid. Another mark splits through his brow—a scar whose origin he could never quite remember, but has always just been there. It tugs at you, knowing you can recall the origins of his faded scars. It might seem trivial, but it means he’s let you in, sharing parts of himself that not everyone gets to see.

Theo nods, “I had to go early in the morning to give them to Pansy. With practice later, it was the only chance I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face as you imagine Theo, slightly awkward but determined, handing over the bundle of flowers and the little card to Pansy, who no doubt teased him relentlessly. You’d had wondered how she noticed that Theo was different with you, especially when most of your time together was just the two of you. But now, hearing this, you understand perfectly how she recognized a side of him that only seems to surface around you.

“I didn’t want to leave, y’know.” Theo continues, finally glancing over at you, and the effect is instant—those watercolor eyes meet yours, sending a flutter through your stomach as you instinctively lean closer, feeling yourself melt into his side.

“The flowers made up for it,” you tease, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Aside from you, they were the only thing that made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Theo glances down at you, tucked into his side, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Hearing you say the flowers meant something to you eases any nerves he had—because they were never just a way to cheer you up. They were his quiet, unspoken way of telling you that he was there, that he cared. And that, despite your feelings for Mattheo, he was an option too.

“Yeah.” You confirm.

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Theo sat together, talking about whatever came to mind as you picked flowers. You gathered a few, but mostly you watched as Theo picked the ones he liked the most, adding to the small bundle that sat between you both. Watching him carefully select the prettiest flowers, knowing he was going to give them to you, made something shift inside you. If you hadn’t fully realized your feelings before, you were certain of them now.

You lost track of time with Theo, but eventually, he had to leave for practice. He handed you the freshly picked flowers and walked you back to the castle, stalling as if reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’ You didn’t want to say goodbye either, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the reason Theo might get into trouble.

It wasn’t until you got back to your dorm, leaning against the door with a giddy squeal, the flowers pressed to your chest, their scent lingering in the air, that the realization hit you. You should’ve kissed him. The thought made your stomach dip with excitement, and for a fleeting moment, you entertained the idea of running after him, catching him just before practice, and kissing him. Absentmindedly, your hand rises to trace your lips, lost in your racing thoughts. 

You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice Pansy at her desk, watching you with an amused look.

“You look like you had a good time.” Pansy smirks as you startle and send her a look before pushing away from the door.

“Pansy, I’m fucked.” You whine and she lets out a loud laugh.

“You were from the second he stayed the night with you.” You pause for a moment, letting the realization settle in, and as it does, you know she’s right. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so safe with someone—not in the way you did that night. Sure, you felt safe with Mattheo, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t compare to the way you felt when you were with Theo.

“Did you know he’s been picking me flowers?” You ask instead, setting the new bundle onto your desk before turning to face Pansy. 

“Oh, I knew.” Pansy hums, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. 

“How did I not notice?” You wonder aloud. 

“You were a little distracted.” Pansy shrugs, and you nod in agreement.

After Pansy tells you she’s meeting Blaise after practice, you briefly wonder if you should go with her. You sit on your bed, lost in thought, weighing the decision, but before you can make up your mind, Pansy is already gone.

As much as you want to see Theo, you hesitate, not wanting to assume that today meant as much to him as it did for you. It’s clear from the fact he’s been picking you flowers that he has feelings for you, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself or risk ruining something before it has a chance to begin. So, you stay in your dorm, trying to focus on an assignment you’ve been putting off for far too long, though your mind keeps drifting back to him.

So when you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat, and before you can think, you’re off your bed and rushing to the door. You know exactly who is on the other side and your stomach flutters in anticipation. You pause just before opening it, taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach, willing yourself to appear composed. 

You pull the door open, forcing a casual smile as you try to sound unaffected. “Hi,” you say, though your voice betrays the excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

Theo stands in front of you, one hand holding onto the doorframe. His hair is a tousled mess, and his cheeks are flushed—whether from practice or the rush of seemingly running here, you can’t quite tell.

And when he looks up at you, he’s out of breath and looks downright impatient, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You pause, thrown off and completely caught off guard. That was not what you expected him to say, and your mind spirals into the worst possible conclusions. Was he regretting what happened earlier? Apologizing for showing you the flowers, or for picking some for you? Giving you flowers at all? Maybe his feelings for you weren’t strong enough, or perhaps he only thought he had them? The thought that it could be too soon after your feelings for Mattheo crossed your mind, even though you’d started moving on from him months ago, gnaws at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, releasing the doorframe and stepping forward, one step, then another. He pauses, giving you a moment to pull away if you need to, but you stay rooted to the spot, unable to move. Theo stands so close now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. He reaches up, and your breath catches when his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, his hand settling just below your ear. His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words makes your heart stutter. “I should’ve kissed you, dolcezza.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he steps even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His words tumble out in a rush, desperate and raw. “All through practice, all I could think about was you. The moment I walked away, I just wanted to turn around and kiss you.” His voice drops to a whisper, low and thick with a longing that sends shivers down your spine.

You murmur his name softly, but he’s barely listening, his gaze intense as he leans in slightly, his lips just inches from yours. “Fuck, you’ve been on my mind for months—years, if I’m being honest. I feel like I’m losing my mind, wondering if you feel even a fraction of what I do.” His hand still lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through you as if he’s waiting for something—waiting for you to say what he’s too afraid to ask.

It’s you who closes the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, fervent kiss that catches him off guard, pulling a surprised moan from deep in his throat. His body reacts instantly, his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him. The sound he makes causes a rush of warmth to flood your veins. He’s hardly touched, and you’re already too warm, and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. You let him guide you backward, the pressure of his hand firm against your back until your steps falter just inside your dorm. Every inch of him feels like fire against your skin, and your previous worries fade into nothing.

Once you’re inside, he kicks the door closed with a thud but the sound barely registers. Without any hesitation, he presses you back against the door, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. But you want him closer. Somuch closer. One hand rests flat against the door beside your head, while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. Then, it’s him who leans in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepens with an aching intensity. There’s no rush now—just an overwhelming wave of longing, a perfect culmination of the emotions you’ve both held back. Your head spins, your heart races, and you’re certain that if you could take your temperature in this moment, it would be burning hot.

But then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to break the kiss, his breath heavy and uneven. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, both of you struggling to catch your breath. You feel the urge to close the distance between you again, to press your lips to his, because there’s something about the way Theo kisses that leaves you breathless, already craving more. But then again, maybe it’s just him—the way his touch makes a thrill course through you.

“I wanted you to kiss me before you left—”

The door jolts against your back, halting you mid-sentence as Pansy’s voice cuts through the moment. “What the hell? Open the door.” You hold your breath, hoping that if you stay silent, she might forget the whole thing and simply go away.

But that’s wishful thinking: “Babes. Please open the door.”

“I thought you were hanging out with Blaise.” You call back, stealing a glance at Theo, whose expression mirrors your own surprise. Before leaving practice, he’d told Blaise to keep Pansy distracted—he wanted time with you because he had planned on telling you exactly how he felt about you.

“It’s about Mattheo.” Your brows raise is surprise at the intensity in Pansy’s voice and you fling open the door without another thought.

“What’s wrong?” Theo stands behind you, watching the way your face turns nervous.

“Veronica’s been giving him a love potion,” she says softly, her eyes studying your face as it twists in disbelief. “He’s in the infirmary... and he’s asking for you.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work 🤍

[only-lonely-star]

can you pls do a johnny cade smut where him and reader just broke up and they see each other at a party and they have really aggressive sex? thank you!

★ Mine ★

~ Johnny Cade ~

Warnings - This is a NSFW story. You and Johnny are not minors. Drinking, consensual tipsy intercourse, oral sex, choking, slapping, degradation, aggressive sex.

Summary - You spot a familiar face at a party…

Author’s Note - Thank you so much for the request!! This was so actually fun to write because it’s so 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 and kept me on my toes 😭. Enjoy!!🤍

Word Count - 2.1k.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You were anything but in the mood to party tonight. Your most recent breakup with your boyfriend, Johnny, left you in pieces. The constant nudge of your friend, Kelly, was aggravating you more than you'd thought. "Take a drink, come on," she pleaded, the tipsy gleam in her eye unmistakable. "You look a mess. This is a party, y'know..."

You uncrossed your arms, your gaze on the plastic red cup filled with a clear liquid. That shit was straight poison - you'd be vomiting all night from just a few sips. Although to take your mind off of Johnny sounded like a wonderful idea. Parties were supposed to be fun. Drinks, the men, the music - everything. So, you took the cup into your already clammy hands and took a considerably large sip.

"There ya go, drink up," Kelly chuckled, her hand giving your back an affectionate slap. The liquid nearly came right back out from the forceful touch.

You grimaced at the bitter feeling running down your throat, and how your mind already felt cloudy. Drinking was never your thing.

Kelly seemed to have ventured off by the time you glanced up from your cup. You could see her clinging onto a man you hadn't seen a day in your life, a signal to maybe find your own company for the night.

Wandering around the crowded house party felt intimidating as hell. So many options, so many choices of who you could sweet talk with for a bit - at least until Kelly found you. A hand swayed over your midsection, causing quite the disorientated stir from you. A taller man with blonde curls, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket pressed his chest flush against yours. "Lemme take you home," he coaxed, obviously just horny and lonely.

You gave your head a small shake, leaning your body fully against his. This was just a small distraction for you, you didn't plan on actually going home with this guy. He kept on rambling on about trying to get you in his bed, blah, blah, blah...it was all a blur. It wasn't until you registered a familiar pair of eyes boring into yours. Your wobbly legs had already brought you to the eyes before you knew it, pulling away from the other man's grasp. Your lips curled up to a smile, squinting your eyes to have a better look. "Johnny?"

Johnny's expression was priceless. A seething mix of jealousy and irritation was visible in his eyes. He grabbed onto your bicep with a firm grip, startling you in your drunken state. "The hell are you doing? We break up one week, and the next you're with some guy at a party?"

You were dazed, not knowing how to respond without upsetting him further. "It ain't like that, I don't even know him."

"Bullshit," he spoke gruffly, the anger in his voice clear as day. Johnny's grip only tightened, his eyes scanning the wild house party's atmosphere.

"It's not bullshit! Maybe if you didn't leave I could've been with you instead!" The words fell from your tongue in an agitated hiss.

Your bold choice of words caused him to yank your arm tighter, leading you away from the wall he was leaning against. You stumbled behind him, mind fuzzy and emotions swirling. You didn't question it - figuring he was going to take things up with the man you were with.

"You over me? That quick?" he asked, disbelief laced in his taunting tone. You shook your head vigorously, the tipsy state increasing your honesty with him. He'd taken you to a door, leading to what seemed to be a bathroom. The crowded hallway was littered with plastic cups, cigarettes, and articles of clothing such as shirts and panties.

"Good," Johnny replied simply, yanking you inside the bathroom. Others had clearly been in here, small spills of straight vodka all over the counter and floor.

You locked eyes with Johnny. It felt awfully similar to when the two of you would venture off to a bedroom or bathroom like this at a house party. Seeing him again caused a whirlwind of emotions, but mostly desire. You hadn't been fucked since before you two had that massive breakup. Your cunt ached for him.

You were soon snapped out of your thoughts, his hand pressing onto your throat, squeezing it ever so slightly. Your ass was pressed down to rest on top of the pearl-colored countertop, just beside the sink. He stood between your legs, continuously pushing your body so that your shoulders were against the stained mirror.

"You want this?" He asked, the question almost pointless to your drunken state. Of course you wanted him.

"Yes," you croaked out, his hand squeezing your throat tighter. The sensation did wonders in dampening your folds, your body practically begging for his touch.

Johnny used his free hand to unbuckle his belt swiftly, the metal piece falling to the floor in an instant. Your eyes widened, stifling any sudden moans that dared to escape your lips. Before you knew it, his denim and boxers had been kicked aside to the other end of the cold, tile floor. You felt your cunt repeatedly clench and tremble. His hand never moved, he needed to keep you propped upright and under his control. Johnny's other hand pushed your denim skirt up, allowing him access to your cum-soaked panties. He grinned at the sight, knowing he was the one to have gotten you so wet even without entrance just yet. He ran his finger over the wet spot, spiking the fabric further. He gruffly spoke up, locking eyes with you intimately, "You're gonna take all of me."

This was no request - it was a demand. You could almost swear you felt yourself finish right then and there, his authoritative words sending a chill down your spine. Stripping yourself of your shirt and bra, you set it on the other end of the sink. You scrambled to unbutton your denim skirt as well, sliding it all the way down to your ankles for Johnny to finish removing. You did the same with your panties, sliding your body closer to his. He caught on to your eager actions, shutting down the idea immediately. "Sit up," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Johnny~" you groaned aloud lustfully. He slid his dampened tip to graze over your clit. The feeling of his warm pre-cum caused your cunt to yearn for more. Johnny's hand squeezed your flesh somehow even tighter, your breath hitching in your throat.

"God, I missed my pussy," he admitted in a low and lecherous voice. You hummed in response, grinning from ear to ear. Having him confess to you so suddenly only made your desire grow.

He slipped his tip inside your warm and wet cunt, your body taking its time to adjust to his size once more. You let out a shaky moan, your hands involuntarily searching the countertop nearby for something to hold onto. You didn't have enough time to properly adjust before his entire length pounded your insides with a firm thrust. A holler of pure bliss erupted from your lungs, tilting your head back in submission.

"Take the whole fuckin' thing. I ain't stopping 'till you remember you're mine." Johnny declared, his thrusts becoming faster by the second.

You could've sworn your neck had a red handprint on it from the extreme choking he'd been establishing on you. The same could be said about your cunt, Johnny fucking it as he pleased to fulfill his desires.

A low, guttural moan fell from Johnny's lips, his cock deepening inside you. Your body was jerking back and forth so rapidly, your breasts jolting up and down. The pleasure only seemed to increase from there. Your ecstatic expression made Johnny crumble. He lifted his hand to your cheek, striking it firmly before grabbing your chin to force your gaze on him. A wicked smile formed on his lips, "You like that? Fucking yourself onto me? Hm?"

The realization flooded your mind, realizing your body had been subconsciously moving on its own to receive all the more pleasure. You were no stranger to rough sex - you'd constantly find yourself enjoying the occasional slap and swat from Johnny. It made your legs tremble, the burning sensation lasting only a few seconds but having a long-term effect on your desire for his cock.

"Yes... yes, I like it," your raspy voice struggled to reply to him. His hand on your throat squeezed all the right spots, your eyes fluttering shut.

"Yeah? You're mine," he declared again, slapping your cheek once more just to be sure you heard him loud and clear.

His cock slammed into your tight cunt, the sound of your skin slapping his causing a breathless moan from the both of you. You felt your eyes fly open, only for them to instinctively roll back. You were teetering on the edge, Johnny's pounding motion placing you in a state of bliss. He noticed the way your eyes had rolled back, your breathing becoming faster by the second. Your legs instinctively closed on him, the rush of pleasure causing your legs to shudder. Johnny helped you through your climax, slowing his pace as he praised you under his breath. “Did so fucking good for me.”

The constant words of encouragement settled the adrenaline pumping through you, his slow movements finishing you off with a breathy moan. You peered down to see himself holding back from releasing just yet. His cock soaked in your cum slowly thrusting inside you was a sight you quite enjoyed. The wetness surrounding him allowed more movement inside your dripping cunt.

He then pulled out, a groan of frustration slipping out. You blinked back the pleasure, panting and sweating. Your pussy was marked all over - red and bruised yet you'd enjoyed the whole thing.

"On your knees," Johnny spoke suddenly, removing his hand from your neck, a red handprint marked onto your flesh.

You didn't hesitate to do as told, your legs trembling as you stood from the countertop and fell to your knees. Johnny stood over you, grabbing a fistful of your hair so that you could look him in the eye. Your mouth opened just enough for his tip to slip inside, your tongue flicking against it for a brief second. Johnny's head tilted back, a groan falling from his lips. "Yeah baby, taste yourself on my cock."

The words shook you straight to your core, but you went along with it nonetheless. His hips bucked closer to your head, the movements sending his throbbing cock further down your throat. Your muscles tightened, a small cough erupting as your eyes squeezed shut. Johnny cut you a bit of slack, the feeling so relieving you hummed against his skin in reply. Looking up at him with those wide eyes of yours made Johnny push himself further. You could’ve sworn his length made its way to the very back of your throat as he fucked himself into you. Your salivating mouth and small swirls of your tongue sent waves of pleasure throughout his body. His grip on your hair grew tighter, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat at a much swifter pace. Johnny let out a groan, the sound coming from the depths of his lungs. He came to a slow stop, the smirk on his face saying it all.

“Swallow it. Swallow,” he urged, keeping his cock buried down your throat.

You were more than happy to swallow, the adrenaline rush and desire for him fulfilling your every move. You grimaced but swallowed nonetheless - a droplet of his warm cum running down your chin as he pulled himself out. You let out a deep exhale, panting as Johnny held a hand out to you. You steadied yourself up with his help and used the back of your hand to wipe the remains off your skin.

“Johnny, I needed that so badly~” you spoke in between breathless exhales, trying to bring your breathing down to a more natural speed.

Johnny only smiled in response, watching as your figure wobbled beside the counter, your hands on his forearms to keep yourself up. “I know it. I missed you…honestly - I did.”

The words of reassurance fluttered through your heart, a gut feeling arising that your story wasn't over with him. You looked into Johnny’s lustful gaze, knowing he was holding back. “You know you're mine though, right? I don't ever want to see you movin’ on with some guy at a party - you hear?”

Johnny placed a soft yet meaningful kiss on your lips, pulling away in an instant as he awaited a reply. Wrapping your arms around him neck, a few tipsy kisses placed onto his jaw sealed the deal. You were his once more.

[goldsainz]

❝ IN MY HEAD, WE BELONG ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . art donaldson x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . smut (riding, protected sex), cheating, reader’s kinda delusional, toxic behaviour, not proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . all it takes is a text and a lonely hotel room.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . first art fic i am beyond excited 🤭 many more to come and my requests are open so if you have any ideas feel free to leave them in my inbox!!!!!! forgot how fun writing smut was, kinda crazy to have my first art fic be smut but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless 💙

[ word count: 1,7k ]

You know it is wrong to long for Art Donaldson. To not have moved on, but your life is incomplete without him. You tried to find someone else, someone who can compare to him, yet there is no one like him.

He’s not yours, no, in fact he’s married now. He has managed to move on from you, he has created a life for himself and he doesn't need you. Not like you need him, anyway.

You tune in for his matches, watch him beat his opponents and then run to his beautiful wife to celebrate. They actually looked good together, seemed like a proper couple and were the perfect faces of tennis. You could not be that for Art, you're too much of a mess to even dare to be as idyllic as Tashi Duncan.

Maybe that's why it feels so good that he’s currently under you, that it's your name he's moaning and your kisses he’s searching for. Maybe that’s the reason why you feel so unbothered by wrecking a home, because if he cheats, is there even much of a home to begin with? You don't think so. 

He’s like a vice you cannot seem to quit. Even when you first broke up, it took less than two days for him to hit you up and for you to be outside his house. Nobody knows you like Art, and nobody knows Art like you. You wonder if his wife is aware of how much he dreams of you, that when he’s with her, he’s thinking about you.

All it takes is for one of you to reach out, and you both throw all dignity out the window. The measly barriers you both created collapse in a second, no words need to be said to know what the other wants. It is quite simple between you two, perhaps in a way that is too carnal and not emotional enough. 

That is why, for some reason you don’t care enough to think about, he’s in your hotel room. 

You’re in New York City, alone in a hotel room that feels too big for just one person. You tried to go to a bar, tried to mingle with people in hopes of making your life less lonely. For just one night, at least.

It is not intentional that Art is also in New York, in fact, you’ve tried to steer clear of him and his overbearing presence in your life. It has been months since your last conversation, which consisted of him saying “Happy birthday” and you answering “Thanks”. 

You go back to your hotel room after your attempts at not being alone fail miserably. It is partly your fault, because you always end up in the same vicious cycle of comparing the men you meet to Art. No one can compare to him, and you damn your heart for taking over and not letting you have some enjoyment. 

You’re sprawled out on the bed, wearing your pajamas and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You consider going to sleep, but something inside you tells you to stay awake and you receive your answer in the form of an imessage notification.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Hey, I heard you’re in NYC.

You

Yeah.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Wanna meet up?

You

Why?

Art (Do NOT contact)

Don’t know. 

Just missed you.

You

You can’t just say that.

Art (Do NOT contact)

I know. 

Are you free right now?

You

It’s 11pm, Art.

Art (Do NOT contact)

So? 

Send me your location.

You

[Location] 

Room 904.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Be there in 20. 

You’re thrust back into reality when he moves beneath you, hitting a spot that makes you arch your back and has you mewling. Guilt doesn’t even make its way through your mind, if anything, the scandalous nature of what you’re doing makes you wetter than you care to admit. 

Art looks up at you like you’re a goddess, a siren that he fell prey to, his eyes shine when he takes in the sight above him. Your tits are bouncing in front of his face, and he has to resist the urge to attach his mouth to one of them, but he’s too concentrated on the faces you make. 

You whine when he grabs your hips and moves you up and down quicker than before. Your hands are planted on his chest, grabbing onto whatever semblance of support you can get. You know how much he likes for you to be on top, loves it when you take control but today he’s antsier and needs to take some control back. So, he settles for tightly gripping your hips and deciding the pace of your movements.

You lean down and connect your lips with his. The kiss is sloppy, teeths clashing and your mouths open to let out a moan when the other does something that makes your toes curl. 

“Please,” he breathes out against your mouth, “Please, let me come.”

“Do you deserve it?” you ask, rearing back to look at him but you don't slow your movements either. 

“Yes, yes I do,” he pants, brows furrowing when he feels the heat in his core bubbling up.

“Only if I come first,” you say, taking one of his hands and placing it on your sensitive nub. 

Art moans at your response and his moves are hasty, rubbing you like his life depends on it. You let out short breaths at his touch, the heat inside you creeping up and ready to set off like fireworks.

He looks at your blissed out expression, how your bottom lip is between your teeth in an attempt to conceal the beautiful sounds you make. He’s tempted to use the other hand that’s on your hip to take your lip away from your teeth, but his thoughts are cut short when you clench tightly around him.

“I’m close, Art,” The blonde doesnt need to hear you say it, he knows your body like the back of his hand. 

It is no surprise when you come around him, a high-pitched moan escapes your mouth when your body shakes from pleasure. Like clockwork, Art spills inside his condom almost instantly after your release washes over you. 

He gives a few sloppy thrusts after he comes, feeling you collapse onto his chest, tired out from your orgasm. Art kisses the side of your head, heavily breathing and trying to form a coherent thought. Though it is quite hard when he is so fucked out. 

You separate yourself from his chest and press another kiss to his lips. Relishing on the closeness between you, he places his hand on the nape of your neck and keeps you in place.

After a few seconds he slips himself out of you. You whine at the loss of the fullness you felt, but he quickly shushes you with a simple kiss. It’s softer this time, sweeter than you deserve and more romantic than you’d like. 

You remove yourself from being on top of him, and lay down beside him. The pillow is soft and comforting, you keep your gaze trained on the ceiling and try to calm your harsh breathing down. You hear the rustle of the bed sheets and then feel yourself being covered by them, the soft touch of Art’s hand when he handles the sheets and brushes his knuckles against your chest makes you shiver

“This was fun,” he lets out, like he just got off an amusement park attraction. 

You can only hum in response, slightly turning your head to look at him. That is your mistake, because once you take in his beauty you cannot stop doing so. It makes you want to do things you shouldn’t, say things that would ruin whatever’s going on between you two.

“How long are you staying here for?” the question takes you aback, do you want him to know you schedule? A small part of you, the rational one, tells you to lie and put this little rendezvous behind you. But the part that makes most of the decision, the one that you damn each day, makes you tell him the truth.

“Until friday,” you respond, playing with the corner of the bedsheets between your fingers.

“Okay, cool,” he says back, it’s tuesday and that leaves you with just a couple days to see the other. How badly you wish that this wasn't what your relationship was now, but you have to make do with what you have. At least until you're pulled back into reality. 

You’re not sure why but the idea of him seeking you out once more, feels your tummy with a fuzzy feeling akin to butterflies.

“Yeah,”

Time seems to stand still for a few minutes, with his hands behind his head and yours resting just below your chest. It’s as if neither of you want to break the moment that’s happening, one that has a close expiration date.

After a moment of quiet, he finally breaks the silence, “I’m glad I’m here,”

You don't know how to respond so you settle for a simple, “Me too,”

For a moment, you both just look at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. It's a fleeting connection, intense yet fragile, and you know that despite it neither of you belong to the other.

“I should get going,” he tells you, sitting up from his laid down position in bed and searching for his sprawled around clothes.

“Sure,” you answer as you watch him clothe himself, intently keeping your eyes trained on his figure.

“I’ll text you,” he says when he’s done clothing himself, “We could hang out again,”

“Okay,”

He looks at you once more, and you swear you see him hesitate when he reaches for the door handle. Something inside you aches for him to kiss you goodbye, to give you that intimacy that youre no longer privy to.

But as quick as that thought crosses your mind, he’s out the door.

Art doesn't text you as he said he would. You want to be mad at him, but you know you’ll be waiting for the day he messages you, and you can tally another clandestine meeting to your board. After all, you belong eternally to him and he to you. 

[slushycoookie]

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt. 2

Pt.1 - Pt.2

Relationship: Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Content: Smut, p in v, vaginal fingering, Miguel gets choked, Reader can't go ten minutes without being railed, MINORS DNI!

Summary: You try to have a serious conversation about the symbiote Miguel has, but it doesn't really work.

A/N: I'm having so much fun with this, don't mind me. Also, you guys really liked the first part, so here's some more!

After the most wonderful sex you had in your life, you had to get a grip.

It couldn't happen again. Having sex with an alien that your husband bonded with. You were still trying to understand why using a symbiote was the best action out of everything else. You all could try the normal way. Without taking extreme measures. Or, in your case, out-of-this-world ones. That's what you decided to do getting up this morning.

You took your time putting on clothes, your legs wobbling as you stood. You smelled the strong scent of coffee while traversing to the kitchen. Only to get a view of your husband's gorgeous back. 

“Good morning.” Miguel handed you a cup of coffee as a peace offering. As you took it, you tried not to get distracted by his hairy chest and arms. Or how his sweatpants hung low around his waist. 

“Good morning.” You smiled against your cup, “Sleep well?”

He nodded, matching your smile. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes darted around his form. No clear view of his new symbiote. Unless he put it in a bottle. “Where is it? Or them?”

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck, “They're still here.” Just then, his new best friend appeared. Only its head, sporting your partner's signature blue and red colors. Its smile and tongue gave you flashbacks of how that was on your lower half last night. Taking exceptionally good care of you. You squeezed your thighs again to ignore the arousal.

“Pretty thing.” A weird form of greeting they uttered before disappearing.

“We should definitely talk about that. In-depth.” You settled your cup down.

Miguel did the same, standing beside you. “What's more to talk about? I told you why I got one.”

“And I understood that.” You sighed, “But that can't happen again. We should try like normal people. Go see a doctor, try more sex positions…”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you close. “We're not normal people.”

“I know.” You let out a slight laugh, “But I think it's best to-”

“Did you not enjoy last night?” 

Your heartbeat picked up. His eyes were lowered, gazing at you with an emotion you knew all too well. It didn't help that he smelled so good. Hints of ginger mixed with the fresh coffee hugged your senses. Or the way his rugged arms held you up last night while thrusting into you. “I did-”

He stole a kiss. Stopping you from regretting anything that occurred last night. You started making out in the kitchen, absorbed in the bitter coffee taste. Which somehow turned into you getting destroyed from behind. Miguel's symbiote form pressed against your back, body rutting into you. His ginormous hands covered the countertops. Little cracks formed with each thrust he took. You couldn't be upset about the destruction of your kitchen. You didn't want him to stop.

“You deserve to have our children…” That deep voice resonated in the room, causing you to shiver. 

“Don’t say that…” You whimpered, pressing your ass back against him. A territorial growl emitted from behind and he went harder. Pounding into you until you screamed his name.

Everything was a mess. 

The countertops were damaged, coffee spilled on the floor along with the broken pieces from your mugs. And a sticky, warm substance was sliding down your thighs. Miguel’s normal hand reached down and scooped up whatever was coming out. Pushing it back in to make sure it didn't go to waste. All while he kissed your head.

You couldn't even talk to him about the symbiote in the room. Whenever you tried to bring up getting rid of it, somehow you were on your back, side, bent over or on top. Taking your partner's cock like a champ. Getting full of his seed. And at the end of it, feeling completely satisfied. 

You ranted to MJ and Jess when you all went out for lunch at a café. It's been a week of Miguel using you like his own sex toy.

“All I heard is that you've been getting some.” Jess remarked while sipping on her drink. “And you're complaining about it.”

“Because he's distracting me! So I don't tell him to get rid of it!” You buried your face in your hands.

“Well…how big is it?” Mj asked, eyes wide with genuine curiosity. 

You raised a brow as your cheeks turned dark. “I shouldn't tell you that.”

“You look the way you did when you came back from your honeymoon.” Jess noticed your body practically glowing from all the sex you were having. “We gotta know how good it is.”

The table they were sitting at was rectangular in shape. Long enough for you to show them how big Miguel was with his symbiote. Which was almost half of the table. 

“Whoa.” Mj gawked at the description. “And tell me why you're complaining again.”

You rolled your eyes, “Symbiotes are dangerous! I don't want him to get obsessed with it all because of a problem I have.” You turned to Jess, “Shouldn't you be agreeing with me here? Didn't you have a symbiote?”

Jess waved you away, “No, because I'm too smart not to put myself through that.” You purse your lips as the Spider-Woman kept going. “They are dangerous, but only if they don't have a decent relationship with who they're attached to.”

“Yeah, Peter was very different when he had it.” Mj explained, twirling her drink around with a straw. “First he was energized and then snippy. He couldn’t part with it until he had a wake-up call that it was destroying our relationship. It was scary.”

That's what you were worried about. Your partner turning into someone you couldn't recognize. You weren't scared of him but for him.

“You know you can say no, right?” Jess said before getting a mischievous glint in her eye. “But you don't want to. The sex is that good, huh?”

You gasped at her accusation, “You are…absolutely right.” Your friends sympathized with you, “But we need to talk…”

You had to come up with a plan. A way so you could talk without having his cock buried inside you. You decided to visit him at HQ, trying to look as unattractive as possible with a hoodie and sweatpants. Being married to the leader of Spider Society had its perks. One of them was looking into mission distribution. You noticed the teen dream, which you called Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Hobie, and Margo, going to report to Miguel that day. You couldn't barge in when he spoke to Peter. He'd have Mayday with him, adding more fuel to the fire. Or any reports with Ben because Miguel would get jealous and sex would ensue. A bunch of teens on the other hand was perfect.

You approached the group as they were about to make their way into his lab.

“Hey!” Miles greeted with open arms, “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I need to talk to Miguel about something.” You waved it off, not deeming it as important. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Hobie said with a smirk, causing you to shake your head.

“No, no. It's just about the symbiote. You guys think it's weird, right? That he's using it?”

“Actually,” Gwen took over, “some of our people have had success stories in using it. Like me, for example.”

You stared at the girl, surprised. “What? You had a good relationship with one of those things?”

“Yeah. It's no big deal.” Gwen shrugged it off. The entire time they were slowly making their way inside his lab. Going past his equipment in the darkness.

Pavitr jumped on her back, “She says it's no big deal. Like a boss.”

“That's Gwendy for ya.” Hobie winked at her.

“Guys, it really isn't a big deal. Symbiote relationships can be symbiotic. It depends on the person and who they connect with. It could make them better or worse.” 

Everyone blinked at Gwen's explanation. Your knowledge of her connection with the alien made you pause. Was it possible for Miguel to have a healthy relationship with the thing? Were you stressing yourself out worrying about him?

“Miguel has been getting better lately.” Miles cut in.

“Yeah, at first he was moody, but then he gave me the day off so I could play a new game that came out.” Margo added. “He never lets me take the day off for video games.”

You hummed. Sure, his mood was getting better, but they still had to talk. You didn't want to assume everything was okay until they at least spoke about it.

Inside the lab, the teens gave their report to Miguel. The entire time he stood high on his platform, nodding to everything they were saying. Once in a while, he’d glance at you, a trace of intrigue, like he wanted to talk. Or breed you before getting back to work. You couldn’t relax seeing him in his typical suit. The symbiote was still attached to him, just not present. 

“Good work.” Miguel complimented, “Now, my partner needs to speak to me about something.”

You perked up, shaking your head. “They can stay, it’s not that important-”

“I’d rather they didn’t.” His stare shot through your body. It was hard but yet filled with increasing lust. All you did was walk in the room. 

The teens walked past you, shooting apologizing looks. Hobie’s face was amused, giving a reassuring pat on the back before whispering in your ear. “Don’t rough ‘im up too much.”

Miguel called you to his platform. You made your way across, trying to devise a quick game plan as your current one backfired. You placed yourself on the other side to create as much distance as possible. You heard him command Lyla to lock the lab so no one could get in. You took a deep breath to stabilize your beating heart. 

“Why are you over there?”

You shot him a glare, “You know why.”

“Do I?” Miguel tilted his head in question. A rumbling chuckle filled your body when you tsked. He stood on the other end, not making any moves to get closer. Yet his eyes were trailing down your covered body. Picturing himself peeling every layer off of you. “I like your outfit today.”

You saw him take one step closer and you had to straighten yourself. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Another step and you cleared your throat. You could see yourself being bent over that console if the conversation kept up like this. 

“Look, we really need to talk about this symbiote.” Miguel hummed, partially listening. As he took another step, you pressed yourself back against the console. Realizing you couldn’t get further back, you raised a harsh pointer finger towards him. “Miguel.”

“I’m listening, preciosa.” He paused, that same look of hunger in his eyes. 

“Are you? Do you see yourself right now?” You watched him take another step. 

Miguel snorted, “Do you see yourself right now? You’re so sexy. I can’t believe I married you.” 

He closed the gap, one hand on the console behind you. You placed your hands on his chest. At first, it was to try to create some distance, but the hardened muscle under your palms made you reconsider. Those same pectorals you've always felt and pressed up against. Your hands had a mind of their own, running along them. The corner of Miguel’s lips curled up in amusement. 

“You still wanna talk?” He picked you up and placed you on the console. His other hand placed against your lower back, pressing your entire body against his chest. Your resolve was dwindling as he gazed at you. “Or do you want to be bred?”

That’s how you ended up the way you were now. Clothes removed, thrown who knows where in his lab. Legs spread while his gigantic finger pumped into and out of you. Miguel’s symbiote form took over, drooling while watching you take him in easily. You whined while clutching his arm. Small sopping sounds fill your ears. 

A gasp escaped your lips when a second digit entered you. Your back arching at the beautiful friction. How his fingers knew where to touch inside. A satisfied growl erupted from Miguel, mouth wide as his tongue glided across your pleasure-fixed face. 

“Pretty thing. So obedient…” His thumb pressed against your clit. Your nails dug into his sticky skin at the additional sensation. Not wanting him to stop for a second as that familiar burning feeling started to rise. It pooled in your stomach before spreading up and over your body. Miguel didn’t care when you screamed for him in his lab, letting all the spiders know he was pleasing his partner. 

You panted, leaning back a little on the console when his fingers were gone. The familiar sight of his large cock came into view, ready to go in. A rush of clarity filled your mind as you stopped him. He gave you a look in question.

“Lemme be on top.”

Miguel grinned, eyes lighting up with intrigue. “Oh? Pretty little thing wants to bounce?” 

Before you could nod in confirmation, he sat down. Back pressed along the console. Goosebumps formed, feeling the cool steel amongst your feet. You licked your lips, watching your partner observe you. Dark blue cock aching to be inside. You hovered over him, stabilizing yourself by touching his shoulders. Before sinking down. 

Each time Miguel’s cock entered you, it was always as if it was the first time. After a couple of thrusts, You always lost your ability to think straight. Only taking what Miguel gave you. This time was going to be different. 

A moan escaped you, getting used to the feeling before raising your hips again. Before slamming back down on him. His eyes lowered at the sight of his partner fucking yourself on his shaft. Even though Miguel took over most of the time during sex, You had your moments of being the one to make him quiver under your touch. While fucking the symbiote, it was still affected by things that made regular Miguel whine. So you went slow, sliding up and down at an antagonizing pace. Even for you. But you needed to get your point across. Miguel’s hands hovered by your hips, ready to have you pick up the pace. Only for you to use one hand to grip his thick throat. 

His eyes went wide at the sudden action, your tiny hand doing your best to choke him out. “Pretty thing wants to get rough?”

“You like it rough.” You quipped back, still rolling your hips on him. Miguel growled at the sensation before latching his hand on his arm.

“We do.”

It happened in an instant, the symbiote tendrils curling around the lower half of your arm, coating it the signature blue. You felt stronger. Enough to grip his neck tighter. You also picked up the pace, bouncing in a way to drive him crazy. If you could see Miguel’s face, you knew his eyes would be rolled back, while his hips thrusted up in unison with your bounces. 

“L-Let me…speak to him…”

“You are.” The symbiote’s chest heaved, almost succumbing to the intoxicating sensation. 

You shook your head, a whimper coming out as you hit a spot that was too good. “No. I wanna…see him…” Miguel’s face appeared, pleasure permeating his dazed face. If there were any other moment, you wouldn’t stop, help him chase his fucked out high. But not right now. You slowed down, earning a cry from Miguel. 

“N-No. Don’t stop, mi amor.” 

“Listen to me first…” Your pace was torture as you sunk down enough to provide pleasure still. In this position, Miguel was susceptible to agree to anything as long as he made sure he released inside you. “We’re gonna have a conversation about this thing.”

“Okay, okay. We will. Now let’s-” A strangled moan escaped him when you squeezed his neck.

“I’m serious, Miguel. If we end up like this again without talking, you’re not coming back home.” You stared right into his eyes, serious while clouded with pleasure. Miguel stared right back, taking in that you meant every word. You didn’t like it had to come to this, but it would put you at ease if you two talked about it. 

He nodded, taking your words to heart. “Okay.”

With that, your pace picked up again. You bounced on his cock with vigor, hand removed from his throat and back to his shoulders. Miguel’s hands were on your hips as he fucked up into you to meet your own. Both were extraordinarily loud in the lab. Neither cared as they went to chase the high together. A mix of grunts and moans spread amongst the atmosphere. 

Then, a comfortable silence took its place.

[void-hoodie]

(A timestuck au)

Maybe he shouldn't have left the kid with his brother who lives in a hunted cabin

Some of the story

I read a few timestuck AUs, and what caught my attention the most was when ever the twins separated and Dipper ends up with Ford, he's subjected to a lot of stress and emotional distress due Ford's unstable behavior and constant distrust, especially when it's specifically the time where he calls Stan to hid the journal. along with physical harm when Bill possess Ford's body, even attempt to kill him.

so in this one it was inspired by this fic (not fanart but got the idea from it) i decided to take it up a notch!

the twins who was about go spend their summer with their grunkle ends up both with young Stan instead. Stan after they showed him the proof of them being from the future after showing him a picture of his big brother shermie in his senior years, decids to take them to his estranged twin brother to try and figure out how to help them. (it was a bit before the portal was activated for the first time, but still had a fight with Fiddleford)

the next day,Stan, after realizing Ford had no actual food in his home other than coffee, decides to go shop for a few thing.

it was also 5am in the morning everyone was awake except Dipper who was too mentally and physically exhausted to wake up to anything.

Mabel decided to go with Stan to make sure he buys what they need, but she was hesitant about leaving Dipper, but she knows that this is gonna be the only time he sleeps deeply until their situation is solved, and with some reassurance from grunkle Ford about telling him when he wakes up, she goes.

Ford deciding to figure out what to do to send the twins back to their time, goes to the basement to do some research, accidentally falls asleep.

BILL who was watching the whole time immediately took control of the sleeping man's body, excited about someone new to play with he looks around , graps a scalpel puts it in the possessed man's pocket and leaves the basement straight to the attic where the boy is sleeping.

seeing the sleeping form of the kid, starfished, using Stan's dirty jacket as a blanket snoring softly.

BILL chose to mess a bit with the kid before trying anything else, he got closer and held the tween's nose cutting his breathing, gradually Dipper started to squrim from not breathing right, trying to breath from his mouth, BILL used his other hand and cut that too.

eventually, Dipper jolted from his sleep trying to breathe the missing air before he noticed his other great uncle looking down on him, smiling amusingly, like he was enjoying the fact Dipper almost choked, his smile also held sadistic enjoyment.

Alarms blaring in his head, he moved away,from the man, and he heard him say in a disoriented voice "why the rush to leave? We're having fun!" He said joyfully.

Fight or flight kicking in, Dipper picked the nearest box and threw it at his great uncle(?) And immediately jumped to his feet and ran out the attic, thinking of rushing outside the cabine the man is instantly chased after him, like he wasn't fazed by the attack, so Dipper hid instead.

Waiting for the man to go somewhere else, his heart beating like a rabbit's, he strains his ears to hear if he's still around.

Believing the coast to be clear, he leaves his hiding spot and books it for the door.

Only to feel a hand on his arm tighted and harshly pulling him backward in a painful tug, immediately following a sharp burning pain in his right shoulder, tearing out an ear splitting scream from him.

Trying to focus his eyes, he saw a scalpel imbued in his shoulder. He couldn't even register his blood before it was ribbed out and pierced into his left thigh, making his vision momentarily disappear from the pain.

He heard a maden laughter from above where he was laying on his back in pain and his right arm still held in a bruising grip.

The last thing he his mind made out before shutting down was the blooded surgery knife coming down on him again.

The first thing Ford mind caught on was all the fresh blood around him, that's the only thing his mind locked on the moment the his eyes caught sight if the blood staind hat with the little star on it.......

He knew who's the owner of the hat, even if he only met him yesterday, but where is he?

That is the only thing that circled his mind. Not the growing pain in his head, not the blood-soaked scalpel, not even moving a muscle from where he's kneeling.

He only moved his head when the door opened and two different gasps, followed by a shriek and sound of some things dropping . Meeting the horrified faces of his twin brother and the sister of the gone boy.

(Might make a comic for the rest of this idk)

[slowcatsworld]

Noel Noa - sfw character alphabet

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I tried my best but I don’t think I understand his character as well as I want to so some of this might be a touch ooc. Bro looks so good in the master striker color spread tho oml. Also I wrote so many freaking words my head hurts so not proofreading in any way. Have fun dawg

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A • Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Noel is affectionate, in his own way. He’s more of a provider and silent strong type than someone who would skip through the streets if a raining city with you like life were a rom com.

Noel’s affection shows by his consideration for you. He is prone to offering you something to drink, he brought an extra bottle of water with him because he knew you wouldn’t have one with you when y’all met up. He always can recall reminding you to bring the right attire when you go out in preparation for the weather, so for when you don’t take his warnings he can calmly explain how he tried to tell you and how you should be more thoughtful of the future. Noel is also an avid listener when you are talking about something, making direct eye contact and asking questions relating to the topic.

Noel’s very a very controlled individual, so his gestures of affection typically reflect that. Instead of running up to you and bringing you into a tight hug, Noel would walk to where you were standing and greet you with a call of your name while beginning to walk with you to your next destination. If you look closely you can see his ears are dashed with cherry red, and he’s been staring at you the whole time.

B • Babies (How do they react when they see babies and infants in public? Do they want kids of their own?)

I would wager that Noel would be rather indifferent to a smaller child he sees out in public. He might glance at the kid and note their hand that if fiercely balled into a fist around their mother’s dress, or that the father has a harness attached to his chest for the child to sleep there if they so choose.

The sight doesn’t cause any profound emotional changes to Noel, but his body does feel a tad heavier than it did a second ago. His mind might feel a little more clouded, noise beginning to creep around. However, these feelings don’t swell much more than that. Noel won’t allow it. There is no reason for the sight to affect him, right? Noel has made himself the man he is today, on his own- he must stay true to his own past and how he made more of himself.

I don’t think Noel would be opposed to kids, but he is very loyal to his career. He is at the height of his performance, the best striker in the world. A kid would complicate things, even if he wouldn’t need to take that much time off for them. A child shouldn’t grow up in an environment where his father is in another country with a rigorous job schedule. His child shouldn’t need to have that barrier between the two of them, a tension that they might not understand now, but will later in life. Noel wouldn’t want something like that. He would want to be present, to be everything he should have had as a kid.

Perhaps later in life, if there was enough time. However, if his lover did fall pregnant, Noel doesn’t really strike me as the type to advocate for an abortion. It might be the most logical choice, but the air gets tighter around his throat when he thinks about it. It would be his lovers decision at the end, and he would end up quietly wishing for her to keep the kid. To give him a chance. As the best striker in the world, Noel might be able to multitask.

C • Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle?)

Noel took a while, but he does enjoy cuddles. They are soft and safe. You would instigate the majority of them, but he comes around to silently lay by you side and put his hand on your hip until you understand what he’s trying to do.

Noel likes to loosely cuddle before bed and wake up in a tight mess of limbs in the morning. Cuddling eases the noise he hears in his brain and often replaces it with a soft, silent haze. It makes him sleepy. And lord I would wager he needs to get some extra sleep.

Noel doesn’t mind who’s the big spoon, but he generally starts out the cuddling session as the bigger spoon until you move to change positions. He is really fond of laying his head either on the crook of your neck from behind, the space between your shoulder and neck from in front of you, or having his face resting on your chest. Being closer to your pulse and heartbeat soothe him, makes him acknowledge the fact you’re a human and he’s laying with you.

If he didn’t want to sleep, he would prefer more restrictive cuddling. Something like sitting up with your heads, arms, or legs intertwined.

D • Dreams (Do they sleep well at night? What do their dreams normally consist of?)

I wanna say Noel actually doesn’t sleep that well. He gets sleep yes, but he often wakes up at random times. He’s also a light sleeper.

His dreams don’t usually have visuals to them, he mostly feels the motions of the plot. (Yk how you can feel or sense things in your dreams so you know what’s happening even if it doesn’t look that way? Yeah that’s basically all his dreams as a blur that he can feel but can’t see) Lots of nights the feeling reminds him of the slums of France, but when he wakes up the softness of his sheets always confused him even more. He gets cold a lot of the times in his dreams.

Noel stays relatively still when he sleeps. I don’t see him being a snorer, at most he’d have those wispy snores when he inhales.

E • Elegance (Are they a smooth talker? Do they fluster up and forget how to speak?)

Surprisingly, I’m going to say that Noel is a rather good flirter. Not so much with his body language. His words are also rather plain, just skimming the lines of flirting or not so you get confused when you try to analyze what he means. He doesn’t give much away.

If you know him well enough though, you can tell. He’ll face you when speaking more, and engage in the conversation with a tad bit more banter than normal. Nothing he says ever seems flirty though, but with context you just get the vibes. (Am I making sense rn??) -If you don’t get me then think abt his interaction with Ego before the PXG vs BM match for the vibes ish and how he talks to the other Master Strikers there’s sm banter and shit talking on both sides I’m convinced he’d be a little like that but more lively if he were comfortable with a love interest

If you start off strong flirting or teasing, he doesn’t reciprocate. He might he end up annoying you, questioning whatever you said previously and debunking your taunt and how it’s not actually true or wtv. His calm and confident tone sometimes makes it a tad annoying when this happens. #canttakerizz

His manner of speech is very proper. He sounds well educated, even when he’s being causal. Very good vocabulary usage.

F • Fighting (How do fights happen between the two of you?)

I don’t think there would be loud fights and arguments with Noel. Small squabbles more like it. Normally you and him would talk it out and voice both of your perspectives. Noel would be good at keeping a level head in these situations.

If you were too fired up however, I think he’d wait until you were done yelling and tell you to breathe and think. Think about what y’all can do to fix whatever happened. He never seems to get angry or sad when you yell at him, but it’s never a pleasant situation. And you know him well enough to know he’ll be thinking about it for the next couple of days.

G • Gentle (How gentle are they with you physically and emotionally? Do they consider you in certain situations?)

Noel wouldn’t shy away from simple physical contact with you. Things like his hand on your shoulder, moving you out of the way by placing his hand on your back, your feet brushing up against each other when you sit together to eat. Nothing too much, but enough to feel you.

He tried his best to think of you and your perspective on matters. Things like buying a new fridge, he’d think about how you would like the built in freezer in fridge 1 more than fridge 2. However if fridge 2 was less expensive and there was better drawers, he’d prolly end up buying fridge 2.

H • Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do they receive hugs?)

I think Noel would learn to like hugs, especially if you were a physically affectionate person. At first he was rather stiff and didn’t allow for them to last more than a couple of seconds. Now he’s chill with it, as long as it isn’t over done like a bone crushing hug where the both of your rock from side to side. A simple loose wrap of your arms around his neck or back is good for him. In public, that is. I think he’d accept all types of hugs in private.

He doesn’t shy away from the rougher and physical side of football, and I want to say this translates into his hugs. Even though it doesn’t? Idk I’m thinking about it too much and confusing myself.

You would probably initiate hugs, he never gots hugs when he grew up so he wouldn’t think of giving you one.

I • Intimacy (How serious are they about this relationship? Do they do one night stands or are in the game for marriage?)

Does not do flings or one night stands. He needs to know you first. He needs to have some type of emotional connection to you before anything turns physical.

Most likely would date for marriage. Dating someone takes time and energy, things that could have gone toward his football career (yall he is serious asf abt his career I can smell it off him) so I think he would want an end goal out of it yk? Dating someone just to have some fun or pass the time of life doesn’t seem like Noel. Even if you didn’t want marriage, understanding that you two are the end for each other is all he wants in a serious relationship.

J • Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He doesn’t seem to be someone that would get jealous to me. Noel is such a confident person in his abilities. However, I do think he would be vulnerable to insecurity. Not in your relationship per se, but of what other people could offer you that he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t suspect you of cheating or being unfaithful, but seeing well bred men born into their society standing interacting with you isn’t a comfortable sight for him. He knows you are coming home with him at the end of the day, this soothes the noise.

He might voice these to you, when you two are alone in the privacy of your home.

Perhaps you are making dinner, Noel working through some plays on his computer, he mentions a little, “the man representing the football club we met today, did you like his suit?”

You turn your head around to see him staring at you already, “I don’t recall his suit looking any different than all the other men’s suits I’ve seen before. It was standard, I guess I liked it?”

“It was a part of an old vintage collection, did you know he also owns a fashion brand that has been in his family for generations?”

You purse your lips, “I don’t understand the significance Noel. If anything I liked the one you wore more. It was probably softer anyway if he was wearing something ancient.” You go back to cooking. Noel feels his face and neck heat up. That was all he needed to hear, mumbling a little okay, yn before going back to analyzing.

K • Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His go to is chaste kisses to your forehead. Your hand if the context of the situation calls for it and matches the elegance vibes. Small pecks out in public. He’s prefer to not really kiss in public, he’d never tell you I don’t think but it flusters him too much and he gets to hot under his jacket.

When the two of you get more intimate for the night, Noel doesn’t want to part his lips from you. It gets sloppy, more rough than usual. Something only the two of you can experience with each other. Lip locking with some fingernails grazing along his scalp or muscles is the easiest way to physically get him yearning for you.

Noel likes the soft kisses you give him in the morning when he sleeps in. The way he can feel your lips through his eyebrow wisps or on his pointed nose. It’s alluring touched of heaven to him, something he wants private for himself.

L • Love Languages (What are their love languages?)

Acts of Service and Quality Time.

Noel just does things for you, makes life a little easier with gestures. I alluded to this in the Affection portion. Making sure you have your necessities in any situation is something that Noel just does. Maybe because of his backstory idk.

Noel is surprisingly a rather talkative guy. If he wants to say something, he’ll say it. Especially if he knows you. He doesn’t go out of his way to be brash, but if it applies to the situation he’s probably saying it. He enjoys talking to you about things. Moments where there is a lull in the day for the two of you, where you can talk freely about whatever you want. He likes those.

Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation are next I would think. I’ve said before I believe he finds comfort in physical touch with his lover, and he’s a quiet supporter that can still say what you need to hear while staying true to his own philosophy.

For Gift Giving, I just don’t think he puts that much emphasis or importance to it. Tangible items were never permanent in his early life, so they aren’t his preferred way of expressing himself to others.

M • Memory (what is their favourite memory with you?)

Grr I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t know either.

Kidding, maybe something gentle. Like you two go to your favorite restaurant for a date. Your smile radiated heat through his body. You glimmer in the warm light of the lamps and candles beautifully. Your hand reaches over the table to where his is resting. Intertwined, you stroke your thumb over the skin of the bad of his hand. It’s comforting, makes everything go quieter and you feel louder. He asks you to repeat what you just said. Maybe he didn’t hear you that well the second time either, but he feels you all too well that it works out. (Idk I don’t like this but it’s wtv)

N • Night (What time do they go to bed at night? How easily do they fall asleep? What do they wear to bed?)

I think Noel values his sleep and tries to go to bed as early as he can. Even though he does, he still ends up tired a lot of times throughout the day.

Noel would want to be comfortable when he sleeps, generally wearing a t shirt and pants. If it’s a little too cold he throws on a hoodie. He isn’t fond of waking up in a cold sweat though, which has happened to him a number of times,

O • Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Noel is rather guarded, but he also doesn’t hide certain things about himself. We’ve seen him open up about his connection to Ego to Isagi, a kid he’s only known for a couple weeks.

Once he gets comfortable and your relationship is at that stage, he’d tell you a little bit about himself and his interests. His upbringing though, is a tad different. He doesn’t like thinking of it that much. It in dignifies him in a way. Especially the rougher times, the one that manifest into his dreams. I’m not sure he would ever really tell you everything, unless you have been together for a very, very long time.

P • Patience (How easily angered are they? How slow did y’all take your relationship?)

Noel is patient. Even when someone annoys him or angers him, he is never loud and violent with it. He knows how to be firm and unwavering. He also knows how not to be overbearing and cruel.

Your relationship would be slow and steady. Things happen in time. If he is serious, there is no need to rush something that will stay with the two of you for the rest of your lives.

Q • Quirks (What are little things they do that only those closest to them would know about?)

Noel cloud watches. He thinks of all the different things he can imagine from the blobs of fluffy white in the sky. All the different possibilities that all seem so far away.

Noel’s eyebrows are already thin and wispy, and their pale color doesn’t help them stand out. But when he takes his eyeliner off, it’s as though he shaved his eyebrows. The contrast from black to white made them more prominent if that makes sense.

Noel is ambidextrous with his legs, but he has a hard time writing with his left hand. He didn’t know of his ambidextrous nature until a little late into his teenage years, every time he would practice writing he always did it with his right hand as that what most people did around him. He can write legibly with both hands, but his right hand is much more defined.

R • Resentment (Who or what do they hate? Why?)

I think Noel would hate being a nobody. That’s who he was in the slums of France. He made himself into the best football striker in the world. He always says that second place and below aren’t remembered and don’t have the same worth as first place. As the truest of victories. He wants to leave his mark on the world. Second place and below don’t make marks on the world.

I don’t really think he needs strangers to love him, or know him personally, but he needs their attention. He needs their respect. He needs to belong with the best and be the best of the best. He earned it and he defends his title vigorously.

S • Scared (What are some fears they have?)

Bro what if he was scared of the dark? Or at least doesn’t like being in total darkness? 

I think realistically Noel would have some fear of being poor, not having enough financial resources to provide. Provide food, water, clothing.

T • Tough (What do they think makes them tough?)

Noel’s tenacity makes him tough. His hunger to be the best. The drive he has inside of him. Even on the days where his body is sore and his movements are slower than they should be and the noise gets too loud in his mind, his motivation burns that much brighter. The break the next challenge, to do something damn good with himself.

U • Unity (How well do they work with others?)

Honestly, Noel isn’t the biggest team player. He does work with people, but it’s literally canon if he wasn’t leading he would follow the person with the most solid rationality and the highest possibility of success, right. He still does work with others though, but he called efficiency over comfort a lot of the time.

V • Valuables (Do they think objects are valuable? Companionship? Words? What do they hold close to their heart?)

Actions hold the most importance to Noel. If you say you’re going to do xyz, Noel would expect you to do xyz. Proving your credibility by matching your actions to your morals and words is important to him.

Noel likes words. Being able to articulate your thoughts and wants. That is something he thinks every adult should be able to do without trouble, no matter the context of the conversation or situation.

Objects don’t hold as much significance. He’ll value something he has been gifted and set it somewhere in his home, but it just sits there. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it.

W • Wildcard

Sometimes when Noel wears slides he won’t pick his feet up enough and kick just a tad too hard and bam! His slide is flying across the room a couple feet ahead of him. It stuns him for a second, not believing he did that.

Noel worked hard in academics when given the chance. He likes being educated.

(idk)

X • X-Ray (What do they look like without clothing? What is their body type? How much muscle do they have?)

Noel is a sturdy and firm guy.

He doesn’t have abs, he has a healthy layer of chub on top of them. Think Chris Pratt, but not when he was shredded for Guardians of the Galaxy but like the second or third Guardians of the Galaxy yk. Healthy and yummy.

He has thick thighs, canon.

His arms are very comforting when they are wrapped around you.

He has that V taper body but not as drastic as say, a swimmer would have. Wider shoulders, skinnier waste. Dorito shape, but it’s only truly noticeable if you’re looking at him from the back.

Y • Yearning (How do they deal with their feelings when they miss you?)

When he gets the time, Noel would call you. Your voice is good for him.

He thinks a lot, thinks about what you were wearing the last time he saw you, what your hair looked like, what time of day it was. Thinks about your favorites, your least favorites, things you have in common.

Z • Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Noel doesn’t like natural light pouring in when he’s sleeping, but he likes a small lamp on.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mwah 😽

[thewordypeach]

Cream

Cream (Milk)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader word count: 2.9k warnings: 18+, NSFW!!!!, smut! smut! smut!, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v = creampie, oral, titty sucking and titty fucking, (lactation kink), implied breeding kink, squirting, etc. summary: Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it - author's note: ummm … so this sequel had me questioning my life choices. like i do not know what possessed me to take it this far lol so you better blow it up like you did with ‘Milk’ 🤭 anyways, i hope you like it <3 xoxo the wordy peach

It begins with: “You’ll never guess what they’re playing at movie night,” 

You look at Joel, a single eyebrow raised. Joel wolfishly grins, his brown eyes sparkling, “Austin Powers and the Spy Who Shagged Me,” 

He watches as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Joel can’t believe you don’t remember the conversation from last week, the one that had you confessing to him that you felt like one of those fembots from the aforementioned movie. He steps closer, head dipping to your ear, whispering: “Machine gun titties,” 

That’s all it takes for you to remember. And it has your cheeks flushing pink. Sheepishly, you smile at him. But, of course, the cock block herself pipes up: “The spy who what?”

Ellie, you spunky little shithead. You love her to death. You never want her to grow up. But lately, she’s been ruining your alone time with Joel. You know she just wants to be a part of the family, and she is. It never even crossed your mind to think otherwise. She’s the daughter you never had. Sometimes you wish she’d just go and make friends that aren’t you or Joel. 

You look at Joel, waiting for him to answer. But Joel is expectantly gazing at you. A playful smirk ghosts across his lips. He thinks it’s your duty to explain the birds, the bees, and everything between them to Ellie. Of course, she knows most of it. But she questions absolutely everything. Just yesterday, you had the unfortunate experience of explaining anal to her; Joel walked out of the house when she asked and didn’t return until later. 

You poke a finger into Joel’s chest, hissing at him, “It’s your turn,” 

His face goes slack before he gives you a sullen look. He pouts those luscious lips of his, “But darlin'….” 

“Don't darlin' me, mister. You owe me for yesterday,” 

Joel continues to pout but eventually relents. He turns to Ellie with a face void of any emotion: “It’s a classic movie from the 2000s,” 

“Yeah, but what does shagged mean?” Ellie asks. Her eyes look between you and Joel, waiting for an answer. Joel grows uncomfortable. He’s never been one to talk about this kind of stuff. 

“Yeah, Joel. What does shagged mean?” You ask. 

“It- it… it means…” Joel stutters and stumbles over the words. His face is turning pink. He looks flustered as he searches for the right thing to say. You’re enjoying him floundering around. In one great, big breath, Joel spills out: “It’s a British slang term for intercourse,” 

Ellie blinks at him several times as she repeats what Joel just said to her. She starts chuckling, “Shagged means sex?!” Ellie turns into a mess of laughter. She’s clutching her sides. It’s not that funny. But you like watching her have fun. It brings back the innocence and reminds you of childhood. You were young when the movie came out, and the world was ravaged by fungus a few years after. So you cherish this moment of hilarity. You rub your tummy and smile at how much fun you will have raising this new baby with Joel and Ellie -

You don’t make it to movie night because you’re busy with the nursery, and the thought of walking all the way to town hall makes you cringe. You don’t like going anywhere unless it is essential. You make Joel and Ellie do everything for you. There are still some things you do yourself.

You insist Joel and Ellie go. Ellie doesn’t fight it (she’s so excited to watch a piece of history), but Joel grumbles about it. He wants to stay and help. By helping, Joel means he wants to milk you. He can’t stop helping you, and it’s the only thing on his mind - Joel swears he even dreams about it now. However, there hasn’t been a single moment for him to help you. Tommy has Joel doing everything and anything, and between his brother and Ellie, Joel hasn’t had time for his new hobby. 

So, after he drops Ellie off at the movie (making sure that she is settled and making sure that Tommy will bring her home after), Joel leaves and makes his way back to you. He wants to spend every free minute with you, but more importantly, this is the perfect opportunity to do what he’s been dreaming of without any interruptions. Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it -

You hear him before you see him, and then you feel him. His arms wrap around your body, and he presses his chest into your back. You sink into the warmth, eyes closing and throat humming. His hands briefly touch your stomach before they find their rightful place. Joel cups your tits, placing each of them into his hands, and marvels at the heaviness. So full of his special cream. 

“They’ve gotten bigger, haven’t they?” Joel murmurs. His cock is already hard and straining inside his pants. Hell, on the walk home, the prospect of milking you had him almost cumming right then and there. 

“They’re definitely heavier,” Joel adds as he squeezes them. He notices you aren’t wearing a bra, and with one simple motion, he has his shirt on the floor (the only one that fits you). You’re facing him now, chest and belly exposed. The sight of you has him losing it. Joel feels happy and excited, and everything in between that. Joel can’t believe that you're his, and he’s yours. Nor can he believe his eyes because your tits are definitely bigger, and your nipples are already dewy with that milky nectar he loves so much. 

Joel groans, latches his mouth onto your right side, and starts suckling like a starved man. Your nipple is already stiff and responsive, and you feel the sensation of milk rushing through to meet your partner’s greedy tongue. His hand expertly kneads the pillowy flesh, expressing even more of the sweet cream that has him hard as a rock. Joel starts to breathe deeper and sucks harder, causing you to moan. 

Your fingers comb through Joel’s hair, and you hold him there because the pleasure of having Joel drain your tits is undeniable; in fact, the more Joel sucks and licks your nipple, the more your arousal grows. You have to remind him, “Joel…. We have less than ninety minutes -”

He grunts in response and moves his mouth to the other side he’s been neglecting. The feeling is indescribable, and you relish it. The relief Joel is giving you is insurmountable. But it also has you growing impatient with him. Your core is aching for his cock, and your hands travel over his body. You feel his muscles, thick and robust, beneath the plaid shirt. You need him now. 

“Joel,” Your hand drops to the bulge in his jeans, and you gently rub it with purpose. The friction makes Joel groan, finally lifting his head from your tits. His eyes are filled with a dazy lustiness that makes you fumble with your words. Still, it doesn’t matter because Joel is suddenly pressing his lips against yours and kissing you with an ardour that makes you forget everything you are about to say. 

You taste the substance that has Joel acting ravenous. It reminds you of cereal milk because it’s so sweet. You part from his lips, whispering, “Can I taste you now?” 

He doesn’t have time to answer because you’re already lowering yourself to your knees, planting them on the ground in front of Joel. With one hand, you pop open the buttons of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Roughly, you tug at the opening and watch as his thick, luscious cock springs free from its confines. At the sight of it, you lick your lips. Your fingers wrap around his length and slide over his stiffness. The movement makes Joel shiver, and when your lips finally touch his cock, a groan escapes from his throat.

Joel has been so concerned about making you feel good that he forgot to consider himself. Suddenly, you thrust him inside your mouth while twisting your hand down his cock. He quickly fills your mouth, and his hand grasps your hair in hopes of controlling you. However, he’s fine with letting you have your way right now. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to please him; Joel loves how the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you’re so adept at sucking him off that his length doesn’t make you gag anymore  - 

Expertly, you glide your mouth from the hilt to the tip of Joel’s cock, coating it in your saliva. Joel’s eyes nearly roll into his head because it feels so fucking good. It’s the only thing he can tell you because he’s almost lost his mind from the bliss of your mouth sheathing his cock. You don’t stop until Joel gasps for air and asks you to stop. 

“Babe, babe, babe,” His voice is husky, and he roughly pulls on your hair. You gasp and gaze up at him with a thick string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. Joel quivers at the sight and has to remember what he will say. You wait patiently. Obediently. 

Breathlessly, he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you here? Or…”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Here,” 

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice and is quick to shed his jeans before he starts to help you. You lean forward onto the palm of your hands and watch as Joel goes behind and begins to slide off the sweatpants you’re always wearing. Not that Joel minds. He knows it’s the only thing that fits you because you remind him every damn day. Once the sweatpants are off, he tosses them to the side and stares lovingly at your ass. It’s so round and perky and panty-less. He’s genuinely surprised, and it makes him smile. 

He caresses your fleshy cheeks, asking, “Is this for me?”

Joel can’t see your face but can tell you are blushing. Sheepishly, you admit, “As soon as you left, I took them off - for easy access,”

“Oh, darlin’,” He swoons, “You’re so sweet to think of me,”

Joel pries your sweet cheeks apart and buries his face, his tongue immediately swirling around your puckered asshole. Mewls spill forth from your mouth, and you wiggle your hips, trying to splay them apart because your body needs more. Joel’s tongue slithers down, lapping the juice practically pouring out of your needy, swollen cunt. He licks and sucks with wild abandon, groaning at your deliciousness. He doesn’t stop until you are begging him, “Joel, fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock, please. Oh god, fuck me, already!”

He removes his mouth from your exterior and replaces it with his cock. He rubs and rubs his bulbous crown between your molten wetness, gliding it back and forth until it’s coated with your slickness. When he thinks it’s enough, he pushes into your tight cunt. At first, your channel is resistant. But slowly, your velvety walls happily start devouring Joel’s cock until his entire length basks in the warmth. 

You are gasping at the sensation of being stretched out. It’s almost too much in this position, and a small rock of Joel’s hips gives way to your first orgasm. Your vision swirls as a wave of ecstasy comes crashing through. Your fingers grip the carpet as your cunt swells and clenches his cock. Your back arches as you cry out, “Fuck, Joel,”

Immediately, he stops, thinking he has hurt you or the baby. Panic-stricken, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“N-n-nothing,” You stutter out, attempting to catch your breath. Your lungs greedily suck in the air, saturated with the smell of sex. You tell him, “You made me cum,”

“Already?” He murmurs and devilishly thinks about the five times he made you cum last week. Joel rocks his hips again, and you whimper at the movement. At a glacial pace, Joel pulls out before sliding back in and burying his cock to the hilt. You’re gripping the carpet and moaning like crazy. He’s sure the neighbours can hear you, which drives Joel forward. He wants them to know how good he is at fucking you. 

Joel grabs your hips, nails sinking into the fleshy bits, and plows in and out of your pussy. He’s pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in, ensuring you feel every inch of his girthy length. Your body is rocking beneath his, tits swaying like udders. You reach between your legs to touch your clit. It’s pulsating and yearning to be touched. You gingerly circle it, knowing a light touch is enough to send you over the edge. And you’re right because, within seconds, your second orgasm is rolling through.

You wail, “Joel, Joel, Joel,” but Joel doesn’t stop this time. He continues to youthfully spear your pussy and watches as your creamy juices coat his cock. Vigorously, you rub your clit because a third orgasm is imminent. Your back arches and your hips are high in the air, and Joel stops, pulling out completely, to watch as your pussy trembles with another orgasm. Your thighs are dripping with your juices, and his name still spills out of your mouth. Repeatedly. 

His hand squeezes your hip, “Mmm, darlin’. That’s your third one - should we slow down? Don’t want to hurt -”

“Need more,” You interrupt him, “Need to cum more, Joel,”

Joel shakes his head, “Darlin’,'' He knows you aren’t thinking straight, driven to recklessness because of the pure ecstasy that has raptured your body. You turn over, laying on your back. You splay your legs apart, and your pussy glistens in the light. It’s so swollen, so puffy. Your hand is back, and your fingers are working your clit. But from this angle, it’s a little more challenging because of your protruding belly. And it’s making you frustrated. Especially because Joel is just watching, not helping. 

“Joel,” You growl, “Fuck me,”

A single eyebrow of his shoots up, and you begrudgingly mutter, “Please,”

Much to your surprise, Joel moves. However, instead, he hovers above your chest and settles his cock in the valley of your tits. His hands squeeze them, and the milk for his unborn child sprays out, sprinkling across your chest and hitting his cock. At first, Joel goes slow, his cock passing between your tits. It’s a different kind of friction and holy hell… it feels good. His cock, slippery with your juices and milk, has him gliding through your breasts with ease. He grips harder and fucks your tits faster, rocking his hips back and forth. 

As he slips in and out, he milks your bountiful breasts in the process. He does it until you are soaked. He’s breathing hard, and his balls are tightening. He’s close, so fucking close. But he doesn’t want to finish like this because he knows you want more orgasms, and who is he to deny his pregnant partner? You have been carrying his baby for months, and it hasn’t been easy. And Joel knows that once the baby is born, you won’t be able to have sex for weeks. Not until you’re healed. So, why not let you live a little? 

He pulls his cock out of your cleavage and moves his face to yours, kissing you passionately. His tongue swirls and mingles with yours before he shifts down. Joel latches his mouth around your nipple and practically inhales a gulp of cream into his mouth. He doesn’t swallow and comes back up, kissing you again. Messily, Joel washes your mouth with your milk. It’s sweet and warm, and it’s fucking kinky as hell. It has you moaning into Joel’s mouth. He moans back, letting you know he loves every moment of it too.

As he continues to kiss you, Joel reaches down and takes his cock, sliding it over your puffy and sensitive lips before pressing it into your velvet channel. Your body welcomes him, and your mouth drops, gasping as you effortlessly fit his entire length . Once more, Joel explores your warm depths with a vigorous youthfulness. His flesh is clapping yours over and over until you are yelling his name over and over. Your hands are gripping his forearms, nails digging into his skin. 

“Mmm, Joel, mmm, Joel, gonna cum, Joel, mmm - fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your eyes roll back, and an unwavering fourth climax raptures your body. A euphoric release rolls across your body, and you undulate beneath Joel. He watches as your belly quivers, and he feels your cunt trying to expel him, and when he does finally pull out, a massive bolt of liquid escapes - he realizes you’re squirting. Something he’s only heard rumours about. He’s astonished by the amount of liquid that is coming out and by how long your orgasm is lasting.

Meanwhile, you are gasping for air, lungs greedily gulping it down. You have no idea what happened; all you know is it’s a big wet mess down there. You’re gazing at Joel, cock-drunk. Orgasm-drunk. Your brain is buzzing with satisfaction. Your fixation on cumming has been satiated. However, your partner is still rock hard. He still needs to cum, and he’s more eager than ever before. He shoves his cock back in, and the molten wetness has his cock quivering as his climax punches through, pushing him over the edge.

He doesn't warn you. He doesn’t have to - the damage is done. You’re reaping what he sowed. Joel shoots his seed as far into you as possible with a single thrust. His hands touch your belly, caressing the soft skin, and he pushes his cock even deeper, where he empties the rest of his balls. When he pulls out, his cum mixed with yours oozes out from your crease and pools onto the carpet beneath you. 

You dare to smile up at him, murmuring: “Thank you, Daddy,”

[lupinmoonlight]

helloooo i am so grateful to have found your page🥹 i’ve recently become hyperfixated on lupin again & your fics are a godsend!!

small request: (of age) student often visiting lupin for office hours although she doesn’t need any help; lupin secretly infatuated w her since the start of term, he’d been imagining her in various ways while he was alone & playing w himself; fluff & intimacy & smuttttt

i know you’re super busy so feel free to get to this whenever u can or even want to, love! thank you!!

Tea, Professor Lupin?

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You always found an excuse to visit Professor Lupin in his office hours. After a cup of tea one evening, you end up straddling him, grinding yourself against him. This is the beginning of many more encounters, until one afternoon he can't take it anymore and has you against the wall of his office. (2,229 words)

Warnings - teacher/student, age gap, biting, marking, making out, grinding, dry humping, rough sex, unprotected sex, my grammar (english is my second language), not proof read.

Notes - Thank you for your kind comment Anon! I had a lot of fun with this one. I don't even know if it all makes sense but I hope you enjoy! Little surprise at the end!

Remus Lupin sat in his quarters, a parchment lying forgotten in front of him, quill dried from lack of use. His mind, usually focused, was a mess of conflicting thoughts, of forbidden emotions, all centered around one person: you. Merely thinking your name sent a rush of heat through his loins. 

It was a torturous loop, playing over and over in his mind—the way the light from the window caught your hair, turning it into a shimmering halo; the way your lips parted slightly when you were lost in thought; the curve of your collarbone peeking out from the neckline of your school uniform, leading his gaze to places it shouldn't wander.

He remembered the way your skirt would hitch up slightly when you sat down, revealing just a bit more of your thigh, nothing inappropriate, but enough to stir a feeling within him—a reminder that he was, after all, a man.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and there you were, that demure look in your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks, your skirt hiked up around your waist exposing the pale skin of your thighs. In his mind, you were kneeling right before him, looking up through long lashes, waiting for his command. The imagery was so vivid, so erotic that he could feel your breath on him. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, painfully aware of the growing tightness in his trousers. He palmed himself, pressing down on the hard ridge beneath, trying to alleviate the tension. But the contact only made it worse. A low groan escaped his lips as he decided to give into the sensation. 

There was no turning back now. The need for release, the burning desire, became overpowering. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned his trousers and slid his hand inside, palming the warm, hard length of himself. He freed himself from the confines and began stroking, starting at the base and moving upwards, his thumb brushing over the sensitive tip. The sensation made his hips jerk in response and he couldn't help letting out a low curse. 

His thoughts spiraled further into fantasy - your soft moans, the fluttering of your eyelashes as you looked up at him, your lips stretched around him. A breathy "fuck..." escaped his lips as he felt himself nearing the edge. 

The tension coiled tightly in his lower belly, building with every rhythmic motion of his hand. His grip tightened, and he quickened his pace, driven by the impending climax. And then, with a final, desperate thrust into his own hand and a barely suppressed shout, he came, warmth spilling over his fingers in thick, pulsating spurts. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to catch his breath, a lingering feeling of guilt for letting his mind wander like that. 

He told himself it was the last time he would give into such forbidden fantasies, although he knew his resolve was not very strong. Because you were his weakness. Every day you were his weakness. 

Every office hour you were his weakness. You would show up, knowing you absolutely did not need help with anything. Your intentions were not exactly pure; it was more about the man behind the desk than any lesson he might teach. You just wanted to be with him. To see him. To feel his gaze on you. So here you were again, hesitating at the door before knocking softly. 

"Come in," he called. 

You entered, your eyes finding his immediately. "Professor Lupin," you began with feigned innocence, "I was wondering if I might use your office to study? It's so quiet and calm here." 

He looked up, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, Y/N," he replied, gesturing to a small desk by the window. "You're always welcome here."

You settled into the seat, trying to focus on your textbook, but acutely aware of the intensity of his gaze. Every so often, you would catch him stealing glances in your direction. His eyes would travel, lingering on your legs when they shifted or the curve of your neck when you leaned over your books. 

For Remus, the ritual became a torturous loop. The simple act of you being there, so close yet so far, tormented him. He found himself lost in his thoughts, the pages of his book becoming a blur. The tightening in his trousers a cruel reminder of the tension in the room. 

As the weeks went on, your interactions grew less formal. You would often arrive without a pretense of studying, and your conversations flowed easily. So much that one evening, you walked in without knocking, a playful grin on your face. "Professor," you teased, "I thought I might stop by for some tea and company." 

Remus chuckled, setting aside his paperwork. "Dropping the excuses, are we?" he responded, warming to your presence. 

You shrugged, your face glowing in the light of the fireplace. "Perhaps. I've come to appreciate our little talks." 

He summoned a pot of tea and poured you both a cup. "So have I," he admitted, his eyes searching yours. You both settled on the couch, the warmth of the fire creating a cozy atmosphere yet there was an undeniable tension. 

In the midst of your conversation, you drew nearer to each other, perhaps unconsciously, your knees brushing every now and then. Remus's every breath became a battle against his own desires, the proximity testing his resolve. 

He shifted uneasily, the close proximity awakening a forbidden hunger. "Y/N," he began, voice slightly raspy. "It's getting late. Perhaps you should head back to your dorm."

Your gaze moved from his eyes to his lips, your voice soft and innocent as you murmured, "But Professor...I don't really want to leave." 

He swallowed hard. "I don't want you to leave either," he almost whispered, every word heavy with the unspoken desires. "But I wouldn't want you getting in trouble..." Even as he spoke, he found himself leaning in, the pull impossible to resist. You were so close now; your breaths intermingled. 

You had every opportunity to pull away, but you didn't. And then the distance between you vanished as his lips met yours. The initial contact was tentative, a gentle exploration, as if he was asking permission. But the restraint soon faded as the kiss deepened, rapidly transformed into one of burning need. 

In an impulsive move, you swung a leg over, straddling him. You could feel his very evident arousal against you, making him groan as you began to move. 

"We shouldn't-" he managed, his voice thick with lust. But his protests were silenced by another deep groan, spurred by the rhythmic pressure of your movements against him. His hands, once hesitantly placed at your sides, now gripped your hips with a possessive fervor, guiding you as you continued to grind against the hard ridge of his length. 

Your moans and whimpers were intoxicating. His mouth trailed to your neck, biting and sucking on the delicate skin, tasting your warmth, leaving a territorial mark on you. The pace of your movements increased until you were unable to hold back anymore. He felt your body tense, a telltale sign of your climax, and his control slipped away rapidly. The soft whimper in his ear was all it took to push him over the edge. His hips jerked involuntarily as a sticky warmth seeped through his trousers. 

You stayed like that for a few moments, foreheads touching, catching your breaths and coming to terms with the line you'd just crossed. Remus looked mortified. "I...I'm sorry," he murmured, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "This shouldn't have happened. It can't happen again."

You looked at him, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "No, it shouldn't," you replied sarcastically. And that's when he knew he had corrupted you, or perhaps you had corrupted him. It didn't really matter anymore because every evening, the ritual repeated. The pretext of "tea" had become a thinly veiled excuse for the intimate encounters that transpired between the two of you behind the closed door of his office. 

Remus was not even trying to dissuade you anymore. More often than not, he would pull you into his arms as soon as the door clicked shut. Your lips met, and the world outside disappeared. A light bite on your lower lip would elicit a whimper, and his mouth would quickly travel to your neck, where he discovered you were more sensitive. He reveled in these moments, intoxicated by the power he held over you. He loved marking you, a visible claim that you were his, although he knew he had no right as your Professor. 

There were nights where your need for intimacy transitioned from the physical to the emotional. He would be sprawled out on his office couch, and you would nestle yourself on top of him. His fingers would thread through your hair, and he would lean down to press a gentle kiss on your head. "How was your day?" he would ask. 

"It was okay. Potions was...intense," you murmured, the hint of a smile playing on your lips. 

Remus chuckled lightly. "Snape still giving you a hard time?"

You shook your head, your fingers dancing over the fabric of his shirt. "No, not really. I think he's just...Snape." 

Remus laughed softly. "True. That man is an enigma." He paused, his fingers stilling in your hair. "Y/N, we...we need to talk about this," he began, his voice hesitant, "about us." 

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his, filled with a mix of fear and hope. "I know," you whispered.

He sighed, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead. "It's just...our positions...it's complicated. I should've never allowed myself to act on my feelings. I had no right."

You shook your head, a silent tear rolling down your cheek. "But Remus, I feel safe here, with you. I want to be with you." 

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "I feel the same way," he admitted. "But we have to be careful." 

You nodded, burying your face in his chest. "I understand."

Yet, his actions never followed his words. He would eat you alive with his eyes every class, touch himself to the thought of you at night, or pull you aside in the corridor to steal a kiss in the middle of the day. 

The sight of you, there in the hallway, acted as a siren's call. It was different this time. His gaze was not soft and playful. It was predatory and it went straight to your core. Without a word, he snatched your wrist, his grip firm, and pulled you along towards the closest room- his office. 

"Remus? What's going on?" you began, a bit surprised. 

"You," he growled, pressing you firmly against the wall. "I can't get enough of you," he breathed against your neck, his fingers working with a frenzied haste to lift your skirt and push down your panties swiftly. You gasped, sensing the barely contained need in his every movement. 

With a groan of frustration, Remus quickly undid his trousers. His erection was painfully hard, and he pressed it against you, savoring the wet heat and intimacy of the contact. "You feel that?" he whispered harshly, grinding against you. "This is what you do to me." 

You could barely respond, your breath hitching as you felt his tip rub against your entrance. "Please, Remus," you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders, back arching against him. 

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a sharp thrust, he entered you, burying himself deep as your legs hooked around his waist. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted. "You feel so good." Every thrust was hard and frantic, the slap of your bodies echoing in the confined space. 

You clung to him desperately, your body rising to meet each of his powerful thrusts. The pleasure was almost too much, and soon you felt that familiar pressure building. "Remus," you whimpered, your walls clenching around him as you reached your climax. 

Feeling you tighten around him was his undoing. "Fuck..." he cursed again, thrusting even more relentlessly. "Gonna fill you up," he rasped. "Take it. Take all of me." 

Without further warning, he buried himself to the hilt, holding himself deep inside you as his release overtook him. You cried out, the intensity of his climax and his depth almost too much to handle. Each pulse of his length seemed to go on forever, filling you completely. 

Finally spent, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily. He remained inside you for a moment longer, the soft pulsing of his length a lingering testament to what had just transpired. Slowly, he pulled out, his seed trickling down your thigh and onto the polished wood below, only for it to vanish with a flick of his wand. 

In a daze, you felt your panties being pulled back up. Moments later, you were back on the familiar couch, his arm wrapped protectively around you. 

Floating towards you were two cups of steaming tea. Remus looked down at you, his eyes still dark but with a hint of mischief. "Tea, Miss Y/N?" he teased. 

You smirked, taking the offered cup with shaky hands. "Why, thank you, Professor Lupin." 

[wolverigrl]

I'm going through a similar situation, so maybe it will help me having a little more confidence in myself. Also shout out to my bf always late. ✌🏻 (If you read this babe, I love you)

Hugh x younger reader (30s-50s). The reader traveled out of the US for her friend's b-day and asked Hugh to be her partner. He senses her nervousness and asks her why, she confesses that there will be other people who made fun of her/weren't real friends with her and he makes sure his girl has the perfect outfit and shows her how beautiful she is when she's wearing her self confidence. Everyone at the party looks at her realizing they were messing with the wrong girl.

The Right Kind of Confidence

Hugh Jackman x f!reader

A/N: You are all beautiful and enough. This world needs more of you, sweet souls. Never ever forget this! xx

Warnings: mentions of past bullying, maybe some angst, cheesy

Enjoy!

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

It all started with an innocent text. Or at least, that’s how I tried to rationalize it.

I’d been invited to my old friend Emily’s birthday party in London - she’d relocated there a few years back. It was supposed to be a fun, carefree getaway, a chance to reconnect with old friends. But when the invite arrived, nestled deep in the email chain, I couldn’t shake the creeping dread.

Along with me, there were others on the guest list - people I hadn’t seen in years. People who had once made high school and college more difficult than it needed to be. The thought of facing them again sent a cold shiver through me.

Still, I knew I couldn’t skip Emily’s big day. She’d been a real friend through thick and thin, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let the bad memories dictate how I lived my life.

So, I sent that text to Hugh, feeling a bit ridiculous.

Y/N: Hii❤️ I’ve got an invite to a birthday party in London. Any chance you’d want to come with me?

I hit send before I could second-guess myself. It was the first time I’d asked him to travel for something personal, not work-related or vacation-focused. Hugh had always been the kind of guy who loved adventure, but I wasn’t sure if "be my emotional support at a party full of people who once bullied me" counted as an adventure.

My phone buzzed just minutes later. Hugh’s name lit up the screen.

HUGH: London? I’ve always got time for that. When do we leave? ;)❤️

The sigh of relief I let out could have been heard across the street. I grinned down at the phone, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the cup of coffee in my hands.

The days leading up to the trip passed in a blur of planning, nerves, and packing. Hugh handled everything with his usual calm, even helping me pick out a dress for the party - a gorgeous satin piece that made me feel like I was ready for the red carpet, even if my stomach was in knots over the thought of facing those old 'friends' again.

When the day finally came, Hugh and I met at the airport. His easygoing nature had a calming effect on me, even as I lugged my suitcase through the busy terminal, the excitement of the trip warring with the old insecurities gnawing at my mind.

"You ready for London?" Hugh asked, pulling me in for a quick hug before we went through security. He had a sparkle in his eyes, like the trip was going to be nothing but fun for him.

I tried to return his smile, but I could feel my nerves creeping back.

"Yeah, definitely. Just didn't thought of seeing some of the people again. It’s bringing back all kinds of old memories."

Hugh furrowed his brow, clearly picking up on the shift in my mood. He placed a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"We don’t have to go, you know. If this is going to make you uncomfortable, just say the word."

I shook my head quickly, not wanting to back out now.

"No, I want to go. I just don’t want to spend the whole trip in my head worrying about it."

His expression softened, and he looked at me like he was trying to figure out exactly what to say to make me feel better.

"Well if anyone has a problem with you, they’re the ones who need to grow up."

I smiled, feeling some of the tension ease out of my shoulders. "Thanks, Hugh. I don’t know what I was thinking asking you to come along on this, but I’m really glad you did."

"Are you kidding? A trip to London with you? I’d never pass that up!" he said, his voice light but sincere.

By the time we landed in London, the nerves had faded somewhat, replaced by excitement. We checked into the hotel, and as I watched the city’s skyline from our room, I felt the promise of a good trip begin to settle in my bones. With Hugh here, maybe this would be the perfect opportunity to prove to myself that the past didn’t hold any power over me anymore.

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of my dress for what felt like the hundredth time. It was a soft satin, flowing in all the right places, hugging my body just right. By any other measure, it was perfect. But tonight, I felt like it wasn’t enough - like I wasn’t enough.

"Everything okay in there?" Hugh’s deep voice filtered in from the hotel room’s balcony, where he was enjoying the sunset. I could hear the lilt of concern, even through the casual tone.

"Yeah!" I called back, trying to steady my nerves. "Just finishing up."

I stared at my reflection, hoping my face didn’t betray the knot of anxiety in my stomach. It had been years since I’d seen some of these people - people who had, at best, pretended to be friends. At worst, they’d made me the butt of their jokes when they thought I wasn’t looking.

They’d perfected the art of making someone feel invisible, but always in a way that you couldn’t call out.

Now, I was about to walk back into that. The only difference? This time, I wasn’t alone. I had Hugh by my side.

As much as I wanted to believe I’d outgrown that insecure version of myself, she was clawing her way back up to the surface, reminding me of every cruel laugh, every dismissive glance.

The door creaked as Hugh stepped inside, making his way toward me. I looked up at him in the mirror, catching his reflection as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, an amused smile playing at his lips. He looked effortlessly handsome with his salt and pepper beard and his dark suit with the shirt open at the collar. Just the right mix of casual and polished.

The sight of him should have been enough to calm me down, but instead, my stomach twisted tighter.

"You look gorgeous." he said, pushing off from the door and coming up behind me, his hands settling gently on my hips. He pressed a soft kiss to my temple, his warm breath brushing against my skin.

"So why do you look like you’re about to faint?"

I let out a shaky laugh, avoiding his eyes in the mirror. "I'm fine, really. Just it’s been a while since I’ve seen these people."

He raised an eyebrow, his hands still resting firmly on my hips. "And that’s what’s bothering you?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of it all pressing down. There was no point in pretending with Hugh. He could always see through me.

"There are people coming tonight who weren’t exactly nice to me. A lot of them didn’t even pretend to be my friends."

I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "I know I shouldn’t care, but it’s hard to shake that feeling. What if I’m just setting myself up for more of the same?"

Hugh’s grip tightened slightly on my hips, grounding me in the present.

"Hey.." he said softly, turning me around to face him. His gaze was steady, comforting.

"You’re not that person anymore. And they sure as hell don’t get to make you feel like you are."

I tried to smile, but the anxiety still gnawed at me.

"I know, I just… I want to walk in there feeling confident, like I belong."

He tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

"You’re worried about confidence? With the way you look right now?" His eyes traveled over me appreciatively, and for a second, the knot in my stomach loosened.

"Love, you look stunning! You’ve got nothing to prove."

I let out another nervous laugh, though this time it was more from the warmth his words brought.

"Easy for you to say. You’re Hugh Jackman. You were voted the sexiest man alive in 2008. You could wear a garbage bag and people would still be tripping over themselves to tell you how amazing you are."

He laughed, stepping closer, his hand sliding up to cup my cheek.

"Okay, first of all, I’d rock that garbage bag!" He winked, making me smile. "But second - this isn’t about them. This is about you."

I felt his thumb gently brush my cheek as his voice softened.

"I’ve seen you, y/n. I’ve seen the way you handle people, the way you carry yourself. You’ve got more strength in you than they ever gave you credit for. They were wrong to underestimate you."

I looked into his eyes, my heart starting to slow, the tension easing out of my shoulders.

"But what if they try making me feel like that person again?"

Hugh smiled, a slow, confident curve of his lips as he pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine. "They can try." he murmured. "But tonight, you’ve got something they never had - you know exactly who you are."

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, steadying the whirlwind in my chest. "And if that’s not enough." he added, his voice teasing now.

"I’ll be there, by your side, reminding them of what a mistake they made messing with you."

I laughed, the sound more genuine this time, and leaned into his chest.

"Thank you."

He kissed the top of my head before stepping back to get a better look at me.

"But there’s just one thing missing."

"What?"

He turned, heading toward his suitcase on the bed, and after a moment, he pulled out a small, velvet box. My heart skipped a beat, and I glanced at him, confused. We weren’t doing that. Were we?

Hugh chuckled when he saw my expression. "Relax. It’s not what you think."

He opened the box to reveal a delicate pair of earrings, simple yet elegant, catching the light in a way that made them sparkle like stars.

"These.." he said softly, stepping forward and taking one out. "Are for you.”

I blinked, feeling a lump form in my throat. "Hugh, they’re beautiful!"

He grinned as he gently hooked the earring onto my ear.

"I know you don’t need them to look beautiful, but consider them a little extra sparkle to remind you just how stunning you are - inside and out."

I swallowed the sudden emotion welling up inside me as he fastened the other earring. When he was done, I looked back in the mirror, and something had shifted. The dress that had felt just right now seemed to gleam with confidence. The earrings shimmered against my skin, catching the light, but it was Hugh’s words that had truly made me feel different.

I turned to face him, my heart swelling. "How do you always know exactly what to say?"

Hugh smiled, his hands resting on my shoulders.

"It’s easy when you mean every word." He leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a tender kiss.

His words sent a warmth flooding through me, melting away the last of my doubts. I looked up into his eyes, and for a moment, I could see what he saw - a woman who had grown, who had strength. The kind of person who didn’t need the approval of people who had never truly known her in the first place.

"Now, come on." he said, stepping back with a grin. "Let’s get ready to knock ’em dead!"

As we arrived at the party, I could feel that familiar tightness creeping into my chest again, but Hugh’s hand was warm and steady around mine. The moment we walked in, eyes turned in our direction. I could feel the weight of their stares, but instead of shrinking away, I stood taller.

Conversations paused, glances exchanged. The people who had once dismissed me or whispered behind my back were now watching with something resembling disbelief, but not for the reasons they used to. They were seeing someone different now - someone who had grown, evolved, and walked into that room with self-assurance that couldn’t be ignored.

Hugh stayed close, his presence solid and reassuring. But it wasn’t him they were looking at.

It was me.

Emily rushed over, beaming from ear to ear, pulling me into a tight hug.

"You made it! And you brought Hugh!"

"Of course!" I smiled, hugging her back. "Happy birthday, Em!"

We navigated through the crowd, making small talk with the birthday girl, my real friends, and slowly, I realized, it didn’t matter what those other people thought. I felt good. I felt powerful. Hugh had been right - I didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

I caught sight of one of the girls from the past - the one who had always been the ringleader of the snide comments, the icy looks. She smiled at me now, but it was different. She was clearly taken aback, unsure of how to react.

I smiled back, polite but distant, and kept walking, letting that version of me - the one they used to push around - fade away for good.

We spent the rest of the night laughing, and enjoying the party, but through it all, Hugh never left my side. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflection, I saw it - not just the earrings, the dress, or even him at my side - but the confidence I had found within.

By the time we left, the air between us was lighter, free from the weight of those past insecurities. As we stepped out into the cool night, I turned to Hugh, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"You really did give me the best gift tonight." I said softly, looking up at him.

Hugh smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "What’s that?"

"You made me see myself the way you see me."

He kissed me then, slow and deep, his arms wrapping tighter around me as if to remind me that no matter what, I was enough. I always had been.

"You’re incredible, love." he whispered against my lips. "Never forget that."

And with him by my side, I knew I never would.

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

Tags: @angelofthorr @haytchee

[beauty-and-passion]

also yes i think you should talk about dipcifica i love the old man yaoi as much as the next guy but i also will always crave this kind of "coming of age" love story

Glad to comply! Here are my points about why Dipcifica is canon and endgame and everything:

1) Dipper and Pacifica are a walking "enemies to friends to lovers" trope. It literally started with Dipper saying to her face he doesn't like her, what's more clichè than that? When he said it, all I could hear was "We will definitely become a thing in the future".

And guess what? After a while, Dipper changed his mind: now he doesn't think Pacifica is the worst anymore. The next step is admitting she's great, asking her out and becoming a couple.

2) "Northwest Mansion Mystery" is basically a huge Dipcifica manifesto, thanks to the introduction of more tropes like:

the characters are put into nice suits

Pacifica fixes Dipper's clothes like a good wife

these two share an adventure together - which is universally something that would strengthen the bond between two people

their daring escape ends with a hug, given out of a sincere emotional reaction

the hug is followed by some cute awkwardness (especially from Pacifica's side)

Dipper and Pacifica share a heartfelt moment in which she reveals her insecurities, something we can be 99% sure she doesn't usually do. Also because... with whom can she share them? Her parents? Her supposed friends?

Dipper changes his mind about Pacifica after understanding her a bit more (which is always the interlude for the development of romantic feelings)

Pacifica finds the strength to do the right thing, only after Dipper sacrifices himself

the episode ends with them having fun together, laughing and enjoying their time. Also, it's implied they probably spent some time after the party to clean up the mess they made - so who knows? Maybe they shared some more time together and talked a lot more.

I mean... I've seen love stories start with less than that.

3) Dipper and Pacifica have another adventure together in Lost Legends. The formula is similar to Northwest Mansion Mystery: Pacifica has an issue (caused by her shitty parents), Dipper doesn't understand what her problem is, they share a heartfelt moment in which she reveals her weakness, Dipper tells all the right things, they hug, Pacifica does the right thing.

This is another way to reconfirm what the episode in the series already told us: these two have chemistry. They are meant to be. They are a walking enemies to friends to lovers trope - with a side dish of "slow burn" too. And we all love slow-burn stories <3

But this adventure shows us something else: how things have changed since Northwest Mansion Mystery and especially how Dipper's attitude has evolved towards Pacifica. In the episode, he is still very wary of her and makes it clear multiple times that he dislikes her.

Now he says this:

This is basically the Dipcifica equivalent of "I once considered him the center of my life, the sun in my galaxy", only with less toxic old men yaoi and more wholesomeness

it shows how Dipper's attitude is more mature

it implies he can and will develop romantic feelings for her. I mean, look at it: "I've noticed another side of you", "I see the real one and you're more than a pretty face"... gosh, if Pacifica hadn't fallen in love before, she definitely did after that.

it also shows Dipper's growth regarding women: my boy went from making huge, complex plans to talk to them, to lying to get random girls, to saying the truth in such a smooth way. He's great with girls when he doesn't try, he makes me so proud <3

4) Now I know what you think: great points, Bea, but does this couple have Mabel's approval stamp? Billford got it with Mabel calling Bill a clingy ex and telling him to get a crush on someone else's Grunkle. Does Dipcifica have Mabel's approval?

The answer is yes:

Do I have to say anything else? I think Mabel already said anything. Dipper and Pacifica are. A. Thing.

And yes, I know what you might say: they are kids! Sure they are, but that doesn't mean there can't be anything in the future. There is time for them to grow and for these feelings to develop. What we saw in the series and in Lost Legends are the crumbs, the foundation of something bigger that can evolve in the future.

And this is a great foundation because it's plausible and stable. Dipper and Pacifica's interactions never sound forced or out of character: on the contrary, they are built in a way that conciliates both personalities and justifies their changes and evolution.

If we can easily imagine a future for them, it's because their change is organic, it works in the long run - Pacifica can easily become better and better, while she works out her issue and shows the beautiful person she is. And Dipper can easily become more and more aware of what a great girl she is and start to develop deeper feelings for her. It's not impossible to imagine. It works.

And yes, this proves again how well Hirsch developed Gravity Falls and its characters, if we can easily imagine a future for them just out of a few, well-built interactions.

[konpeitonom]

Hi I’m the OP who requested the recovered Curly hcs and I LOVE THEM SM!!! It’s so cute how clingy he became and how he tried to make amends for his inaction he absolutely would!!! There needs to be more love for disabled characters ✨✨✨✨

I’m going to take you up on your offer for a first time meeting after his recovery if you don’t mind your writing is so lovely!!! Maybe something about them meeting and their first date

Also age gap…40s/middle aged curly and late 20s reader… middle aged men save me ough

first meeting/dating recovered grant curly.

sfw— lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader —

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; hi anon! this has been sitting at the bottom of my inbox. just decided to work my way up. sorry this is late haha i hope you enjoy nonetheless. writing for recovered curly is very, very fun. i’ll admit that.

— i think id take him a couple years, closer to a decade, to start dating again! he doesn’t wanna burden anyone with his emotional state, so he’d wanna make sure he’s okay and happy before doing so.

— i like to think you guys met naturally. no dating apps, he’s too old for that. perhaps you guys frequent the same hospital, like you have an older relative there you see from time to time. whatever it is, he managed to land a date!

— he’d be so nervous! not in an insecure way, but in a, “it’s been a long time since i’ve done something like this.. i can’t mess it up.”

— he’d want to talk to you, get to know you just a little more than average before asking you out. yes, he’d ask you out. he wouldn’t be offended if you asked him out (and he’d actually appreciate it a ton) but he’s the guy! he’s supposed to be courting you.

— he’s traditional, so maybe a coffee shop- or lunch out. or in people-pleasing curlys case; whatever you wanted to do! even a walk in the park would suffice. and of course he’d always grab the check.

— he’s the type to ask very important questions on a first date. he never wants to waste anyone’s time, or waste his as well. like, what’s it you’re looking for? what do you value? just stuff like that. but only if the mood calls for if, if the date is very, very casual- then he’d bring it up later.

— he’d also ask you if you’re okay with how he looks. again, he isn’t insecure, but he understands the culture we live in.. but he’s certain you don’t mind, since you’re literally on a date together..

— would insist on taking you home, to make sure you get home safe. that’s a man’s job after all. he’d wait for you to walk in, and even then just wait a tinsy bit longer to make sure you’re 100% okay.

— he’d text you the morning after to make sure you slept well, ask you how you felt about the date and such. he’d ask for a second if you give a good response. this time something less formal, like maybe at a garden nearby- or at a bookstore.

— i think he’s really, really into books. he’d be so happy if you read anything he recommended. he’s a considerate man, so all your preferences would be taken into account.

— kisses on the cheek, or on the hands.. he’s a very sweet guy. won’t be so touchy if you resist in any way, but if you allow him, he’ll be all over you.. loves holding your hand! wouldn’t be afraid to initiate it first.

— he would send roses/your favorite flowers to your workplace! maybe a bit early on, when you start dating. he’s a very romantic man, and he isn’t afraid to show you that.

— he’s very particular about sending flowers. would understand flower meanings and everything! classic roses is always a good pick, but further on he’d move onto other things. like red carnations for when you’re on a business trip of some sorts.

— first kiss on the lips would be, a bit emotional for him, maybe? it’s been a long while since he’s done any of that, really, so the fact he can experience what love feels like again at such an older age? he feels lucky, very lucky.

— of course a fancy dinner date would come much sooner rather than later. would do many things to see you in a fancy dress, eating nice food. he’d feel so proud to be seen with you, how pretty you are.. and he can’t wait to spoil you for the rest of his days.

[randomyuu]

the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

My guy Vox once again graced us with lovely Goyuu fanfics, and the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, made me go FERAL.

Time travel? Two Gojou Satorus? Double affection for our sunshine Yuuji? Yuuji sandwich? What feels like possible continuation of (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become???

FUCK.

I need to stop indulging my imagination too much. I should’ve been content with writing long-ass comments but noooooo, my brain goes “you gotta draw it”. DAMMIT VOX, YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITINGS HHHHHH

So… usually I should’ve picked a favourite scene that is within my drawing capability, but I just… love all three chapters??? So I made a questionable time investment? I can’t stop??? Help???

This is probably the most ambitious fanart project I’ve ever done so far. Fair enough, considering I might combust if I keep these welled-up emotions inside from reading Vox’s Goyuu fics. Fuck.

Fic info:

Title: the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

Author: @voxofthevoid

Pairing: YuuGoGo. Future!Yuuji, Future!Gojou, Teen!Gojou

(idk why I laugh writing YuuGoGo. I’m beyond help)

Currently, it is 3 chapters out of 8. And it’s gonna be NSFW chapter 4 onwards, so don’t forget to read the tags first, folks!

The drawings are under Read More, because I have lots of thoughts surrounding each chapter and drawings. It’ll be hella long if I didn’t hide it here. It was a mess down there. A combination of hours before, during, and after I read said fic. I’d say good luck finding the art among the sea of jumbled words but… you’ll find them easily. Don’t worry about it haha

SPOILERS FOR ALL 3 CHAPTERS! I highly recommend reading those first before diving into these drawings!

Also for the comics, read from right to left please!

From here on, I will be referring to the Future!Gojou as Gojou and the teenage one as Satoru.

Overall, drawing all these is fun! Really fun! This project pushed me quite hard, forcing me to test my limit (because I rarely draw this much back to back). Since this is a combination of drawings and comics, the coloring style will not be consistent. In a way, I want to try some brushes I never get to use, as well as try out my new graphic tablet. Drawing these got me giggling because I was finally able to let loose during line art. It's much easier to do so, and sometimes I just get to reread the fic and giggle to myself for the nth time.

CHAPTER 1:

Whooo. Whooooooooo—

Ok, ok, the premise is just that good. It intrigued me, fascinated me, and I just… oomph. I cannot refuse a Time Travel Yuuji Sandwich. Sign me up.

Honestly, there are two scenes that are just… a bit too clear in my mind when reading this chapter. That would be the one I drew above, and the other is when Yaga called Gojou to come outside of the class. I love, loooove how Vox wrote Satoru’s POV. And when Yuuji fucking giggles?

I lost it.

Can you imagine, drawing Yuuji grins, with shiny stuff, maybe some sunlight, just purely happy and indulging Gojou?

Help me, for I am drowning in my love and adoration for Yuuji.

Page 2 is an experiment on using harsh black as shading (kind of?). I really enjoyed colouring Yuuji, and drawing those buffalo skulls! I wish I can grasp the concept of contrast a bit better tho :v

CHAPTER 2:

This is probably the only chapter where I picture still images instead of comic panels. A bit like those cool chapter covers in mangas. The one I really, really want to draw is the scene with Satoru on the table. Can’t pass the opportunity to highlight Satoru being a brat, albeit a really cool brat.

Cool idea drawing always proves to be a challenge, because of course my artistic skill just so happens to be below the requirement. Thank you, Sketchfab, for the chair and desk’s perspective otherwise I’m screwed lmao

The second scene that I want to draw the most is this:

Gojou is one step away from climbing Yuuji. Also, I have a bit of a problem picturing a man pouting that makes him look crazy instead, so please have Gojou pouting adorably instead. Because, as Yuuji said (with love), Gojou is (also) a brat.

This is possibly my favorite art in this project, after Yuuji's in Chapter 1 page 2. It's clean because I don't have to draw background, and I was having a fun time drawing Yuuji. And Gojou's squishy cheek as well.

Oh, actually, there is a “manga” scene in this chapter. It’s when Yuuji said, “I love Satoru.”

I just—

AAAAAHHHHH YUUJIIIIIII YOU AND VOX ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. That secure relationship between Yuuji and Gojou? Satoru’s description of how Yuuji’s smile could blot out the sun??? Not me screaming 💀 I also see bits of hints of possible co-dependency, though I could be reading those wrong, but either way I’m good. Secure and possessive relationships are fun to consume hhhhhh

But yeah. There are too many wholesome Yuuji smiles in this fic, and I… I am not confident enough to draw genuine happiness. It’s too much for me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

For this chapter, another reason why I chose these two scenes is just because I want to try and draw cover-worthy pictures of Yuuji and Satoru, and Yuuji and Gojou (cough)

CHAPTER 3:

We start the chapter with Nanamin. Ah, Nanamin. I forgot what his teen self looked like and was surprised to see his design again lmao

I want to draw Yuuji and Nanami scene because… I just want to, I guess. I have never drawn him before (Yaga as well) so that's an interesting challenge. I got two ideas on how I want to draw it. One is a bit painting-esque, and the other one is like another chapter cover. In the end, I chose the cover one because I want to emphasise the difference between teen!Nanami and the Nanami from Yuuji’s original timeline, and how the watch feels like a connection between the same (yet not) person. It’s a bittersweet feeling? In a way?

I’m not really good at explaining my intention ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

I love Yuuji’s answer to Nanami's question.

AND FINALLY.

A Yuuji SandwichTM scene.

And oh B O I do I love it. Have I told you I like every chapter? I probably have. But this one? Satoru’s curiosity, Yuuji’s on-brand self-deprecation, and Gojou come strolling down to show more of Yuuji to his mini-self. I want to draw this whole scene, from Gojou finding them, feeding Yuuji snacks, bitch-slapping Satoru into the backroom, to Yuuji growling. Them trying to hide a boner from Yuuji’s growl got me cackling so hard I LOVE IT 😭

I love it all. Please love Yuuji in my stead, Satoru and Satonyan :3

Oh! Also! 40-finger Yuuji sounds really, really cool! I’ll be happy with whatever Vox will give us in future chapters, but 40-finger Yuuji… possible scene with this timeline’s Sukuna… my god. The action! The drama! The bloodshed! One can only hope.

However, as much as I love that whole scene, it’s still too much for me :”) I’m still not yet confident in delivering the humour and action. Also my already-long drawing plan had my brain groaning in protest so I can’t push my luck :'D

When Gojou said "He looks sweet, but he's a bit of a beast", I kept picturing Yuuji staring innocently, but there was an edge to his look. As if the moment Satoru looks away, he will pounce. But in the end I just stick with innocent-looking Yuuji because I accidentally drew his eyes that way and I want to keep it in lol

Since Satoru points out how soft and cuddly Yuuji is, I also want to draw soft Yuuji :v

And the last one… is the last scene. For some reason, I read that both Gojou and Satoru share Yuuji’s lap and was having a frustrating yet fun time figuring out how it’s… physically possible, without having their butts on the ground because they both are not small at all. As I lined the art, I reread it again and… perhaps I read it wrong? Satoru is beside Yuuji, and not on his lap? So yeah, this one might be the least accurate, but hey, at least you can view it as a crack drawing or something :v

AAAANNNDDD I HAVE EXCEEDED TODAY’S BRAIN CAPACITY OF FORMING WORDS

Have I told you I love this fic?

…I probably have.

Have an amazing week (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[presleyhearted]

Plot Twist! | a One Shot

pairing: 70s!elvis x female reader

genre: humor, angst, fluff.

summary: After ranting to your best friend about the most cruel break up of your life, you fall asleep. You awaken in the presence of 1970s Elvis Presley himself. You vent out to him about your messed up love life, because well, this must be a dream anyways. He can't actually be real, right? Right?!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: Hello darlings! It's been a while. This year has been one of the hardest years of my life, and so it was hard to come back to writing. But this concept has been in my head for a while. I thought it might be an interesting, sorta lighthearted fun concept. I hope you enjoy it! please comment. all feedback is appreciated. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors, I wrote this out quite fast <3

warnings: cussing, a cruel breakup, tears.

“I’m like the main fucking character to a romcom, except there is no good guy!” You laughed humorlessly, taking a spoonful from the tub of strawberry ice cream in your hand. 

Your best friend looks at you with sympathy. You should apologize for bursting through her apartment a mere twenty minutes ago. But your best friend being who she is, knowing you since you guys were practically in diapers, knows that there has to be something major going on. There has to be a reason. And she was right, it only took her simply asking you ‘What happened?’ that made you burst into a puddle of tears and your knees give out on her carpeted living room floor. 

Your boyfriend of two years broke up with you - over text. And not only that, he also took back the necklace that he got you as an anniversary gift. It should’ve been a blissful Saturday morning. But waking up in your bed and finding the spot empty next to you, to then receiving a text from him. Starting the cliche line of ‘it’s me, not you.’ and ending it with ‘It was a bet. I’m sorry.’ To then a follow-up text of how he took off the necklace around your neck, with no sense of remorse whatsoever. 

The realization of it all didn’t hit you all at once. First, it was a wave of shock. Eventually, that shock was like the key to unlocking a myriad of emotions that felt like life had slapped you right in the face. It is crazy how much a heartbroken heart can render you physically drained. You didn’t even know how you managed to drive to your best friend’s house. You were moving, but you didn’t feel anything of what was happening was real. 

And so here you are, tears practically painting your face as your best friend consoles you for what you think must be the hundredth time.  

“That asshole! I’m gonna throw hands, I swear Y/N.” Your best friend said, face in a fit of anger once you spilled the entire story to her. 

“I am such an idiot!” You sobbed, grabbing a tissue from the box beside you. You could barely taste the flavor of the ice cream anymore. It feels as though all the energy has been drained out of you. 

You were in no condition to drive home, so your best friend set up the guest bedroom which you were so grateful for. Even speaking seemed like such a task. You set your phone down on the nightstand, as you lied down on the bed with the covers over your body. Unfortunately, you feel that your mind won’t stay quiet. Sighing in frustration, you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and shuffled your ‘calming music’ playlist. 

It appears to be proven effective, as the voice of Elvis Presley lulls you into the land of dreams. 

“E, I don’t-”

“I got this, Jerry. Go.”

Voices lead you to stir awake and when you do, you are wide awake. 

Because who wouldn’t when the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself is staring at you? 

You let out a giggle, “Okay, hi, Elvis.” 

This dream is a product of your exhausted and heartbroken brain. Really, you had nothing to complain about. It is a blissful dream to escape from the nightmare of your reality. 

Elvis is amused. Well, he was also confused. But amusement seemed to triumph over his emotions. He just finished his second show of the night, and usually, he would invite some people back to his suite to hang around for a while. But tonight, he didn’t have the energy to do so. Walking back to his suite with Red and Jerry beside him, they didn’t expect to find a woman right in front of his hotel room door. Eyes closed. Your chest was rising and falling. Alive. So they concluded that you were in a deep sleep. Now, Elvis has come across all sorts of encounters with fans, he is not immune to being surprised every now and again. But this was definitely not a familiar situation for him. He saw your face - your cheeks appeared to be stained with tears. Elvis’ heart ached at the sight. You were beautiful and just. . . sad. There was no other way to word it. 

Elvis was not the most reasonable person in the world. But he doesn’t why, or how, but he has this gut instinct that you were perfectly harmless. That you needed saving. He can’t just shake you awake and tell you to run off. He’s not that kind of guy. 

Red and Jerry approached and were about to ask him if they should be calling security. But Elvis shook his head and told them to stay quiet about this and to not tell anyone a word. Red and Jerry shared a look and warned Elvis that he did not know you. That you might be ‘a crazy fan.’ They were just doing their job after all. But Elvis was determined and carried you into his suite. Red walks off and Jerry, being brave enough, tries to reason with him again - but Elvis does not sway his choice. With a sigh, Jerry walked off and closed the door. 

Elvis placed you gently on his bed and whilst in the midst of taking off your shoes, he felt your body move. You were waking up. He just hoped that he would have a chance to defend himself, hoped that he doesn’t scare you. Fan or not, he knows that any logical person would be terrified waking up on the bed of a man that they don’t personally know. But he wouldn’t hurt you. Once he makes sure that you are okay, and in good condition, he has no objection to you going on your way. 

Which leads you to this moment. With him staring down at you, his eyes meeting yours for the very first time. His head tilts to the side once he hears you giggle and hear your voice, his lips pulling into an amused smile. Oh, so you are a fan. 

But then he doesn’t fail to notice the puffiness of your eyes, the cruel gift of a woman who has cried her heart out. Elvis’ eyebrows furrow in concern and he tuck a loose strand of hair behind your head, softly asking, “What’s your name, honey?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, do you remember what happened?”

“Unfortunately. I mean, my heart still feels it. Or whatever is left of it, I guess. I must be terribly heartbroken to have you show up in my dreams like this. It’s like someone took a knife and pierced it right through my heart and twisted it. It was probably my own fault, really. I was the one who fell first. Scratch that, I was the only one who fell. Since, you know, the whole thing was a bet.” You tried to laugh as if it was the funniest joke in the room. But it ended up sounding more like something between a pained cry and a forceful attempt to be comedic about a devastating situation. 

Elvis was confused. It was obvious that you were incredibly unhappy about something, but your sentences were going by like a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t keep up. 

You sat up and looked at your surroundings, “Is this your room? Like your hotel room?” You asked all of a sudden. 

Elvis was a little thrown aback by your question, as he was still in the process of trying to make sense of what you were saying. He nodded, “Yeah, how-“

You flung the covers off your body and walked slowly, taking in your surroundings. He went from kneeling beside the bed to standing up and observing you. He was prepared to catch you,  having a feeling that your knees might give out all of a sudden. You were in a fragile state and he couldn’t help but feel an immense protectiveness over you. 

“Hmm. So this is what my brain with broken heart conjure up as Elvis Presley’s hotel room.” You find yourself rushing over to the floor-to-ceiling wide window, “Gosh, even Las Vegas looks so detailed. I must be some kinda designer when my life is falling apart. Huh.” 

“You an architect, honey?” Elvis scratched the back of his neck,  still insanely confused as the minutes go by. 

You giggled, “No. But my mind seems to be.” You winked at him. 

He chuckled at your quick switch in the mood. 

You then wander away from the window and practically run over to him, his eyes widen, thinking that you are going to jump onto him. You merely giggled at his reaction. Once you stood right in front of him, inches away from his face, you tilted your head and said, “You are so tall. Sit.” Before he could have a chance to utter any response, you placed your hands on his shoulders pushing him to sit down on the bed. 

“Okay, honey, calm down.” He chuckled at your forwardness, putting his hands up in defense. 

“Oh my gosh, you even sound exactly like him!” You exclaimed happily, clapping your hands. 

“Like who?” 

“Like Elvis, you silly goose!” You rolled your eyes playfully, “My mind is not much sometimes. But sometimes, it does its thing. And this is one of those.” 

Elvis let out a loud laugh, unable to resist it. His head was thrown back, a kinda laugh that echoed off the walls. 

“Darlin’, you just made my night.” 

“Hmm, what shall I call you then? Whilst this therapeutic dream lasts. Oh! Maybe. . . dream Elvis? Mind Elvis? I mean, I know time is not really a thing in dreams. So, I don’t really know how long it lasts. But, I mean, I guess my subconscious mind knows me too much - the only way to heal from being heartbroken is by designing Elvis, who is literally the love of my life - in such good detail. I ain’t complaining, but I am just in awe. Oh, I do love my mind sometimes.” You sighed dreamily, cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

Then it clicked. It clicked in Elvis’ mind. You thought that you were dreaming. That this is a dream. You were heartbroken over someone, and thus, thought that you were dreaming this all up. It explained a whole lot. Your switch in emotions, your mood switches. All a product of broken heart. Heck, he couldn’t even find any reasonable excuse for why someone would break your heart. It was incomprehensible to him. You are beautiful and had such a unique character, something captivating. Who would dare shatter such a precious being? Elvis thought. 

“Gosh, you are insanely good-looking.” You said, hands still cupping his cheeks. Elvis didn’t make the move to remove your hands from him. Instead, he rather found your touch comforting in a way. There was that gentleness in it. 

“I mean, the resemblance is uncanny.” You removed your hands from his face, an action that let him sigh in dismay. 

Elvis couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how cute you were being. He had to correct you. He was prepared for the realization that would ensue - the chaos of it all. 

“This is no dream, honey.” Elvis shook his head, smiling kindly at you. Trying to gauge your reaction to the words he just let out. 

You simply giggled. “Yeah, right.”

You didn’t believe him. Heck, you really thought you were in the land of dreams. 

“You don’t believe me, sweetheart?” He bit his bottom lip, curiously looking at you. 

“I know you are trying to trick me, mind of mine. But I am not that heartbroken. Not too heartbroken to believe that you brought Elvis back. So, no, you can’t be real. Elvis is gone. You are a product of my imagination. “ You sighed, with a sad smile on your lips as tears started to pool in your eyes again. 

Elvis freezes at your words. Sure, he has met so many fans over the years since his fame catapulted in the world. Met some pretty interesting characters and heard all sorts of crazy stories. But this? With that expression on your face and that sheer pain in your voice, once you said those words - believing that he was gone off the face of the earth? No, Elvis has not encountered this. Not ever. 

“Nothin’ like that, darlin.’ I’m right ‘ere with ya, ain’t I?” His thumb strokes away a tear that rolled down your cheeks, as his hands find yours. His thumb gently caresses the back of your hand. 

You nodded, “Can I- , can I hug you?” A blush crept into your cheeks, a shy side to you showing itself. 

“Of course, c’mere.” He opens his arms wide, which you gladly accept and practically sink into his arms. It was comforting and strong.

Your heard was buried in the crook of his neck, and you noticed sweat glistening on his neck and hair. 

You hummed, “So soft. Almost like the real one.” 

You still believed he was your imagination. Elvis sighed. He knows that the hug was supposed to be a comfort for you since you requested it. But he felt he needed it as much you did, if not more. He felt your hands comb through his hair, still sticking to his skin from the performance he just finished. 

“Even the sweat. You must’ve just finished a show, hm?” You asked, finding yourself playing along with this dreamland. This dream scenario that your brain put together, a temporary break from your reality. Might as well play into it. 

Elvis found himself growing hot in embarrassment, “I-uh, yeah, s-sorry, honey. I didn’t get a chance to change when I found ya.” 

You put your head up to look him in the eye, “I don’t care. It’s sexy.” 

Elvis raised his eyebrow in disbelief at your comment and looked away with a blush creeping up his cheeks. You were proving to be the most fascinating person he has ever met as minute by minute goes by. 

“Oh, uh, actually honey - lemme change.” 

You nodded, untangling yourself from him and getting up from his lap. Yep, you didn’t realize you were on his lap when you pulled yourself in for a hug. 

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” He said, before disappearing into the bathroom of the suite. You found yourself wandering around the room again, inspecting the entire setup. The telephone is hooked onto the wall. The TV screen. Some books piled in the corner. To name a few things. 

Elvis quickly returns and is now changed into a simple pair of blue silk pajamas. It suits him, you think. Seeing him look so relaxed and comfortable. And just like that, Elvis lies back down on the bed and proceeds to ask what you were heartbroken about. You giggled at the scenario. Other people have diaries they rant to or speak to themselves while they drive. But you? You have Elvis Presley - well, your imagination’s Elvis - lying down gazing at you like you are the most important person in the world. And the thing is, he really did listen. Responding every now and again and nodding his head or shaking his head. Even the switch in his facial expressions - from disbelief to pure anger as the story of your relationship with Carl unraveled. He listened to, you so intently, as if you held the secrets of the universe. You were pacing back and forth as you told the story. He saw you walk through the thousand emotions - pain, regret. Frustration, and last but not least - anger. All throughout this, yes Elvis listened to you and offered his comments, but he couldn’t help but find himself completely enamored by you. Your hair was down and it flip back and forth as you paced, your eyes so striking and expressive. Impossible not to be entranced. You were beautiful and even from your state of emotional hurt, the way you articulated your words - sure, it was frantic, but it was intelligence-coated. He loved hearing you talk. 

Eventually, Elvis asked if you were hungry. In the blink of an eye, there was knock on the door and two soda cans and two hamburgers were delivered. You sat across from him on the bed, letting out a moan as you took a bite out of the burger. A sound that Elvis found himself wanting to replay. 

“Heartbreak is so fuckin’ exhausting, thanks for the food.” You said after you both finished eating and were sat next to one another with your backs against the headboard. 

“Say, never heard a woman cuss as much as ya!” 

You grinned at his reaction and shrugged, unbothered. 

“Hey! This is my dream, so just go with it, Presley.” You pouted at him. 

Elvis cannot help but find the action adorable, and shake his head at your belief that this is still all a dream. 

“I’m gonna need you to repeat somethin’, honey,” Elvis said eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hmm?” 

“Are you in college?” He asked. 

“No, why do you ask?”

He seemed even more confused at your response, “ Just ‘cus you said this guy called it quits over textbook? I can’t make no sense of it, sweetheart.”

You cannot help but burst out into laughter at his question. My god, your imagination of Elvis, is proving to be insanely detailed. Like even with questions like this, as if you were actually in the 1970s. The years when texting was not a thing. Of course, he would be confused. But unbeknownst to you, this was not a dream and you were in fact actually in the 1970s and it was in fact THE actual Elvis Presley asking you this very question. 

“Well, in 2024, you know - the future - there is a thing called a text message. Hold on! My phone must be here somewhere, I can better explain it to you that way.” You shot up from your sitting position, and look around the room. With luck, you find your phone on the carpeted floor underneath the bed. 

“Aha! Found it.”

You hold it up and return to your position beside Elvis, with your back against the headboard. 

“The hell is that small brick doin’ under my bed?” His blue eyes were wide, looking at you like you’ve gone mad. 

You chuckled, “Elvis, no. it’s my phone.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you and pointed at the telephone hooked onto his wall just next to the TV, “Nah, honey, that over there is a phone.” 

You shook his head, “Look, I’ll show you. “ You tap it and the lock screen lights up, with the photo of Elvis from the ‘68 Comeback Special as your lock screen. You type in your passcode and unlock your phone. You spend the next ten minutes going through the various apps on your phone, and then lastly, your text messages - actually in disbelief yourself on how your dream is so clear. Then you showed him your contact list and the fact that you can call without the phone being connected to a cord. 

Elvis was in pure amazement and disbelief. Like a child opening their Christmas gift. You really are different because heck, you are from the future! There is no way.

He had your phone in his hand as he read through the break-up text sent by your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend. 

“That damn son of a bitch,” Elvis muttered under his breath, which you caught on very clearly.

Elvis kept his control, he was so close to throwing your phone at the wall after reading that cruel text message from your ex. He couldn’t believe that someone could say such cruel words, how could he say this to you? So sweet, kind, and beautiful? It made no sense to him, and if he was right in front of Elvis now, he wouldn’t have any chance, for Elvis really would’ve punched him square in the face. No excuses. 

You shrugged, seemingly numb to it all now, you ran through all the emotions so many times now. Now, nothing is left. Exhaustion yes and a sense of relief. 

You take the phone away from him and shuffle your playlist on Apple Music before playing the phone on the nightstand. Elvis is not surprised when it’s his voice that floats through your phone, for you showed him Apple Music and explained it to him. 

“He’s all in the past now, “ You sighed, “It’s my fault. I was such an idiot.” You were lying down on the bed now. Eyes closed as your hand was covering your eyes. 

“Honey, no, none of that. “ He wraps his hand around your arm, to stop you from hiding. 

“He did you wrong. Not you. “  Elvis said softly, you opened your eyes to look at him. You found him now lying down as well, his body facing yours. You turned to face him. 

Before you could register your actions, you lifted your hands up and felt your fingers traced over his facial features. First his eyebrows, nose, cheeks, and lips. Elvis found himself sighing and closing his eyes to your touch. 

“You were too precious for the world, Elvis. I hate how it all happened to you the way it did, you deserved better. So much better.” You said, voice quieter now, and there was that look in your eyes again - sadness for him. 

You spoke in the past tense, that was something that Elvis caught on very quickly. 

He chuckled, trying to break out of being serious, “I’m still here, honey.” 

You nodded, “Sure.”

Your response unsettled him. He shook his head and decided to change the topic of conversation, “How’d you become a fan of mine? 2024 sounds far from here. . .  people remember me? ” He asked.

You smiled and Elvis felt like giving you anything and everything right there. Anything you want. A simple smile and he was a goner. 

“Of course, you are remembered. People still love you and celebrate you. How did I become your fan? Well, I listened to your music since I was a kid and it was a comfort for me. Still is. I found you so true, sincere, and unlike anyone else. You are quite easy to love, Elvis.” You said, voice so soft. Elvis felt a blush creep up his cheeks at your statement.

“Y-You beli- believe that, darlin’?” He stuttered, a glimpse of that shy boy inside of him pouring out. 

“I do.” 

You chuckled all of a sudden, “I actually believed that I would somehow marry you. Well, before I found out that no such thing was possible. You were gone way before my time. When I started learning more about you. Through the books and some documentaries, I think that was when I felt my heart shatter for the first time. You were my first heart break, Elvis.” You sighed deeply. A sad smile across your lips, and those tears pooling in your eyes again but you managed to blink back the tears.

Elvis felt his heart ache at the sight before him, he took your hands in his and gently caressed it. 

“Why?”

You shook your head, “You didn’t deserve any of it. You had all these people around you, but I felt none of them really tried to pull you out of it all. Your heart is so pure and you just wanted to make people happy. But what about you? Who is looking out for you, asking you, and making sure that you are okay? And the Colonel being who he is. That sad excuse for a human being. It infuriated me. He used you. Treated you like an object. I thought, if I was alive in your time, of course, I would love to see you perform as much as the next fan does. But first and foremost, you are a human being before you are an entertainer. It’s okay to step out of it for a while and prioritize yourself first. You belong to no one but yourself. Only yourself. You had so much passion, so much potential, so much life left to live. You should’ve done what you wanted. Not what anyone else said. Should’ve made the movies you wanted. Toured the world like you did, but of course, the Colonel didn’t want you traveling abroad, because he wouldn’t step foot back into the US. I, just, I was so angry and sad once I found out about the entire thing. You are Elvis Presley, but, sometimes you can take the mask off, you know? Just be the you before the world defined who you should be.” You finished speaking, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden for speaking so much.

Your gaze met his and tears were running down his cheeks. He was biting his bottom lip, as he shook his head. The more words came out of your mouth, the more he couldn’t help but squeeze your hand tighter. There was passion and honesty in your voice, there was no denying it. He has encountered fans, but he never encountered someone who practically urged him to step away from his image if he wanted to. Who wanted him to do what he wanted, regardless of what anyone thought. Who wanted him to feel okay. Who cares about his well-being. 

Who saw behind it all?  Behind the image. You, who validated his emotions, and saw that being grateful and being tired can co-exist. 

You saw the humanity in him. 

The long silence made you believe that you said far too much, and so you began to profusely apologise, “I’m sorry. I sa-”

“Darlin’, please, can I kiss you?” He interrupts, and your eyes widen. 

You nodded, words unable to be formed. His lips are so soft once they meet yours, and the kiss was not rushed or blazing with hunger. It was sweet and gentle and the tears that were rolling down his cheeks were melding into the kiss. He has never come across anyone like you before. He broke up apart from the kiss and before you could say anything, he buried his face in your neck - his body practically on top of you. You wrapped one arm around his and the other was gently brushing through his hair. 

“No one. . . no one ever asked me. “ He said, his voice choked up in a sob, “Only cared about Elvis the entertainer. Not me. Never had someone care ‘bout me this much. I-” He broke into sobs, body shaking, “It gets lonesome.”

His arms wrapped themselves around your body, holding you tighter and tighter. The position and the warmth of his body and his emotional state - you sighed deeply and did not make any move to break away. This dream appears to be proving to be healing to you and this imaginary Elvis. So much so, that it almost doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. 

You remove your hand from his hair and Elvis’ head turns to you, feeling the sudden lost of contact. 

“Honey, whatchu doing?” 

You pinch yourself. First your arm and then your waist. It’s the number one go-to so you can tell if you are dreaming or not. 

“I’m still here,” You whispered in disbelief, your eyes searched for a clock in the room. That’s the next thing that people do. In dreams, the time on the clock does not exist. You will not be able to read the time, at least that’s what the internet says. You find a clock hanging right above the TV. It reads the time : 4:05AM. You read it perfectly. 

Your heart speeds up crazily. Suddenly, it all adds up but you cannot bring yourself to believe how it can all be real. There is no way. 

“But that’s impossible,” You mutter to yourself in shock. 

Elvis hears you, “Somethin’ wrong, Y/N?”

“No, no. I-I was just. . . . this is real, isn’t it?” You sighed, “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Elvis, even with eyes puffy from crying, found himself chuckling. He smirked, “Give me ya hand.”

He takes your hand in his, unbuttons the first button of his pajama top, and places your hand right on top of his chest. Where his heart is. You can feel his heartbeat through the palm of your hand and feel yourself breathing even more deeply now. 

“Feel that?” 

You nodded, “Oh, shit. Holy shit! I rambled so much on how much I love you and you are actually YOU! Oh, the universe must hate me. I made an absolute fool of myself in front of my crush. This is so so embarrassing. I-I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. Forgot me. I-I’ll go now, I’ll find a way to get home. This was NOT the plot twist that I saw happening at all.” You gently removed him from you to sit up, your heart hammering so fast. 

Elvis did not like the lost of contact at all. Did not like you distancing yourself all of a sudden. You were adorably embarrassed, but the mention of you leaving was the red alert in his brain. No, he can’t allow you to leave him. No. He quickly grabbed hold of your hands, “Honey, breathe. Please, breathe. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He said softly, but voice firm. 

“I- Mr Presley, you must understand. I don’t know how and why this happened. But please, you can go back to your life, before I came crashing it-”

“Thank God you crashed it, sweetheart.” His words made you freeze. 

“I wasn’t meant to. I’m literally messing up the past, this is dangerous. I have to go.” 

“Okay, I’ll go with ya.” Elvis said as if it was the most natural and simple thing in the world to do. 

You shook your head, “You can’t, you belong in your time. Here.” You sighed. 

“Then stay. Please, honey. “ He pleads. 

“If i stay, I’ll be making more of a mess-”

“On who’s rules?”

“I-”

“You ain’t messing anythin’, sweetheart. You. . .  you are doing me the opposite.” He said softly, bring your hand to his lips and planting a kiss. 

“Mr Presley-”

“None of that, Y/N. You been callin’ me Elvis this whole time. “ He raised an eyebrow at you. 

You groaned in frustration, “Before I found out that you were real! I openly said I wanted to marry you. This wins as the most embarrassing and most reckless moment of my entire life. I swear.” 

Elvis smirked, “You are so cute, honey.” 

“Elvis-”

“Stay with me. I need you, please.” 

You look at him and his beautiful blue eyes staring at you in hope and apprehension at your response, “Stop doing that!”

His lopsided grin appears, “Doin’ what?”

“That look! Your eyes!”

Elvis sighed dramatically, “I’m not doin’ nothin’, honey.”

Practically puppy dog eyes. 

You sighed. He isn’t taking no for an answer. You basically already broke like several rules of time travel. There is no going back now. 

You think for a moment. There are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea. You don’t need to be a scientist to know that going back in time and changing the course of events will change the future. It’s just logical. And Elvis? He was one, if not the most, central figure in American history. But, the fan in you, the one who would sometimes to be wishfully thinking that you could go back in time and save him. This is it. You didn’t think that the universe would actually play this move on you. So, with that in mind, you breathed and let out your response. 

“Okay, I’ll stay with you.”

Elvis breaks out into a smile of relief. 

This is THE plot twist of your life.  

[ariicandy]

Me llama su ángel, pero juega con mis demonios

Translation: He call me His angel, but he keep plays with my demons

About — Aventurine being the teasing man himself, you can’t help but think if he’s playing with your love for him or does indeed love you too

Song — Pensamientos Intrusivos by Kali Uchis

Note — guys the urge to write 4 him is so strong yk I must!! I honestly wrote this off of the line as it mainly inspired me to write!! Divider credits to @/cafekitsune P.S ooc!aventurie I haven’t gone too in-depth of his character so warning!!

It’s always been the same, he’s always messing you with small tricks he pulls to catch you off guard. Pulling off a small dime from your ear, placing a hand around your shoulder or waist. They never fail to surprise you everytime even if aventurine does this everyday, they always give you a sudden flush of blush to your face whenever he walks up behind you and places an arm around your waist. Aventurine knows he can always catch you off guard from a surprise trick he does to you. He uses it against you to have some fun, seeing the shocked face you make always makes him want to smirk more. He can’t help but love that face you make everyday but never says anything as you might just see his movements as his personality than him gesturing his liking of you. Ohh how you love and hate him at the not really, same time.

Every time he would get a reaction out of you being shocked from his surprise moves, his cocky smirk shows more, laughing from making you this sate you hated him further that. But you also like every time he encounters you anywhere in penacony, he would always talk to you no matter if he an important meeting very soon, he will pretend that meeting wasn’t a thing when he starts chatting with you. The way he always likes to start by knowing how your day was not even caring if you didn’t do anything “exciting, fun” thing today. He likes hearing your voice, it brings him such smoothness to him like a deck of cards, it may be perhaps the reason he likes to bring you to casinos as your voice is like gift of luck. It is like a package in one! His adorablecrushing on friend and a lovely voice of luck hanging out with him!! He always says to you, “You know, [Name], we make an amazing pair. With your luck and my skills in the casino we will be unstoppable.” With a smirk of a smile and places a kiss on your knuckles.

Meanwhile you, on the other hand, cannot identify if what is he saying is true and doing is true or just him trying to remain his poker face by doing something to get into it. It’s conflicting with your mind and heart trying to think and also believe what he is saying is very much true. A small blush only appears visible on your cheeks that aventurine can see, his mischievous smile appears that makes you realize your face betrayed you showing your emotion. You only then clear your throat and focus your attention on the match/round aventurine is busying in. Soon after leaving and returning to your home, aventurine decided to break the small moment of silence after you stepped foot in your home. “[Name], I hope you do know, I do enjoy having your company with me everywhere, have you thought about what I have told you of us being an unstoppable, amazing pair together?” You turned around to face him with seeing a genuine smile on his face that he is allowing you to see. Hesitated you decided to speak, “Aventurine are you messing with me again? I thought you had your fun at the casino?” You didn’t think he actually mean that, he would have told you genuinely- “I’m not messing with you [Name]. I do enjoy having you with me, you are an embodiment of what needs in luck, a person to have around.” Starting to move closer to you, becoming mere inches away from each other’s faces, he continued. “You always have this thing of soothing me whenever you talk, it hypnotizes me to listen to you more and forget whatever I needed to do.” He then leans in to place a kiss on your lips, one hand under your chin so he can kiss you, and the other behind his back with a small card ready to be handed to you. Aventurine breaks the kiss and looks at you seeing how you feel, he then shows his other hand that was behind his back to your hand and winks at you leaving you completely speechless from that. Ohh, he is so paying you back for suddenly confessing to you and just playing like it was nothing when you catch up to him running at him.