#nights into dream x reader

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

TOMORROW IS NiGHTS into Dreams ANNIVERSARY✨️ GET READY!!!!

I'll be posting Nid x reader content most of July 5th!☆☆☆ Ask will be open! I'll accept as many I can write. Only Nights content on that day tho.

[seiwas]

thinking about katsuki finding out about that little crush you had on shouto since seeing close-ups of him during the televised sports festival—you were in high school then, too.

he shouldn’t care about it because it doesn’t matter, it was so long ago and shouto’s always been marketed as the pro-hero pretty boy—consistently top 3 most handsome, the front cover of magazines, all that.

this is to be expected, it’s what everyone’s been tempted to react like.

but since finding out, he’s been stewing in… in whatever this bubbling, throbbing feeling in his head means. he’s snappier than normal, face scrunched up more than usual.

and every time he sees shouto he wants to strangle the hell out of him.

[ghouljams]

Ok, not my kink, don't write this sort of thing ever, but!

I had a dream and the only way to get it out of my head is to write it down so this idea is free to whatever nasty pervert(loving) wants it because I know some of y'all are into this.

(massive tw for faux-cest)

Going to a bar and having some guy hit on you, he's not taking a hint and it's getting a little scary. You lock eyes with the oldest guy in the bar and in a panic you tell the guy that your dad is here, before rushing over to him. Which is a mistake because the closer you get the more you think, God this guy can't be 50, but there's just enough salt in his dark beard that you think maybe, maybe, he'll be sympathetic enough to understand you just needed an out.

You stop in front of him in a rush, all the air leaving your body as he eyes you, up and down, with all the appreciation that shouldn't come from a man playing your father. And it all comes out in a rush:

"I'm so sorry, this is so weird, that guy over there won't leave me alone and I said you were my dad, because I panicked and I just-" You squeeze your eyes shut to get your mouth to stop running, and he's just staring at you when you open them again, "-can you please pretend to be my dad?"

AND GOD if that doesn't turn Price on. Some sick twisted switch in the back of his head turning over as he smiles and tells you "of course" before looping his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side. His nose nudging your hair to scent your shampoo and his big hand spreading its fingers wide over your stomach, dipping under the waistband of your skirt. He turns you so you're hugging him when the guy comes over to shoot his shot again, wedges his thick thigh between yours and forces your hips forward.

He doesn't want any boys "sniffing around his little girl" you learn when he shoos the guy off.

He doesn't let you go even after driving your annoyance away. He all but drags you towards a dark table in the back, insistent that you let him "keep you safe" the rest of the night. You feel like you've jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. Going from some college dick to a man who's calling you "sweetheart" and "darling" and introducing you as his "daughter" to his leering friends even as his hand is creeping under your skirt.

[mooncleaver]

Tender Mornings

you know it's a good day when the first sight you're greeted with is azriel sprawled out so beautifully on your bed.

ღ pairing: azriel x fem!reader 

ღ warnings: very loosely cannonical pls don't ask i live in my dreams, fluff after fluff in your face, they’re MATED AND MARRIED!! 🥰 touchy azriel

"Good morning, handsome."

Your voice murmurs into Azriel's ears early in the morning, waking him out of his peaceful slumber. It's a quiet day, and definitely not the kind of quiet you'd be alerted by, hackles raised and ears perked for signs of danger. No, this was peace. The birds are chirping and the distant sounds of city bustle has just begun its routine, and you can't help but stare at your mate, the absence of fine lines on his forehead creating one of the most endearing pictures in your mind.

Honestly, you don't know how you've managed to slip out of his iron grip a few hours ago. Even his shadows had been relatively calm. But you pieced it to him finally getting his well-deserved sleep after a grueling week of running around as spymaster for Night Court. He'd almost collapsed right on top of you on the couch the moment he got home at the dead of night, practically purring under you into a dreamless sleep while you ran your hands through his hair. You love it when he's just Azriel with you. Not the deadly shadowsinger with eyes that could kill, but the one snoring himself away in your shared bed, wings splayed out without a care in this world.

As he opens his eyes blearily, he can make out your soft fingers on his face, warm and comforting as your thumb strokes his cheek, squatting down on the floor beside his edge of the bed. It's an awfully good morning whenever you're there to wake him up, which isn't often considering how light of a sleeper Azriel is. It's one of the rare times that he had a fully undisturbed 8 hours of sleep, with no nightmares plaguing his visions. 

He smiles, seeing your face first thing. Gods, he would die over and over again if this was the sight he woke up to each time.

Noticing his expression, your grin widens as you lift your other hand from laying on the sheets, cradling his face and brushing your nose against his, closing your eyes as you breathe in your mate, all the while feeling the bond pulsate like a well-known bliss inside your chest. The golden band on your left ring finger glints wonderfully in the morning sun, the rays illuminating it as if it were a halo wrapped around your skin. The ring is a dainty but simple thing, its surface raised with signature Night Court swirls and stars, the pattern a twin to the bargain marks painting your sternum—the one that you made with Azriel the day of your ceremony with promises to love and protect, even beyond death.

It was an unusual thing to have around in Pythian, considering it was a human tradition. 

You and Azriel picked up the custom after learning it from a mission the two of you went to a long time ago in the human lands. Of course, it wasn't like either of you needed conventional items to show your relationship, knowing the Mother had already blessed you with one of magic, something so deeply sacred that transcended both words and worlds. Still, you thought that the piece of gold represented a beautiful message. It told the story of your battles and triumphs, the countless suffering and victories that got you to where you were, being able to hold the hand of your fated mate, rings clinking and echoing the bells that rung in your mating ceremony. No distance could ever separate you. And most of all, it reminded you every waking day of the way Azriel accepted you as his, as someone who loved him through thick and thin, someone who he would kill and die for.

You were always a victim of sentiment, and neither you nor Azriel could deny the pride the two of you felt seeing each other's rings—the way it felt like a claim over each other, physical proof of your love beyond words.

When Feyre met the Inner Circle for the first time, she became an addition to the people who appreciated the symbol. You were confused at first, wondering why the Cursebreaker was staring at you so deeply. Then you saw the way her eyes never wavered from your hand, the one that was brushing against Azriel's scarred ones as he softly reciprocated up and down against your fingers. It had honestly been centuries since the two of you mated that you sometimes forget you were wearing a ring, the weight of it so familiar that it became a part of your body. 

She'd told you one day how in awe and warm she felt seeing the two of you wearing your rings. It indeed was a rare sight, and in her heart she understood what it meant. Even if she hadn't been familiar with mating bonds, Feyre knew what wedding yourself to someone entailed, and for the one of the first times in a while she had smiled so brightly, sharing a nod that only the three of you seemed to understand.

Funnily enough, Rhys told you that even before she noticed the rings and the affection, Feyre had read Azriel up and down as being utterly in love with you. The Azriel whisperer. Guess it wasn't hard to notice the pure adoration pouring out of his eyes at the mere thought of you.

"I thought I'd let you sleep in for a bit before I go, I know it's been a rough week for you baby."

"I love you." That was the first thing he uttered, overwhelmed with the feeling. He could hear, feel and see your thoughts—ones of your ceremony. You never did block him off from your side of the bond, and it had really only been silent if he was out on a critical mission. Azriel loved it. Every side of you. Whenever you got frustrated, sad or jumping with joy, he celebrated in the knowledge that you were his and his only. That you were healthy and alive through all your emotions. 

Now he basked into the memory of your mating ceremony centuries ago, his own heart following yours as it took him through every single thought and emotion that was felt proudly through your perspective. Cauldron, he felt so loved. Awakened and reborn every time he remembered that day.

I love you too, you uttered through the bond, giggling as he brought you up off the floor, setting you on top of him like you were a piece of paper. His hand on your waist comforted you like no other, the warmth so familiar. The shadows slithered all around you in an almost child-like nature, prodding at your cheeks and shoulders. They were always so delightful around you, pretty much accepting you as their own mistress ever since you and Az mated. You stayed there for a while, laying one side of your head on his chest while you closed your eyes and followed his heartbeat, enjoying the melody it followed. 

The burst of shared happiness in you grew until a smile lit up on your face and you looked up from your position to him, climbing up his body and cradling his head in your arms, squeezing gently as you squealed when he began tickling the sides of your waist. You felt Azriel nosing the skin of your neck, breathing in your scent that had been so beautifully intertwined with his over the years. 

You loved moments like this, when the two of you didn't have to speak out loud, all the feelings simply existing.

After a calming while, you begrudgingly had to get up from your comfort, remembering why you were up early in the first place. Though, you had only made one inch of movement before you felt Az's arms locking themselves behind your back, face attaching back to his rightly earned place on the supple skin of your chest. And in times like these, you truly thanked the mother for blessing you with a mate who rivaled you in clinginess. It was dangerous when Azriel got like this. Difficult was an understatement to how it felt trying to get out of his arms, knowing his Illyrian training and position in Rhysand's court fully translated to his strength and state of his (godly) physique. Even your family had commented on how soft Azriel was when it came to you, now used to the image of the male having his arms and wings—or any part of his body really—against yours at all times.

You gently tapped the top of his ruffled hair, resting your right cheek on it as you urged him to let you go, kissing his head in between. Azriel only mumbled in response—the sound too unintelligible for it to be distinct—and closed his eyes again, ready to enter the realm of dreams.

You laughed breathily, craning your neck up and softly pulling his head back while you dragged your hand down the back of his head, holding a loose grip on his hair. "If you let me go right now I'll be back in your arms sooner than you can blink, Az." He smiled, blinking slowly in thought.

"How ‘bout that, huh? You, me, and fresh bed sheets tonight?" You mumbled, bringing your face close to his until your lips just barely brushed each other.

Now that got him up and alert.

Not even a second later you had taken the chance to jump out of the bed, letting your fingers drag onto the skin of his arms and turning around to get dressed. Azriel shook his head, his breathy chuckle being the only indication of his acceptance of defeat. And acceptance of your offer, of course. 

Leisurely, (as if you didn't have a certain purple-eyed highlord waiting for your arrival) you shrugged your night slip off, leaving you bare all the way except for your sapphire colored lacy underwear, the one your mate loved so much. "Rhys asked me to help him sort out his fucking mounds of paperwork again."

"—honestly Az, he's been dragging me into his office ever since I did it that one time he kept dropping down cold out of exhaustion." You sighed out exasperatedly, crossing your arms as you dug through your giant closet to find an appropriate outfit.

"You know he's just trying to find a way to spend time with you right?" Azriel answered, clearly distracted by your undressing. So easy. It was so easy to hook this man right around your fingers. You could clearly feel his piercing gaze travel up and down your body, tracing all your curves, not leaving a single inch yearning for his attention. You loved it, relished it. It made you feel so beautiful and desired, and your prideful Illyrian never failed to mention it out loud.

"Yeah yeah..." You shook your head affectionately. You weren't actually annoyed at Rhysand and honestly thought this was really sweet. With his mind running around the whole bargain with the Cursebreaker and the dizzying problem of recovering Prythian after what happened for the last 50 years, you knew your long-time friend needed a break, and you'd help him in whatever form, even if it meant going through all of his tedious High Lord work. Plus, you wouldn't miss a single chance to goad him on about the shoe-throwing incident.

You most probably would get wine-tipsy by the end of it. He did have one hell of a drink collection.

Once you found the pieces you were looking for, you grabbed each one in a hanger, walking back over to face Azriel as you held both of them up, asking his opinion for which one to wear. 

He had his arms crossed in front of him and scrunched his eyebrows for one second, raising his eyebrows as he silently nodded his head towards the one on your right. Hm. This was his favorite because it displayed your... assets very well. Typical mate. Winking as a thanks, you put the unused set back, putting on your outfit for the day, all the while he watched with twinkling eyes.

"I mean, couldn't he ask me to go training or something?" Still, you continued your tangent, feeling playful in this happy morning.

"Rhys knows not to train with you because you're lazy." His words hadn't registered in your mind yet because Gods did you love this version of your mate so much. The crumpled bed sheets did absolutely no help covering him up, falling right below his hip while his muscles flexed. His chestnut hair spiked in all kinds of directions, remnants of your own hands playing with the soft strands. The constant darkness that surrounded him only drew your attention to his half-lidded eyes, so sultry without a try. The smug bastard was leaning his head back, both his hands behind them and he knew how much you loved it when he did that—bulging biceps and all. You could just claw at him right now. You were so thankful for his Illyrian DNA.. it was like they were born with divine statures.  

"What. Did you just say to me, Azriel?" You gasped in mock offense, a hand on your chest and all.

He had the audacity to show you his sorry smile, as if it would get him out of every sticky situation (It did. Every time. You were just too prideful to say it) "No, no, don't you smile at me like that."

You held your finger up, trying your best to ignore him. You scoffed. Lazy. Okay well in your defense, Rhysand just fucking loved to rile you up whenever the two of you were in the ring. It almost always made you annoyed to the point that you couldn't look at his face without feeling the urge to punch it. It wasn't like you couldn't take a friendly banter, but he did it for way too long and way too often. That's why you preferred to fight with Azriel or Cassian for that matter.

Seeing you hold your stance, he got up in all his glory, boxers being the only unfortunate thing covering him up. It was purely instinct to look him up and down, savoring the image while you bit your lip. Pride. That’s all he felt whenever you did that.

Azriel walked towards you with open arms, enveloping you in his large frame when he got close enough, one hand going right down its snug place on your ass while the other went behind your head.

He whispered in your ear lovingly, satiating your unserious upset. "I'm very sorry, my beautiful, intelligent, kind and sexy mate."

You could only melt right into his embrace, bringing your arms to coil around his neck as you smiled against it, pressing your lips onto his skin a couple times. His throaty voice right to your ears made you shiver in delight, goosebumps rising in its wake. You really couldn't get enough of this man, his voice, his smile, his scent and his everything. Feeling your love, Azriel responded by holding you tighter against his body, feeling every inch pressing against him.

"So sexy." He murmured, squeezing your ass.

A laugh bubbled deep from your chest and you leant back from your cozy spot, resting your palm against his chest as you smiled up at him, sighing and nodding in delight. "Knew we were mates for a reason."

He joined you a moment later, his laugh vibrating deep within his chest. This on its own could make any fae in Prythian drop down to their knees. Azriel didn't hesitate to kiss you, feeling a type of content that could only be fulfilled by your lips. 

You giggled as you felt his lips trek your jaw, down to your collarbone and trailing your shoulders, all the while letting his enormous wings cocoon the two of you. You were pleased to stay inside the little world you two built, letting the joy simmer between you and your mate until he released the hold he had on you with his wings. Without a single word being spoken, you let him trail you as you made your way towards the generous vanity on the corner of the bedroom, picking out the everyday items that were displayed. And of course, you had to use the perfume that Az got for your 100th anniversary, the bottle no longer the original as you had gone through so much with constant use. 

The male loved whenever you’d wear it,—which was almost everyday—the smell mixed with your own natural one driving him mad, further and further falling for you. And that was exactly his reaction after you gave your wrist a small spritz. Azriel melted deeper into you, if that was even possible with the lack of space between your bodies. 

“Think I’m gonna fly out to the city later. Cass is back from Windhaven.” He murmured into the nape of your neck once you were done, fully wrapping his arms around you and not missing the chance to slip them under your top to cup your breasts at it. You hummed in response, laying your head back and tilting to the side to look at your mate and giving him sweet kisses. 

“Mm, sounds fun. Tell him I said hi—Ooh, can you please bring back those chocolate chip cookies we had last week? They were soo good.” You closed your eyes in the memory, proceeding to pout at the Illyrian while reaching behind to lay one of your hands on the back of his neck.

Azriel hummed knowingly in response. Obviously he’d get them for you. You didn't even have to ask and he would’ve brought them back anyway. “Okay baby, anything you want.”

This man. Everything out of his mouth made you feel so madly in love.

While he swayed your bodies leisurely, you couldn’t help but grin up at him, teasing his behavior as you scratched his scalp to emphasize. “You’re so in love with me, Az.”

“‘Course I am, look at you. Beautiful. So beautiful.” He raised your left hand towards his face, emphasizing the word with a delicate kiss on your knuckles, lips lingering on the finger that adorned your ring. 

He’d do anything and everything for you. Fly to the edge of Prythian and back, steal the moon, burn the world, collect the stars and hang them up again to paint the sky. If you asked he would do it.

What else could you do in response than to lean up and kiss him in return, letting him twist your body to face him while his hands pull at your waistband, caressing in calming motions. “My mate is so sweet.”

“I love you too.”

“Okay okay, I should go now. Rhys will start nagging me about being glued to you and our bed as he always does.” You reluctantly separated yourself from his embrace, rubbing your hands down his arms in consolation for the loss of warmth.

“Been over 400 years now, sweetheart. I don’t think he’s going to stop anytime soon.” And Azriel meant this in an entirely endearing way. What happened under the mountain with that insane bitch Amarantha had truly changed Rhysand. He returned home different, haunted. The first time you heard him playfully tease yours and Azriel’s inseparable nature you had both been stunned, finally seeing the old friend—no, brother—that you knew so well show through the cracks. 

You shook your head in agreement, grinning as you took the chance to bump your noses together. “I’ll see you when I see you, hot stuff. Tell me everything tonight.”

“On our fresh bed sheets?” He smirked playfully, echoing your previous promise as a way to remind you.

“Mhm, exactly on our fresh bed sheets.” You laughed and winked at him, finally turning around and grabbing your trusty dagger by the drawer and sheathing it on your thigh. The weapon never went anywhere without you, even if you were only venturing to the Town House. It was something small to reign Azriel’s constant need of making sure you were safe and armed at all times. 

Your mate followed you out the door of your room, beelining towards the kitchen, no doubt to make himself a nice cup of coffee. 

As your passed him by the isle, you gave him one last goodbye kiss, throwing your head back in laughter at the (soft) slap on your ass on your way.

The minute you opened the door to his large office, Rhysand had paused, nose up and muttered with a teasing smile, “Gods, you reek of Illyrian.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rhys.”

AAAH! guys im insanely back from writing hiatus after like a year. This is fucking surreal and also im so sorry to my friends that i abandoned.. yall… ily and my messages are open 

On another note, i am glad to start it all up again with an azriel piece. Despite loving his character since 2021, ive never written for him but i got inspired after reading a terribly sweet soldier boy fic lol.

I really hope that this story, in all aspects, is okay! I feel very rusty

masterlist

dividers credit @rookthornesartistry @chachachannah @dollywons

(also if you see this thank you GWEN for convincing me to post again)

[chickenchirps27]

Last night after reading a bit of the Book of Bill i went to sleep.

i had a dream that i had to team up with Bill Cipher to assassinate an angel.

I had to carve out its heart so that Bill would let me go.

I woke up very tired.

[gojoidyll]

self aware!gojo x fem!reader

Is she getting bored of me?

Gojo watched with worry as you had changed just about everything. Your username no longer had a semblance of his name. Your profile pictures were changed. Your general phone theme was switched, too.

And he rarely saw you pick up one of your JJK manga or turn on some random episode of the series like you used to (he still remembers how many times you watched season one while you waited for season two).

Then there was the fact that you stopped reading fanfics of him and slowed down your writing of him. (You still wrote little fics here and there of him, but you started to blatantly ignoring your bigger fics, which haven't been updated for months now.)

But now?

It was as if you were avoiding him.

Did you get a new favorite character?

Gojo crinkled his nose at that. Absolutely not! He refused to let you go so easily! He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but he had to act fast.

But the problem was... what was he even supposed to do?! He didn't want you to slip away. Not now, not ever.

[bbasorexja]

☽ — Patience and its rewards.

caelus x fem!reader. extra smut. overstimulation, creampie, oral sex (f. receiving), implicit sex marathon, implicit somnophilia; lmk if i missed any. minors and blank blogs dni.

Your brain was melting from the intense pleasure. The slamming of the headboard against the wall accompanied each thrust of Caelus, his dick ramming your insides like nothing before. Your moans were a sinful melody echoing against the walls of your bedroom, and you were glad the Express was currently empty, the rest of the crew away somewhere.

«Fuuuck-» Caelus moaned. Grabbing your right leg, he hooked it over his shoulder. His lips found the inner side of your thigh, and you felt his teeth sink in the supple flesh. You moaned again, back arching off the bed as you gripped tightly at the crumpled sheets. Another orgasm building up, another peak you knew the other wasn't going to let you experience — this has been going on for a while, now.

In between your fried nerves, you could barely still remember how the two of you got to this lewd point. And the fact that those thick inches of his were capable of reaching points you didn't even know you had, made it even harder to remember.

You two were patching each other up after a not-so-pleasant encounter with some rude vagrants at the Great Mine. Sure, you and Caelus did kick their butts, but they also stood their ground until the very end. And when you two got back on the Express, you rushed to go get a first aid kit.

You were used to the sight of your companions, and people in general, being half undressed when getting their wounds treated. But something primal stirred within you when Caelus had to shred off his coat and the white tee, his battered skin and bulging muscles on full display for you to feast your eyes on — how the hell did this guy hide such mass under those clothes?

Yet, you had to remain a professional, for what you could, at least. But it was so damn hard to do so, with this menace (a sexy menace, you had to remember) sitting on your bed, legs spread wide to make some space for you, hands dipping down into the mattress to support his weight on them. And those golden eyes of his... he was devouring you, you could feel that. That, and probably he was also fucking you into the sheets like a wild, dirty animal. It didn't take you much to find out that he actually was, did.

Before you could reach the orgasm you were longing for, Caelus pulled out, the emptiness and coldness making you whine in protest. He chuckled at your annoyance, his dick throbbing at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing, when those warm walls of yours begged to be stuffed by him once again. In a moment, he told himself. He had to taste you first.

Flipping you on your stomach, the grey-haired Trailblazer grabbed the plush of your butt cheeks and pushed them up in the air, your dripping core right before his awaiting mouth. His hot breath made you sigh, before yet another moan fell from your kiss-swollen lips as he licked over the engorged bundle of nerves, purple from the overstimulation.

«Caelus, please!» You cried out, your grip on the poor pillow tightening, your toes curling from the overwhelming pleasure.

Tears formed in your eyes, mouth agape in a silent cry for more, for that sweet release you so desperately craved. Torture, it was absolute torture! That devilish tongue expertly lapping at your folds, not a single drop of sweet juice going to waste and, instead, coating his lips as it mixed up with his own drool.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull, chest heaving with short and quick breaths, clearly overwhelmed. Your fingers found the ashen locks behind your back, and you tugged, harshly, eliciting a snarl from the guy. Caelus slapped your clit, and your thighs squeezed his head in response; he had to pry them open with brute strength to have some movement freedom again.

«Please! Please... I beg you!» You cried out again, tears gathering in your waterline once again. This was maddening, cruel! «I need it! Please! Caelus!»

Another pained cry left your lips in frustration when the Trailblazer pulled his mouth away from your folds, and your tears spilled out, jaws clenched in annoyance. You felt like your teeth were about to break from the sheer strength, but luckily, that didn't happen. You were this close to turn around and strangle the idiot, when a harsh slap on your ass brought you back down from your anger.

«Relax, I'm done playing» He stated, his voice a low, smooth caress to your ears.

You were again on your back, legs up in the air, Caelus's hands on the back of your thighs as your ankles rested on his broad shoulders, keeping you exposed to his hungry gaze. The fat tip of his cock, covered in a thick layer of your slick and his pre-cum, twitched against your bottom lips. You moaned at the feeling as his fingers gripped at the supple flesh of your thighs.

He drove his hard length back between your warm walls, the stretch a much welcome feeling. More moans fell from your lips until he bottomed out, the leaking tip rubbing at your sweet spot, and you whined. The thrusts also came back, harder and stronger than before, harsh slaps of skin on skin as you got drilled into the beaten mattress. Tears gathered in your eyes, your breath taken away from your lungs. Moans upon moans slipped past your swollen lips, free to bounce on the walls in a sinful symphony with the squelching and slapping of slicked skin and heavy balls on your ass.

Caelus's hands found your breasts, deft fingers pulling and flicking the hardened nipples, and he groaned at that, knowing it was because of him — him and him only, as he was the one who reduced you in such a pathetic, horny state.

A shudder ran down your spine before you arched it off the mattress, your legs tight around the Trailblazer's neck. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge, faster, harder, stronger, building up the momentum of the promised sweet release. The thick tip kept bullying your insides, hitting the deepest, farthest corner of your pussy, and the walls got stretched to accomodate the girthy length. The grey-haired guy's breath hitched in his throat, fingers squeezing tight the tender flesh of your thighs. Close, he was so damn close, each thrust more frantic than the previous, more aggressive, more desperate. Caelus was desperate to feel you, feel your walls squeeze him tight, milk him dry for all of his worth. And then, you filled up to the brim, overflowing, your trembling pussy leaking his warm cum because it was just too much and you couldn't possibly keep it all inside.

That vision had been enough, for both of you. You, too, were fantasizing about a nasty creampie, being filled up with so much cum it would have formed a bulge in your abdomen from the sheer quantity. Perverts, both of you.

«Cae-»

«Damn-»

«'m... I'm!-»

«Yes!»

Stars exploded in your eyes, white dots blinding you. A high-pitched scream fell from your lips, the name of your partner a yelled prayer as your legs shook on his shoulders. Caelus tried his best to keep you still, he did, but it was too much. Too strong, too overwhelming, too hot. You were just too much, too sexy, too beautiful as you got stuffed full of his cum and his cock, a bulge in your abdomen from his presence. His. Presence.

Thick spurts of warm cum shoot deep inside, your walls painted white. Your knuckles, too, were white, from the strength you were gripping on the pillow. The thrusts lost speed and roughness, but they were just as deep, languid strokes driving you two back down from cloud nine.

You collapsed on the mattress, boneless, absolutely spent. It had been the best orgasm of your life, completely life-changing. Had you known Caelus packed that much in both terms of presence and skills, you would have gotten him into your bed earlier, much earlier.

As your eyes fell close, you took deep breaths to try and calm down, the erratic pace of your heartbeat thumping loud in your ears. It didn't last long, though, and you were back on your stomach, ass up in the air, hands behind your back. Your eyes widened in shock, terror and a flicker of newly sparked arousal, feeling the grey-haired guy's cock still hard against your entrance.

«You wanted more? You begged for a release?» He exhaled, and you were more than sure he was smirking, that devilish curve that had your stomach churn.

The hand that didn't bind your wrists reached up your head, grabbing a fistful of disheveled locks. He tilted your head backwards, back arched deeply as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, a low, husky tone that had your ruined walls clench around nothing.

«Now I'm gonna fuck all the orgasms I denied you inside that eager pussy of yours. And you, like a good slut, are gonna take them all.»

Your eyes were wide with terror and arousal upon hearing his words. He had denied you a dozen of orgasms, at least — even more, maybe, but you had lost count a while ago. You only knew he spent a good amount of time teasing you. Goosebumps rose on your skin at the thought, but the wetness you felt dripping down to your thighs betrayed your eagerness at the impending marathon. The thought of being fucked senseless had you lose your breath, gasping for air in the hot room.

You would have passed out before Caelus could be done, but even then, you wouldn't have minded it. Hell, maybe you would have woken up still getting fucked, a puddle of slick and cum under your ass and coating your bodies, pussy so raw it was ten times more sensitive. The mere thought was enough to have you drool.

A crazed smile graced your lips when the thick length slammed inside you once again, the brutal thrusts resuming their punishing pace.

© Intellectual property of @bbasorexja. Do not steal, copy, mimick, translate, or feed to AI.

[ddarker-dreams]

yan blade is susceptible to manipulation.

making the most of this involves the unenviable task of initiating contact. no one can fault you for your hesitation. gravity itself feels intensified in his vicinity. the lives he's taken, the shadowy madness that recedes when you approach and proliferates in your absence; it screams do not approach. blade himself doesn't do much to dispel your concerns either. he towers over you in height, maintains a stony countenance, and speaks in this sonorous voice that adds to his imposing image. every step you take to close the gap makes you feel impossibly small.

inhospitality aside, it's not so bad once you overcome the initial hurdle. blade regards you with the same curiosity you direct toward him. had it not been for your purple-haired co-kidnapper's intervention, you never would've amassed the courage to come this far. her words spurred you on.

"you've yet to understand the unique position you're in," she began, whilst painting your nails a bloody red. "bladie's nothing but a big ol' softie for you. why whimper and tremble like a wounded pooch when you could make him your attack dog instead?"

this proposition piqued your interest. you're not so foolish as to believe kafka offered this insight out of the goodness of her heart — whatever came of it would surely be for her entertainment — but it still left an impression. considered from this angle, it'd reframe your entire dynamic with blade. his wretched affection is yours. a commodity that, if leveraged properly, could be monopolized.

when standing before him, every iota of his attention orbits around you. harnessing this celestial power takes but a few flirtations. coil your trembling arms around his neck, draw him down toward you, speak his name like it's a blessing or curse. he's enthralled and intensely focused on what might happen next. your future splits into infinite paths instead of congealing into one, unhappy ending.

whether he knows your true intentions or not is inconsequential. weave your lie prettily enough and he'll remain willingly ensnared.

[auphelia]

Alhaitham hasn't touched his grandmother's various recipe books since she passed. It's not that he doesn't cook any of the same dishes, it's just more convenient to use the ones he's written down himself. (At least that's what he tells himself- it's not like he doesn't want to face the reality that no matter if he follows her recipe to the letter, it'll never taste the same as when she made it)

Which is exactly why he freezes the moment he spots you; humming to yourself while setting something in the oven. He recognises the scent immediately, sees the familiar leatherbound journal, the scribbles along the margin, a faded bookmark with a child's drawing tucked between the pages.

Taking the first bite is scary though his expression is carefully schooled. You're smiling, unaware of the impending disaster. Alhaitham can only hope he can keep disappointment from his eyes, the taste already bitter on his tongue.

The taste is different. Unique. A little more sharp.

The warmth in your eyes is different as well, anticipation clear as he chews.

Before he realises, he's reaching for another bite.

It's different, but Alhaitham finds that he wouldn't trade even if he could.

Those beloved old recipes see a lot more use after you move in.

[qingxin-dream]

“Whiskey”

summary | he likes this side of you. vulnerable. honest. eager to please. who is he to deny you in your time of need?

warnings | not proofread, profanity, possessive, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader, reader wears a skirt, lots of teasing, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, grinding/panty-fucking, degradation + praise, rough sex, a sprinkle of dacryphilia, creampie

genre | smut (happy valentine’s day❤️‍🔥)

word count | 2k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓗umans are truly fascinating.

There’s this innate sense of wonder in those reflective violet eyes of his—one which begs to be satisfied. You can tell just by the way he looks at you with an imperceptible quiver of his soft lips that he may be debating on lashing you with another sarcastic remark.

You find yourself more enamored by the possibility the puppet might be persuaded to throw caution into the wind and finally give you that taste of him you’ve been so obviously craving. The slight aroma of whiskey piques his interest further.

After all, alcohol has a tendency to remove a human’s superficial barriers in expressing their true thoughts. Some even claim it to be an aphrodisiac.

Wanderer’s mouth curls up in amusement, enjoying the predicament you have presented before him.

Here you are, his precious little companion who guards her heart with awkward excuses and shy apologies, all tangled up with him against the wall. If you were a bit more sober, he’d delight in your typical reply—a small shriek of embarrassment followed by a deep, pink flush of your whole face.

This time, however, you are the one to plead for his touch.

“Scara… I mean, W-Wanderer,” you whine into his collarbone, beginning to grip his white robe just above his belt. You liked feeling the contours of his body, but not openly. No, you’ve tortured yourself with a game of accidental touches and fleeting brushes of skin. Every time it’s as if you get another piece of the puzzle to his silhouette, sparking your imagination as to what the full picture might look like.

“What? A little alcohol and you can barely call me by my name,” Wanderer muses in a low tone, his hand drifting to the dip of your waist where it perfectly slots into your form. His other hand is presently preoccupied, nearly pinned to the wall behind him and fingers lazily intertwined with yours. “I never cared for titles anyway, but… Master has a nice ring to it.”

“Dick,” you curse instinctively, rolling your eyes. Your displeased scoff trickles over his sensitive collarbone. Out of spite, you seriously consider sinking your teeth into his neck to leave a bruised mark on his pretty skin.

Archons, you don’t even recognize your own impulse anymore.

“Not yet,” he tuts, unable to resist the smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The hand on your waist slips away, taking his warmth with it. Wanderer leans in close enough so your noses are nearly touching, a newfound fire in his eyes. He waits a beat, his words drawn out in a slow, breathy whisper in an attempt to mask his own desperation. “I want you to cum all over my fingers first.”

The puppet’s eyes are trained on you like a predatory hawk, reveling in all the ways your body responds as he hooks his fingers on the hem of your underwear, yanking it down just below your skirt. Before you can protest, his long, slender fingers dipped into your needy hole, dragging your wet slick towards your clit to lubricate your folds for him.

Your knees practically buckle on the spot with a little cry of pleasure and surprise. Blissfully unaware, you whimper and try to lean in further to silently beg for some semblance of affection. Something to keep your mind from reeling like crazy. Even just a kiss will do. As much as you hate him for reading you like a book so often, you couldn’t be more turned on by his willingness to indulge you.

Merely the thought of his cock filling you to the brim has your hole fluttering with anticipation and he’s only touched you once.

“Mm, it’s so good,” you whimper with need, slowly bucking your hips in rhythm with his fingers circling your clit. When you have the strength to open your eyes again, Wanderer is marveling at your delectable expression. Within seconds, he captures your lips in a gentle kiss that burns like a candle—patiently but passionately.

A soft moan escapes you, swallowed eagerly by Wanderer’s tongue slipping into your mouth. He wants to hear it again, though the sound of his fingers in your pussy is a close second. He grunts with a bit of laughter as a particularly delicious thought crosses his mind. The puppet keeps rubbing your puffy clit at a steady pace, occasionally slipping two fingers barely at your entrance.

The instant his fingers teased your core, you melted into him, chasing after that sensation once more. “Oh my god… it’s so fucking hot. Please…”

“Please what, baby?” Wanderer coaxes you with a tender but playful undertone, feigning innocence to your question. He quiets you with a few more decadent kisses, maintaining that pressure-building pleasure concentrated on your clit.

You struggle to maintain what little composure you have left. You’re trying your damnedest to be good for him, but you can’t help the shaky whine purring deep in your throat. It takes you a moment to gather the courage to say it. “F-fuck me. Please.”

“Mhmm,” he moans freely and heavily onto your lips, nodding into another kiss with excitement. The puppet hears you. He knows you are beginning to feel a wave swelling in your lower stomach at his ministrations, ready to crest over in a magnificent release. “But what if I want you to cum all over your panties, hm? I want you to earn it first.”

Wanderer pumps the tips of his fingers into you just to bring you closer to the edge before quickly returning to your overly-sensitive nub. You can’t take it anymore, you’ll do anything to convince him otherwise. Biting your lower lip, you mewl, “Why don’t you cum in them instead? I-I just need to feel you…”

He chuckles lightheartedly at you, finding your desperate state to be cute. The glassy look in your eyes as if you could cry at any moment is the cherry on top. Perhaps he is feeling merciful today. You yelp with surprise when the puppet replaces his index and middle finger with the wet slap of his cock against your pink folds, grinding it between them.

“Fuck, yes,” sighing heavily, you relax against Wanderer, sucking in a breath with each thrust of his tip that reaches your entrance. You’ve completely surrendered to the intoxicating image of his cock pushing into your tight hole, cursing under your breath. All your needy moans are his for the taking, swirling his tongue against yours in a steamy exchange.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, it’s pathetic,” the puppet chuckles, but his words are hardly degrading. Rather, his low baritone is steeped with lust. Without warning, he removes your panties entirely to lift you by your hips, pressing your back flush to the wall and sheathing the leaking tip of his cock inside your warmth repeatedly. “Is this what you wanted? Huh?”

“A-ah!” your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape at your lover’s unexpected but very much welcome intrusion, looking down at how your pussy is taking him in by the inch. There’s already a ring of fluids beginning to gather around his tip. “Yes, mm, please… more. Fuck.”

A snicker resounds from his throat as he slowly sinks himself into you, watching with utter fascination as you struggle to adjust to his girth. Cooing sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, Wanderer shifts so that you’re pressed to the wall entirely by his pelvis. Your spongy walls flutter and throb around his thick length, spurring him to grab your face firmly by the jaw. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Look at you, so pretty for me. Kiss me.”

Little did you know that the sweet relief of his plush lips on yours was but a distraction. While you wrapped your arms around his neck, Wanderer slides his cock out to your wet entrance, fucking just the tip inside you. The moment you began to show signs of protest, he plunged deep into your pussy with an audible smack of skin. You let out a cracked yelp.

“What was that, baby?” he moans into your mouth teasingly, a hand squeezing lightly on your jugular. It was just enough to make you a little dizzy and drunk on his cock. That much was evident as the puppet pulls out for the umpteenth time to overstimulate your hole.

“I-I…” you stutter out breathlessly, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Your mind was empty. Only the tantalizing sensation of his cock dragging against your walls could make your world turn once more.

With a sinister giggle, Wanderer silences with you with another sloppy kiss. When he buries his cock into you abruptly this time, you babble incoherent nonsense about cumming. He takes advantage of it, thrusting his hips at a fast pace and practically fucking you into the wall.

“Yeah? You wanna cum? Fuck… you’re gripping me so tight,” his voice morphs into a hiss as he attempts to delay his own impending orgasm. Your head rolls back in ecstasy, on the brink of release as Wanderer drills your cunt wildly, ripping loud moans from your parched throat.

Just as you were hurtled toward the precipice of your orgasm, Wanderer lifted you off of his cock and the pressure in your stomach dissipated. The emptiness inside your walls was unbearable. Marching into the bedroom, he positions your ass up on the bed and immediately splits your pussy open with his throbbing cock again and again.

“Shit, shit, yes. I fucking love it. I love you so much,” you growl into a pillow raggedly, a dreamy, fucked-out look in your eyes as he pounds into you.

The puppet yanks the pillow out from underneath you, wrapping your hair around his fist so he can make sure you don’t dare stifle your praise and moans from him. “You fucking like that? Being my little cocksleeve, yeah? Lemme hear you say it, baby. Mine… all mine.”

You are completely dazed by Wanderer’s cock fucking you as if he wanted to make a permanent impression of his curve in your soft pussy. He was ready to pump you full of his cum. His fingers tighten on your hair slightly, and you’re reminded that you were given a command. “Mm, mhmm! Y-yours…”

“My what?” he presses further, mesmerized by the ripple of your skin every time he thrusts into you from behind. His hand smacks your ass as a warning.

“Y-your cocksleeve!” you blurt out with tears beginning to pool in the corners of your eyes. The overstimulation at this point is the perfect concoction of pain and pleasure, driving you to the edge. Your eyes start to roll back a little, succumbing to the hypnotic sensation of his veiny cock burying itself in your core.

Wanderer releases your hair, possessively planting his hands over your hips to deepen his thrusts. “And what do good cocksleeves do?”

“T-take… your cum… a-ah, fuck. That’s it. That’s it. I’m gonna cum!” you reply with the last remaining ounce of your willpower. Your entirely body tenses and spasms with pleasure as a litany of profanities and prayers spill from your lips. You’ve never had an orgasm as intense as this, you can’t control your own bodily response.

Wanderer immediately pulls you in, his muscular chest pressed to your back, cooing and shushing you gently as he succumbs to his own orgasm. You can vividly feel his cock pulsating inside your warmth, spurting hot, thick ropes of his seed across your gummy walls. “That’s okay, cum for me, baby. I love you so fucking much, yeah. Shhh…”

The room is filled with heavy breaths and the smell of sex. Your lover’s grip never falters. Instead, the puppet gently kisses the crook between your neck and shoulder.

“I’ll take care of you. I promise. You’re my good girl.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[averycutesalamander]

pls write yan!boothill OMG WHO SAID THAT

ohoho....!! i must confess that im quite picky when it comes to yandere content, bc i don't particularly like the extreme end of the spectrum. physical violence and straight noncon in particular don't click for me (absolutely no shade to people who like that tho, you do you!!) buuuuuuut ..... i mean, im the one writing?? so i can do whatever i want??? so alright here you go :) also check my reblog for.. a lot of rambling lmao

may i present to you: my interpretation of boothill in love, but he has a few too many screws loose. warning for relatively vague descriptions of violence and, uh... yandere stuff. you know how it goes.

In all honesty, Boothill is not a "love at first sight" type. His attraction to you is a gradual, budding thing, built over many repeated encounters. He's emotionally isolated himself, after all - built a wall thick enough to muffle the whispers of his past, smothering it in a slurry of rage and sorrow. It'll take time for him to let down his guard for long enough to even register the feelings you conjure in him - a flutter in his chest every time you smile at him, a spark of joy every time he makes you laugh, a strike of fondness every time he looks at your pretty face when you aren't paying attention.

And beneath it all, a low, simmering greed, a hunger, a yearning; the urge to bite and devour and never let go.

The pressure builds with time, as the two of you grow closer. He visits often, though not so often that it would catch the IPC's attention. You laugh and joke and tease, playfully flirting with him yet keeping a healthy, platonic distance. (He very pointedly and stubbornly ignores the way his heart soars when you look at him like that - like you want to pull him into your bed and let him take you apart, piece by ruinous piece. It's just harmless fun, after all.)

(Right?)

Despite the yawning fractures in the wall he's created, despite the increasing complexity of his feelings for about you, he still hasn't untangled whatever complicated web of feelings that's arisen around you, content to leave himself oblivious for the time being - until you make a joke about him marrying you and sweeping you away on some bizarre galactic adventure, and he damn-near bluescreens.

(He hates, hates, hates that the first thing he feels is something adjacent to the feeling a cat gets when it finally corners a particularly unruly mouse, akin to the thrill he gets whenever an enemy exposes a weakness. A sick, twisted kind of satisfaction.)

His mind churns as the wall cracks, wavers-

...and crumbles.

He panics. He makes a flimsy excuse about getting a notification through his neurochip, about needing to help out a fellow ranger - and he feels even better worse when you believe him unhesitatingly, sending him off with a sweet little "Be safe!" just as you always do.

It's only after he leaves the planet that he thinks about how much you've grown to trust him, about how damn gullible you are, about how often you give him the benefit of the doubt, about how kindly you've always treated him in spite of (or perhaps because of) his dozens of strange quirks. Everything unravels, threads spilling from his fraying mind and spilling between his fingers, and when the tattered fabric settles-

He simply can't deny it. He's in love with you.

It takes some time for him to piece himself back together - weeks of complete silence from him, your texts going unanswered. Every time he sees a fresh notification from you, his heart twists with guilt - but he's not ready to face the music. Not yet.

He comes crawling back to you, sooner or later. He knocks on your door with the most sheepish, guilt-ridden look on his face that you've ever seen, a rich bouquet laden with yellow roses and purple hyacinths tucked timidly in his arms. He lies about why he left - says it was all because of a mission that got more complicated than it should have, and it wasn't safe to reply to your messages - but when he tells you that he's sorry, he means it genuinely.

He's a bit disturbed by the sensation in his gut - that foul, wicked satisfaction when you accept his apology with barely a slap on the wrist, cheerily inviting him inside to catch up. You tuck the flowers neatly into a vase, chatting easily with him as you carefully arrange them.

"It's alright!" you say, waving dismissively at him when he murmurs another apology. "I know you're busy. I can't be your biggest priority, obviously. You've got more important things going on."

(You don't have a clue how wrong you are.)

He integrates back into your life like he never left. When he has the time, he sneaks his way back onto your planet, knocking on your door or searching for you in your usual spots. You get impossibly closer; your playful flirting goes from blatantly humorous to something foggier, something more ambiguous, teasing the line between platonic and something heavier. He matches you step by step, returning your advances with just a little extra spice, his eyes a bit darker and his smile a bit wider.

He tries to be patient - god, does he try - but there's an itch that's bloomed beneath his metal, impossible to scratch, impossible to sate, made worse by every little joke you make about kissing him or touching him or marrying him or letting him spirit you away. The pressure builds further and further, the tension winding tighter and tighter, the anticipation bubbling higher and higher.

(He will never, ever admit that he truly contemplates stealing you away, crowding you onto a ship and carting you off so he can always keep an eye on you, can always guarantee your safety. His paranoia has been building since he recognized his feelings for you; it's taken every ounce of restraint in his body to stop himself from giving into the urge, from crowding you, from suffocating you, from locking you away like a fragile songbird in a cage.)

(He's torn between his protectiveness and his understanding that you deserve freedom. You deserve independence and a life that isn't tied directly to him. He doesn't even know if you return his feelings. But...)

(But there's that nagging feeling in the back of his head, that pestering little voice that grows louder by the day. You'll be safer with me, it says, dark and tempting, bursting behind his teeth. I can make you happy. I can keep you safe. I can show you pieces of the universe that you've never seen before. I can love you like no one else ever could. I can hold you and cherish you and consume you and-)

(He takes that little voice and wraps his hands tight around its throat, frantically trying to suffocate the noise, terrified by its allure. But it's always there, lingering, lurking - because the call is coming from inside the house.)

Something gives, eventually.

When he inevitably breaks, his lips crashing heatedly and messily into yours, there are two paths ahead - but the difference is ultimately moot, because they collide not long after.

Perhaps you reciprocate. Perhaps you melt against his lips, your arms coiling around his shoulders and drawing him further into you. Perhaps you whimper when his hands trail downward, squeezing at your hips. Perhaps you pull away with a gasp, your pupils blown wide, your heart pounding when you see the look in his eye - dark and hot and desperate and hungry. Perhaps you accept his quiet declaration of affection with open arms, returning it in full, your eyes sparkling with joy.

Or perhaps you reject him. Perhaps you freeze like a startled deer before pushing him away, your face slack with shock. Perhaps you apologize, stumbling over your words, your heart thundering in your chest when you see the look in his eye - dark and cold and empty and hungry. Perhaps you gently tell him that you don't feel that way about him - that you only see him as a friend.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter.

...Because Boothill - careful, meticulous Boothill - has slipped up, and the IPC finds you.

After he leaves next, whether that be with a broken heart or a giddy one, a trio of IPC employees pluck you up from the street in broad daylight, shoving you into a dark transport ship for "questioning." And once they bring you to an IPC space station, they do indeed question you - though it feels more like an interrogation, considering that you've been tied ankle-and-wrist to a chair like you're a dangerous serial killer and not a regular civilian.

"Suspected colluding with the criminal known as Boothill," your "interviewer" tells you flatly, idly thumbing at the knife in their hand. "Camera footage, reports from neighbors, records from his Synesthesia Beacon... All clearly show that he has made repeated visits to your planet and your home. We're in the business of knowing why."

Perhaps you keep your mouth shut and refuse to divulge anything, no matter how close that knife gets to your bare skin. Perhaps you break when it begins to slice into your flesh, drawing blood from your body and tears from your eyes and stuttered words from your lips. Perhaps you grit your teeth and bear it, unwilling to betray the man you've grown so fond of.

Or perhaps you cave immediately. Perhaps you sell him down the river the first chance you get, frantic explanations spilling from your lips. Perhaps you tell them that you had no idea he had such a massive bounty on his head. Perhaps you panic when they find the information insufficient and draw the knife on you anyway, deaf to your begging and pleading as they wet your skin with blood.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter.

...Because a distant explosion rocks the entire space station, and the flashing lights from the silent alarms interrupt your interrogation.

You're left alone when the IPC agent flees, locking the door behind them with a heavy clunk. Minutes pass as you fumble desperately with your restraints, your body pulsing with pain; a cacophony of gunshots and screaming penetrates the thick walls, growing louder and louder, your heart pounding faster and faster.

There's a noise just outside the door - a horrifically wet noise, like raw flesh on tile. You freeze like a rabbit that's just heard the panting of a starving wolf, far too close for comfort.

Silence. Your head aches from the flashing red lights.

Suddenly, steel fingers wedge into the gap between the locked door and the wall, single-handedly tearing it open and breaking the hydraulic lock with inhuman ease. Metal crunches and squeals, piercing the quiet - and there he stands, right in the doorway, a silhouette of black and red.

Never in your life have you seen him this manic.

His white hair drips with scarlet and his teeth are bared; his eyes are alight with rage, a shock of bright crimson among the dark smears of blood and viscera that coat him head to toe. In the light of the alarms, he looks like the perfect picture of a killer from a horror movie; violence and slaughter, just waiting to be unleashed. When his gaze locks onto you, there is a long moment of utter stillness; instinctual terror floods your entire body in a cold flash, because there isn't so much as a glimmer of humanity in those eyes - only pure, boiling, ravenous, frantic anger.

For a heartbeat, you're convinced he's going to rip you apart with his teeth.

Then, as if he finally registers who you are, the madness evaporates, replaced by a nearly manic sort of relief. He rushes to your side, looking you over; you don't miss the flash in his eyes - seething, smoking fire - when he spots your injuries. In the same breath, he snuffs it out, focusing instead on breaking your binds with his bare hands.

You're already crying when he takes you up into his arms, cradling you close to his chest and unwittingly smearing IPC blood onto you. "It's alright, sweetheart," he murmurs, soft and reassuring, a beacon of comfort in a sea of terror. "I'm right here. I've got ya. No one's ever gonna take ya from me again, okay?"

(Maybe if you weren't in shock, you'd be startled by his words. As it stands, though, they're like music to your ears, like a warm blanket settled over your shoulders, like a tight hug from someone you trust with your life.)

He encourages you to press your face into his shoulder - mercifully free of blood - as he carries you through the carnage he's left in his wake, the jangle of his spurs and your muffled sobs echoing through the silent halls. Your entire body shivers at the noise of him stepping into some unidentifiable slurry of viscera, and he thumbs at your back in an effort to soothe you, speaking quietly into your ear about everything and nothing.

Time passes in a blur of tears. He takes you to the ship he, uh... commandeered to get here, ducking into the bathroom and settling you gently - so very gently - onto the floor. Or, rather, he tries to - because your fingers are frozen stiff in his jacket, your grip unrelenting.

"You just wait here for a sec, alright?" he whispers softly, the chill of his hand settling lightly against your wrist; the blood there still feels warm to your delirious mind. "Gotta get the autopilot started, okay? I'll be right back."

You're both surprised when you shake your head insistently, your eyes wet and pleading. In an instant, he softens, his heart aching in his chest.

"Alright, sweetpea," he breathes, carefully picking you up again. "I've got ya."

He keeps you cradled to his chest as he walks to the cockpit, holding you easily with one arm as he gets the ship moving. Reinforcements are on the way, no doubt - but you'll both be long gone by the time they get here.

(Maybe the IPC will get the message when they find the scene he's left behind - when they view the camera footage and see the rampage he went on. Decapitation and disembowelment is a new one, even for him...)

(...but he needed to make it clear that no one, no one, touches what's his and gets away with it.)

When the engine is purring beneath his feet and the rumble of FTL travel is humming in the walls, he brings you back to the washroom and settles you to the tile again, gently untangling your grip from his jacket. You're in shock, he's sure, so he's careful to continue talking to you as he wets a towel with warm water, murmuring soft reassurances as he wipes the blood from your skin, handling you like you're glass.

Once you're clean, he messily towels himself off to get the worst of the mess off, then brings you to the captain's quarters, digging around in the closet to find something comfortable for you. Your shaking fingers cause you trouble, so he gently eases your ruined clothes off, his eyes respectfully averted as he helps you redress. He takes one look at the messy, used bedding and promptly decides to change the sheets. (Something within him stirs and snarls at the thought of you smelling like anyone else.)

Finally, when all is said and done, he eases you beneath the covers, brushing away the last remnants of your tears. His heart is torn between singing with joy and aching with pain when you reach up and take his hand in yours, your fingers wrapping tight around his.

"Gotta go wash up, honey," he murmurs, watching you closely as you sink into the protective huddle of the blankets, exhaustion painting your features. "That alright? I'll be fast."

(He tries very hard to ignore the flutter in his chest from the look in your eye - like you're genuinely considering whether or not you need to stay near him, like you aren't sure if you can bear the distance.)

(He also tries very hard to ignore the little pang of disappointment when you slowly nod, releasing his hand.)

He cleans himself up with record efficiency, resigning himself to wearing clothes that are a size or two too small until he can wash his usual outfit. The clothes are for your sake, really; it's not like he has any, uh... equipment to expose - not yet - but he's relatively sure that it would make you uncomfortable anyway.

By the time he steps lightly into the room again, you're asleep.

For a long, long moment, he's struck stupid by the sight of you, by the softness of your face in rest.

Fuck, you're beautiful. He knows it in his heart, feels it in his core, senses it in his chest - you're the prettiest little thing he's ever seen.

(And you're all his, now.)

His fists clench, and he swallows down the thought like bitter poison. (You deserve better than this - better than him. He's a broken man, he knows - a messy reconfiguration of a thousand corpses, glued together by hatred and grief. He could never love you the way you deserve. He could never-)

He's broken from his rapidly spiraling thoughts when you twitch, a tiny furrow appearing in your brow. A surge of emotion nearly bursts in his chest - the urge to comfort, to protect, to soothe - and he slowly circles to the other side of the bed, climbing into the empty space and settling beneath the blankets. Hesitantly, he wraps one arm lightly around your waist, drawing you against him with your back pressed tight to his chest.

His heart soars when he feels you instantly relax, the tension fleeing your body.

(It's fine. This is fine. He'll make everything better. No matter what he has to do, who he has to kill, he'll make everything better.)

(He's not wrong - but he also doesn't need to disable the button on the inside of the ship that opens the exit hatch. You don't need to know that; he doesn't need to acknowledge that.)

A handful of days pass like that. When he stops by a market to get supplies for you, he gently tells you that it's best for you to stay in the ship for now; odds are that you actually have a bounty on your head as well, now.

As time passes, he tries not to suffocate you, tries not to hover, wary of putting you under any more stress - but it's ultimately a useless task.

When you finally, tentatively ask him about going home, his brain goes numb, the world snapping into sharp focus. He turns his gaze to you, disturbingly absent of emotion.

"It ain't safe for ya there, now that those IPC dogs know to look for ya," he says, his voice far too even.

When tears begin to bud in your eyes, it finally sweeps up some sympathy in his chest, his entire face softening. He takes your shaking hands in his, tenderly grazing your knuckles with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he rasps, reaching up to wipe away your tears.

(He's barely sorry.)

"I don't like it either, but..."

(Yes, he does.)

"It's safest for ya to stick with me, alright?"

(Wishful thinking. He could find somewhere for you to stay - some quiet planet outside of the IPC's reach, where you could live without worry. He could send you credits regularly. He could make sure you were happy and secure, independent of him.)

(He won't.)

(He could. He should.)

[cheezritsu]

Reo Mikage is looking down at you. He has a smile meant to be charming, a smile that belongs to a prince, and it’s aimed at you. You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“Yes?” You say, presumptuously. The charming smile doesn’t falter.

“I didn’t know I needed something just to talk to you. Is there a line? Do I need a number?” He looks around facetiously but still good natured. Like you’re in on the joke. Like you’re friends.

Reo Mikage is in your class. He’s rich—stupid, filthy rich, so he can afford to be smart. You cannot afford to be dumb. Funny how that works. You doubt this has ever occurred to him.

What has probably also not occurred to Reo Mikage is that he is the last person who should approaching you. There’s eyes peering around every corner at the once secluded interaction. Girls whispering in gaggles, boys who climbed over each other on the picnic benches, even the people that Reo left behind at his lunch table have now circled behind him, watching as he shone his benevolent smile down upon you, a lowly commoner of Hakuho high.

They’re not entranced because it’s Reo, they’re entranced because it’s you. There are two universally known facts about you: one, you hate rich people and two, you hate boys.

And now, in the goddamn quad in broad daylight the living, breathing center of that cursed venn diagram decided to speak to you like you were friends.

“Bro, what?”

Oh, did you say that out loud? Laughter echoes through the quad. His smile does slip now, wavering as it pulls down into uncertainty. His brow furrows.

“I’m sorry?”

“What do you need?”

“Like I said,” his tone isn’t as sweet now. It’s kinda nice that he’s dropping the prince act a little. “Does someone need a reason to just talk to you?”

“I think everyone does? People don’t really just talk to hear themselves talk. Well,” you give him a judgemental once over. “You actually might.”

A ripple of shock takes the makeshift audience. Reo’s face creases even further, annoyance settling in the cracks of his once perfect visage.

You have no trouble admitting that; Reo has hair and eyes like the pansies the school still has planted in the front gates. His tresses look petal soft, too, and his hands are probably the same way. Smooth from knowing nothing of hard work. Long lashes like boys are blessed to have, lips people want smiling in their direction or saying their name. That’s the problem with Reo Mikage; he’s like the boys in the books you read cover to cover. Perfect and pretty, with no use in the outside world. No use in your world, where you live. You could confidently and stupidly use frilly language to describe him because he was as good as fiction to you.

But, you could admit this frustrated flesh and blood expression did wonders on your brain.

“You’re awfully judgmental.”

Your eyes fall the to words below you. “That tends to happen when you’re judged in the first place.”

This is the moment it happens. Something flickers across your face and Reo, who is making your space his business, sees it. A deep, deep anxiety. Sadness he can’t measure.

You snap your book closed, and it releases you both from that moment. You look up again with ferocity. “What do you want, Reo Mikage?”

He doesn’t even know. His friends behind him are snickering at his failure, a failure you’re aware of but shouldn’t be. Can’t be. You’re weren’t even close to ear shot. He was supposed to come over here and charm you, to pacify you as a way to pacify his own boredom, and that just didn’t happen.

Your defiant eyes travel around the quad at the onlookers who know that Reo Mikage was struck speechless by some no name girl in their class and something stutters in his chest.

He’s proud? Yeah, he’s proud of you. He knew you were quiet and generally avoidant, so to hear you spit back words at him made him giddy.

Finally, someone has guts.

The bell chimes and there’s a palpable disappointment. You keep staring him down, waiting for him to move. Reo straightens up, scratching the back of his head.

“Guess we better head in, huh?”

“I guess you should.”

The way you get up is strangely animated to him. You jump up into a crouch, then straighten your legs until you reach your full height. He’s still taller, but you feel bigger. Like you take up more space than him.

You walk right by him. You tense when you’re shoulder to shoulder, and stay that way as you disappear into the building.

“What a bitch,” one of his buddies mumbles, the snickers bouncing around his little group like an echo. Reo turns his head sharply.

Takahashi’s eyes are wide like saucers as an actual glare is pointed at him. “And why would you say that?”

“Uh,” he stutters. “B-because she was rude?”

“So that makes her a bitch?”

“Yes?”

Reo scoffs. “And men who call women bitches for no reason, what do you call them?”

There’s a terse silence that befalls the group as Reo marches back into class. They don’t follow. Instead of an army of footsteps, all Reo can hear is his solitary shoes clicking further away from the scene.

Only stragglers are left in the hallways. Sometimes when he’s walking to the football club after class duties, it’s this quiet around the school, but he’s never really noticed. He’s always too busy talking to someone, or on the phone, or humming contentedly with daydreams in his head.

The black and white color scheme is so sterile. Trophies line this hallway, along with staff photos and class reps for this school year. Class 1-4’s reps were a pair of honor students, a boy and a girl who nearly had the same bangs. They smiled prettily back at Reo as he stepped closer to inspect the bulletin board.

He barely knew their names. He had been chosen as class rep, but declined because of football. Not enough time, couldn’t rise to the occasion like he should have. “Mikages don’t half ass anything. They excel at everything.”

Reo hadn’t even run as rep. Didn’t even raise his hand before everyone decided it should be him. He remembered the count being near unanimous on the boys side. Save for two votes.

One was the guy who ended up being rep. Reo cocks his head at the photo: Tadashi Morimoto. He has a flipoy middle part like Reo, but with more texture. Brown hair and eyes. Handsome, but typically so. A good rep.

You were the other vote against him.

Reo puffs out his chest. Perhaps you are judgemental, but the good kind. Maybe he should trust you, because your judgments prove right. Maybe Reo could learn from you.

He thinks he already has.

[simonghostlovely]

Soaping Together

Pairing: Husband!Simon Riley x Wife!Reader

Tags: NSFW, unprotected sex, p in v, slight spanking? slight edging? idk

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: you and your husband badly needed some quality time to relax and pamper each other when he came from deployment (you insisted to take care of him and he didn’t understand why this was a big deal but gave in when he saw how much efford you put into it)

You heard him walking through the door and you rushed your way to him leaving whatever you were doing in the living room. Giggling softly when he embraced you, feeling his big hands wrapped around your waist and lifted your feet off the ground. He had his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent he longed for.

You were the first to break the silence, "I missed you so much, Simon..."

"We missed you so much..."

"I missed my babies, too." he caressed your face and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked beaten and he could barely keep his eyes open while trying to smile but when you told him he can rest if he wanted to, he chose to spend some time with you and his boy first.

Holding him in his lap at the dinner table,

“Hello, stranger!” he said to his son who was back to acting like his dad was a stranger -since it has been a few weeks he last saw him and that's literally what babies are like- it didn't stop him feeling offended and missed out so he needed to remind himself by singing a lullaby he liked so much to break the ice.

The baby stared at him with wide eyes, frozen, with a teething toy in his hands. Holding on for dear life.

“Give him some time, Simon. He’s gonna get used to you in no time. Remember last time?” you said smiling to soothe him when you saw him frowning.

Later, he was shoving all his favorite food you prepared for him into his mouth. Then he joined the two of you while you were giving your baby a bath and started rolling his sleeves, you realised he was joining you.

Him taking a little amount of shampoo in his hands making little spikes of the baby's hair made you both laugh. Your baby was playing in the water and giggling too.

It was a sight for sore eyes and you couldn't be happier. Your sweet, sweet boys… how did you get so lucky?

When you were done washing him, he wrapped him in a towel and went to the nursery. You sneaked your way to the other bathroom where you had other plans for him. You heard the honeyed cooing of Simon's voice, drying your baby and getting him into new clothes when you were passing by.

Simon finally came to the bedroom after putting the baby to sleep,

"What is it?" he stared at you with curious eyes, examining you. You walked towards him reaching for his hand.

"Follow me."

Scowled, trying to accommodate his eyes to the dimmed light of the bathroom, "I'm sorry baby, but I'm so exhauste-"

His eyes went wide when he realised,

Bubble bath waiting for him, relaxing music coming from the speaker, candles and a bottle of red wine by the bathtub. You wrote 'I love you' in the mirror with lipstick??

Then he finally looked back at you, grinning at him with starry eyes.

In that moment he knew he fucked up... Sleep wise. not in any other way. just that. There was no way out now that he saw the little arrangement his wife made.

"C'mon, let me take care of you, I'll make it quick." Now you were closer to him, few inches away from his chin, looking up at him with doe eyes.

And who was he to deny his sweet girl?

You made Simon sit on a stool in the bathtub while you were washing all the dirt and sweat off of him. He was watcing you, only admiring your face intently, although you were completely naked in front of him and your boobs few inches away from his face.

Right until you squished him between your boobs while you were trying to lean and wash his back.

He groaned, making you feel the vibration, the tingles in your stomach.

He was holding your waist tightly enough to leave marks when he finally let you go.

"My little girl wanted to take care of her husband? all this fo' me? sweet girl? Mhm?"

You nodded, smiling, appearing a little shy now.

You took a step back to look at him and giggle with soapy hands until he took a hold on your waist again and pull you closer, a little bit harsher now.

Little gasp leaving your lips, "Oh baby...i think we can take a little break from washing you?" you said, lifting one leg to sit on Simon's lap slowly. Then the other.

"How about that?"

"Mhm mhm." he nodded aggressively.

He made you sit in a hasty way while you were just hovering over his lap. All hungry eyes and hands taking whatever he can.

He didn't know what he was thinking. This was definitely more important than sleep. More important than washing. More important than anything on earth. In this moment, Simon was exactly where he was meant to be.

Burning inside and feeling the hot on your cheeks, he rolled your hair in one hand in a swift move, making your neck arched and vulnerable. All hot and wanting.

Nibbling at your skin. You bit your lip, willingly opening yourself in any way possible for your husband.

All for him to consume.

Your mewling sounds made Simon chuckle softly.

Both your hands sat on his knees behind you, you were panting and not realising all the sounds that were coming from your mouth.

You bit your lip trying to be more quiet when you felt Simon right in front of your entrance. You were getting more desperate by the second.

He was moving painfully slowly at your entrance, up and down, but not penetrating.

"Ohhh! Simon, please!"

"Mmm...do you hear this? You're so wet, baby."

"Ol this for me. Let me enjoy you."

"Simon, please!" you plead, and that earned you a firm swat on your ass. You jumped, panting.

Is he edging me? you thought as more mewling and pathetic sounds left your lips.

Before he gently lowered you on his cock.

You opened your mouth all the way at the feeling, exhaling, still trying to not make any noise but the friction was too good to be true.

Held his muscular shoulder, lowering your hand to his upper arm then his elbow while he was fucking into you torturously slowly.

Hands tight on your hips. Making you feel every inch and vein on his cock.

You decided to speed up the pace as much as you can in his firm grip.

He hissed at the attempt, making eye contact and you were scowling at him, biting your lower lip.

"So close... so close, Simon! Please!"

"I know, baby. Gripping me like a vice. C'mon you can do it, sweet girl."

"Just like that... do it how i taught you."

"come for me" he kissed your cheek and just like that, he made you loudest you've ever been.

As you throw your head back, all your wishes to not make a sound going out the window now you were crying and screaming because of your explosive orgasm.

Simon growled, coming inside of you.

You put your arms around his neck and he put his forehead on yours. Panting heavily. Trying to come down from your highs.

"Fuck! Simon..... what the hell? " then you both started laughing. You've done more dirtying than washing but at least now your husband can finally have his precious sleep his little coma as long as he likes.

[melkintoyou]

water fall (interluuube)

pairing: jaemin x gf!reader genre: established relationship, wholesome, smut, lil bit of size-kink? (pls close the gyms before I lose my mind) word count: 1.7k summary: coming home to your boyfriend and kittens after a long, tiring day at work. featuring luna, lucy and luke ofc. :) jaemin is a cat dilf.

Dropping your bags to the floor, you locked the door behind you as you stepped into your home. Small foot steps and meows filled the room, as your kittens ran to you. 

“Hi babies” You coo’d, immediately getting on your knees and petting them. The kittens rubbed their faces on you and purred. Just like that, the tiredness you had been feeling on your way home, disappeared. The muscles in your body relaxed and you were so happy to be home. 

“Where is your dad?” You asked the kittens in baby talk, giving them kisses and pets. 

Scooping them all up in your arms, you got up and made your way to the bedroom. 

“Hi doll, how was your day?” Jaemin looked up and smiled, putting his laptop away to give you his full attention. 

You walked over towards him, dropping the kittens on the bed and sat beside Jaemin. You sighed, falling into his arms. 

“I’m tired” you mumbled into his neck. His scent engulfed your senses as you melted further into his frame. 

“Baby.. come lay.” He pulled you onto the bed and you got comfortable with your head on his lap. 

Jaemin ran his fingers through your hair as you talked about your day. His touch was soft and gentle. He let you rant for what felt like hours. His responses filled with mms and chuckles at the stories. You told him about how loud kids can get during field trips and how much that hurts your head, even though seeing kids happy is what made you get into teaching in the first place. 

“Not everyone can be as well behaved as our babies, you know?” You said, pointing to the kittens playing amongst themselves. 

“You’re right, we are raising them right babe.” Jaemin dropped his head down and gave you a kiss. 

“I think we make good parents, personally” “Isn’t that right kitties?” He wiggled his fingers on the bed, getting the kittens’ attention as they ran to grab his hand and you both giggled.

You twisted your head to look at up at him, unintentionally moving closer to his crotch. “I love you guys, my little family.” 

“And I love you” Jaemin felt his cheeks get hot with embarrassment as he tried to pull his t-shirt further down, covering his now slowly growing semi. 

Your boyfriend looked away trying to distract himself and his fingers in your hair came to a halt. 

“Baby, why’d you stop?” You twisted your head once again, to look up at him and he held your head in place. “It’d be nice if you kept your head still” He said still refusing to meet your eyes.

“Huh?” “Wait- wha?” You burst out laughing as Jaemin tried to hold his laugh in too. He continued to adjust his t-shirt but you caught on to what was going on.

“Really Jaem?! In front of the kids?” You pulled his hand away from his t-shirt to look at his erection and teased him.

Grabbing a cat toy from your night stand, you wiggled it around before throwing out into the living room. Lucy, Luna and Luke ran after it, leaving you both alone in the room. 

“Jaem, look at me..” You whispered to your flustered boyfriend, who couldn’t stop giggling coyly. 

It didn’t take long for his giggles to stop and his breath to hitch when you slowly snaked your hand over his clothed dick. You palmed him as you looked up at him and he held your face, smiling down at you.

You could feel the atmosphere shift in the room when his dick became fully erect and his breathing got heavy from your touch. Jaemin’s face came down once again, as you got up and met his lips half way, hungrily. 

Sitting on your heels, you reached for the hem of his t-shirt and ripped it off him and he returned the favour. Taking your trousers off, you couldn’t wait to get on his lap and straddle him, deepening the kiss. Jaemin’s hands felt big around your waist, as he kneaded your skin. Panting in unison, the heat began to grow between you two and you moaned into his mouth. 

Jaemin’s mouth made its way down to your jawline, then behind your ear, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He gave your ear a gentle bite, which made your hips grind down on his erection. You felt your underwear beginning to soak through when it made contact with his hard, heavy length.

He continued to kiss you along your neck, collar bones until he made his way to your breasts and he pulled down your bra to take a nipple in his mouth. Your hands grabbed his head, affectionately caressing it. 

Jaemin was a lot bigger than you in size, so seeing him like this, under you with your breast in his mouth, made your head spin. Your right hand travelled down to the side of his neck as you held onto him for support, your nails grazed his skin and he groaned into you. 

“Need you..” You whimpered when he brought his fingers began playing with your nipple. He left kisses back up to find your lips once again. His tongue deep inside you mouth, making you ache for him. He began thrusting against your clit to meet your subtle movements on him, both of you swallowing each others moan. 

Jaemin bit your bottom lip as he pulled away. “Then take me.” 

He leaned back into the headboard, admiring you in your aroused state. He smiled. You loved Jaemin’s smile, it could light up any room he walked into. It was your favourite thing about him. His hands rested on your hips, holding you in place as you took him out of his boxers. 

You leaned in to peck his lips again before, you let some spit slowly drop down to his dick and you worked his length. Jaemin maintained the eye contact as his expressions began to switch. His smile faded into his mouth slightly parted and his eyebrows furrowed, at your touch. 

He bit his lip, “just like that doll, keep going.” He whispered, rubbing your hips with his big hands. 

Sounds of his pre cum, mixed with your spit could be heard and it only made you grow wetter. Jaemin lightly traced his hands along your front, until his thumb found its way to your clit where he began rubbing circles. You started to feel impatient. You needed to feel him. You had to have him right now. 

Jaemin moved your ruined panties to the side, as he rubbed your slit with his long finger. He slid his digit inside you which was met with a mmmm sound from you. 

“You ready for me already?” He commented on your wetness with a gasp.

“Come here.” 

Jaemin grabbed your hands, moving them to his broad, muscly shoulders as he pulled you in closer, connecting your lips once again. You felt your heart beat inside your ears from desire, taking over every atom in your body, when you felt him twitch under you. You sighed into his mouth once again before grabbing the base of his dick, you hovered over him. 

Apparent desperation on your face, made Jaemin smile as he pulled your panties to the side once more, staring into your eyes. You both held eye contact as you slowly sunk down on him, making his jaw go slack and his head fall back. You gasped, taking him in, inch by inch, until he filled you up. 

You let out a loud whimper as your head also fell into his neck and you started to move. Stroking him painfully slow, unable to stop your thighs from shaking and moans rolling out of you like  breathing. 

Jaemin slid down further, giving you more control and wrapped his arms around you. Mirroring his actions, you also wrapped your arms around his head as he buried his face into your chest. His tongue found its way to your nipples once again, making you squirm.

“You’re doing so good, doll.. just like that” Jaemin breathed out, digging his nails into your back and scratching all the way down to your waist. He smacked your ass. “Keep going for me…” 

It wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm come crashing as you unraveled on top of Jaemin, leaving him in a daze. He grabbed your jaw and kissed you. 

“Spit.” He opened his mouth under you, and you did as you were asked. “Pretty girl.” Jaemin lightly tapped your cheek with his hand, as you rode out your climax. 

He didn’t know what to do with his hands, as the heat inside him continued to grow and he felt lightheaded. His desire was taking over him and he bucked his hips to go deeper inside you with a loud groan. You swore you were seeing stars as he held you in place and started fucking into you with deep, hard thrusts. Your whole body felt like jelly as you let Jaemin take control and you fell into the crook of his neck. 

You sucked on his neck, interchanging with moans every now and then, as Jaemin continued to pound into you. He felt his own orgasm reaching when his strokes started becoming faster and your tits bounced in his face. He took one in his mouth to muffle his moans as he began twitching inside you, triggering yet another orgasm for you. 

“I.. “ You breathed out. “Gonna cum again” You barely let out a whisper and you both finished at the same time. Fireworks flying around the room would be an understatement as you both panted, heavily and your cries of his name filled the space around you. 

As Jaemin’s body went limp, you lifted up your head from his neck to look at his fucked out eyes and he kissed the bottom of your chin. You began to move slowly, as you over stimulated him. 

Whimpers and incoherent sentences fell from his mouth making his constrict on you tighter. 

“Y/N.. please” He looked up at you like a puppy, begging. 

You giggled before stopping and kissed him all over his face. You both sat there, with him inside you like that for a while. Catching your breath and waiting for your heart rates to be stable again. 

“Hungry?” Jaemin said after a while.

“SO BAD.” You exclaimed, making Jaemin smile at you. 

He smacked your ass hard before gently rubbing and playing with it. “Alright, get up and lemme make you something to eat yeah?” 

He placed one last kiss on your lips.

[jadewritesficshere]

Would you rather

Eddie Munson x Reader

Synopsis: Eddie asks you a question late in the night (<1k words)

Contains: reader is not gendered, hypothetical questions, discussions of sex and oral sex (there is a reference to messy sex, specifically spit, but only one line and not in detail), clowns

18+only

You're laying on your side staring at the wall when his voice pierces the quiet. "Are you awake?" Eddie whispers in the dark. It's almost 2am. The last remnants of weed in your system should have made it easy to fall asleep, but not tonight. You roll onto your back and look over at him," Yeah?"

Eddie shuffles in the bed closer to you," Got a question." Eddie's hand lightly touches your arm, taps it a few times as if to make sure you were there, before retreating. His hand lays next to you, close enough you can feel the warmth. "It's pretty serious." He mumbles.

You can feel your heart beat faster. A pretty serious question could mean anything. Maybe it's about the Upside Down, maybe about your future togeth-

"Would you rather be considered the world's best kisser but be terrible at sex, or be the best at sex but a terrible kisser?"

You pause for a moment.

"That's your question?" You shake your head smiling. The bed shifts as Eddie presses his face into his pillow as if to hide," Nevermind, it's dum-" "It's not dumb! I'm just thinking." Your hand grasps his, squeezing it lightly. "Do i have time to make a pros and cons list?"

"Gut instinct." Eddie pokes at your side and you slap his hand away. "Clarification, does oral count as sex or kissing?" "Hmm," Eddie's brow furrows," I mean it's called oral sex right? So that implies sex."

"Oh then a terrible kisser and good at sex. Good for you and me right? Besides, what's a terrible kiss? A lil messy? You like that-" "Okay shut up!" Eddie slaps you with his pillow causing you to chuckle. Eddie shakes his head before returning his pillow to where it was.

"Now you get to ask one." Eddie's fingers tap out a rhythm against your interlocked hand. You hum, thinking deeply,"Would you love me if I was a worm?" "Thats not a would you rather!" "Okay, would you love me if I was a worm rather then a human."

"That's not- that isn't," Eddie laughs," Okay sure, uh, are you a human sized worm or a regular worm?" "Worm sized." "Do you keep your ass?" You both giggle at the imagery.

"Imagine a worm with just a huge ass," you gasp out," Do worms even have asses?" You both continue to giggle quietly, the bed shaking slightly from your laughter.

"Yeah. I would still love you. I just wake up one day and you've turned into a worm? No, yeah of course I'd still love you. Then I'd go and find the witch that cursed you. I'd galavant through the trees, singing songs of your beauty and our love. Once I find the witch, I'd fall to my knees and beg for them to turn you back." Eddie rambles on, weaving a magical tale of adventure.

"Where am I in all this?" You ask kicking his shin lightly. Eddie traps your leg in his," In my pocket. I'll knit you a little blanket. Wrap it around you. Make you a lil bed and-" You gasp," Like Slimey?" "Like Slimey." Eddie agrees shifting closer to you.

Your eyes have adjusted well to the darkness. You can see his hair going every direction. His lips are slightly chapped but still kissable. His tank top has shifted, showing off a scandalous amount of skin, tattoos, sparse chest hair, and his nipple.

"Would you rather fuck a clown or a mime?" Eddie whispers. "I already fuck a clown i fuck you." You bite your lip to hold back your laughter

Eddie's shocked gasp has you that laughter escaping. "That's it! We're done!" Eddie jokingly pushes away from you as you protest with an "I'm kidding!".

You scoot closer, grasping onto his bicep. You kiss his cheek and continue to murmur apologies. Eddie sighs loudly as he wraps his arms around you. "Calling me a clown," Eddie makes a noise of disgust whilst shaking his head.

Your laughter settles as you gaze into Eddie's eyes. Your noses are almost touching. You can feel the warm exhale of his breath against your face. Eddie kisses you lightly before looking imploringly into your eyes," No, but which would you rather fuck?"

You pause a moment to think. A grin starts to spread across your face," All I can imagine is you go to grab a clown's ass and it just makes one of those squeaky horn noises." Eddie giggles and then mimicks the noise, lightly grabbing your ass.

For whatever reason, it sets you both off laughing. Maybe it's the imagery. Maybe it's the fact that it's 2 am and you both are sleep deprived. Maybe it's the fact you both feel safe and comfortable to be yourself around each other. Maybe it's the leftover weed in your systems.

"Imagine-" Eddie wheezes on a laugh," you go to remove the underwear and as you remove it- wheeze- more just keeps coming. Like those handkerchiefs that never end." The laughter in the room grows louder.

You can feel Eddie's body shake with laughter as he holds you close. Your eyes well up with tears as you imagine Eddie doing a sexy lil dance, removing a pair of underwear from under his skirt, and more keep coming as he said.

A banging on the door causes you both to jump. "Will you two shut up, some of us are trying to sleep!" Steve's grumpy, sleep-addled voice breaks through the silence. "Sorry!" Eddie calls bashful. "Waking me up...got an early shift...need my beauty sleep..fucking fools..." Steve mutters, footsteps sounding as he walks away.

"I think he means fucking clowns." You whisper in Eddie's ear. A fit of giggles fills the air again as you lay in each other's arms.

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hello! I found your blog and love the writing

Here’s sit with me while I tell you my favorite idea 💡

✨So the hunters (all if possible) come back to the manor after a long match of smelling sweat and blood upon walking towards their shred room with reader they catch a scent of their lovers perfume- mind going a mile a minute with the idea of their lover being in they arms and just melting from the stress of the day ✨

Thoughts 💭

ANON. anon...... this is the kind of scenario that makes me CRAZY uegh.. when their judgment's clouded by bloodlust but inhaling your scent brings them back to their senses >>> 🤒 let me be your lighthouse home etc etc. sign me UP.

for some blurbs, this turned into a broader "hunter comes straight to you after a rough match" without the perfume bit. kind of misunderstood the assignment but either way, here's this!

🌪️✂️👘🏳️🏴🦌🐍🪞🎻🔩🐟🕯️

🌪️ Ithaqua brings an air of gloom with him into your bedroom. Driven by nothing but a searing want for you, he skips over any pleasantries to tear off his mask and shove you onto the ground. A bed of wind tries to break your fall, but his impatience gets the better of him; he pins you to the floor with such force that he disrupts his own gale from cushioning your way down. Not that you care in the moment. You’ve been waiting to have him in your arms all day. He leaves a scattering of love bites and wet kisses up your neck.

✂️ Jack has one particular tune that he hums after his worst matches. Months of living together have left you all too familiar with it. His song begins from the foot of the staircase and steadily crisps itself to your ears as he draws nearer. Afraid of the state you might find him in, you rush outside to meet him at the top of the banister. He pauses with one foot on the next step. “Curious,” he says, greeting you with a cordial smile. “It’s not often a little mouse stands in my path—not on purpose.” His blouse is soaked a shade of reddish brown, and no amount of easy banter can hide the weariness in his eye. “Well, you’ve saved me the trouble. I was on my way to ravage you next.”

👘 Michiko drags her nails along the walls of the corridor, leaving a dull streak of blood behind. She doesn’t make a sound when she slips inside your room, practised in her delicate step; you don’t even feel the dip in the mattress before she has her shoulders arched over you. Eyeing you tenderly, she rolls a warm thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m home,” she murmurs. “Your sweet scent led the way again.” She realizes she left a smear of red on your skin, and her hand jerks away, startled by the reminder of what she had been doing just minutes ago.

🏳️ Bi’an’s arms wind around the small of your back, drawing you into his chest for a slow, tender embrace. It’s the first thing he does after returning to the manor: falling straight into your arms. As his lips trail down your forehead, peppering soft kisses in their path, you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. A whisper escapes you about how out of the blue this is, and in response he brings a kiss to the corner of your eye, prompting them to flutter shut. “Let me have you, just for a little while…” Those sweet kisses he’s so good at descend your neck, growing rougher the lower he goes.

🏴 Wujiu’s arms wind around your stomach, pressing his chest flush against your back. He hasn’t uttered a word since returning from his match, aside from a tepid “Nothing worth mentioning” when asked about his day. This sudden affection takes you by surprise. You try to turn your head to face him but he catches your chin, steering your gaze back to the wall. “Don’t look at me.” Whatever is clouding his mind today is better left alone, you realize. You lay your hands on top of his, squeezing them, encouraging him to let your presence blot out everything on his mind. Warm breath fans your collarbone as he nuzzles into your neck, drinking in your scent.

🦌 Bane doesn’t like to discuss his matches. It makes no difference whether they are quick or slow, a win or a lose, they always weigh on him the same way. He sits on the edge of the bed lost in thought. You decide to break the tension first by greeting him with a hug from behind, your chin hooking over his shoulder. Bane isn’t big on physical affection. But after a while he cups a tender hand to your temple, palm taking up the entirety of your face, and presses you gently into him.

🐍 Yidhra might be the hunter most detached from the nightmares of the manor games. They provide nothing but leisure for her, and she’s never felt particularly passionate about them, win or lose. Her followers are the ones who give her the most trouble. When they resist her will, her consciousness splinters apart, some days leaving her too weak to herd them back again. These are typically the days she comes for you. You aren’t sure when she enters your room, but sometimes you catch glimpses of her tail in your peripheral, never to be seen when you’re looking on purpose. Her voice floats in the back of your mind: Mine, mine, mine, mine… There is nothing that binds you to her, yet you’re the only one who never resists her.

🪞 Mary barges into the room clumsily for someone of her poise. She struggles to prop herself against the door, muddy skirt stiff in awkward folds. “My mind is a mess,” she exclaims, voice clear but breathless at the same time. “Where are you? Come settle me.” The second she spots you, she sulks over to toss her arms around your neck, finding a seat in your lap. Clearly she isn’t concerned about observing her usual decorum today. Her dress is heavy and splotched with muck you don’t care to identify, but you don’t mind holding her as the burdens of the day ease off her shoulders.

🎻 Antonio’s fingers instinctively travel to the liquor cart by the window. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but feeling around to find nothing but an empty platter gives him pause. One resigned cluck of his tongue later, you feel tendrils of hair coil around your waist and wrists. They pluck you up from your side of the bed and present you in front of him as if you’re nothing more than a doll. “Not a drop to console me?” he complains, knowing you’ve hidden his bottles again. Then his head tilts slightly, taking in your scent. You can practically see detention’s fiery glow return to his eyes. “No, perhaps you are right—there is something more intoxicating for me here.”

🔩 Percy - “Hm...” He’s scrutinizing you with such intensity that you wonder if something’s on your face. He leans over to take an exaggerated whiff of you, and your heart sinks in offense. You have half a mind to tell him you showered just that morning, so it’s probably not you — besides, he’s the one who’s been tangoing with carcasses all day — but Percy keeps a thoughtful look about him. “You smell full of life,” he muses. “That fragrance you wear, it was popular back in the day. Transports me to the city again.” He would know better than you; you just found this perfume in the trunk of a dusty old room. When he comes closer, clasping either hand around your face, you let him lose himself in the nostalgia. Moments like these are all you have to keep yourselves sane in the manor.

🐟 Grace’s mouth is pulled into a taut frown when she flings open the door. You can see a slight quiver in her lip if you squint. Her harpoon clatters on the ground and she drops onto your bed, braid falling out, face buried in a pillow. There’s little you can do except rub a soothing hand in circles on her back. When she peeks over her arm with a gentle plea in her eyes, you wonder if she’s asking for a deeper massage—but you don’t get the chance to ask before her hand latches onto your forearm, tugging you down to lie with her.

🕯️ Philippe settles for a glass of brandy and his bundle of sketches. He’s resting on the chaise by the foot of the bed, not his work desk where he’d usually be. Rather than drafting new ideas he’s simply thumbing through the old ones, mechanically, breaking from his cycle only for a sip of his glass. It’s like your lover’s been replaced by a puppet. You feel unnerved enough to intervene: stripping him first of his glass, his sketches, then his monocle, you tip him back onto the cushion. You expect him to complain about having to get back to work, but he doesn’t protest. Tonight is for him, you decide. As his dark hair sprawls out beneath him, you straddle his thighs, and his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “I’m terribly jealous of this magic of yours,” he murmurs, faint lilt in his voice. “It’s always you who brings me back from the stars.”