#sitting on his bed or a window sill or something

[quillsandblades]

Alright, here's my addition.

It had started with dreams. Nightmares. Waking up in the dead of the night as a sweaty, terrified mess, clutching the covers, nervous eyes darting around hoping to pierce the gloom. They were senseless at first, filled with intangible feelings of dread and fear. Then faces morphed within the mist, the cat came first, then a pale face with big black button eyes. Then a skeleton hand with painted claws tap tap tapping��

‘PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME—I’LL DIE WITHOUT YOU!’ 

Then the cat again. Watching her with expressionless eyes. 

‘What is the other mother?’ 

‘Nothing. Everything. Something that enjoys playing games,’ it gave her an answer this time. 

‘Does she have a name?’ 

‘Never gave herself one.’ 

‘Do you have a name?’ Hange asked. She saw the cat’s mouth move, words forming but the world around her had muted. She tried to ask her to repeat but her voice had disappeared. A slow smirk spread upon the cat’s features. And then she fell. 

The dreams continued on through lazy summer nights, morphing into clearer pictures of the meadow beside the tennis court. It never showed her the well where she’d disposed of the last bits of the other mother, rather she’d find herself walking around it to a more barren, drier area. And then she would dig. 

And wake up, panting. Always. 

She never got to see what lay there. Until that night. 

***

When the boy had pushed her into the grave, Hange woke up in her room just like she did every other night after a horrible dream. Shaky hands fumbled for her side, pressing, lifting her shirt only to see unmarred skin. She couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. 

After that, the nightmares stopped. But she slept uneasily. Her days were spent wandering outside the house, searching for something to keep her mind off things. She didn’t see the cat anywhere either, Hange had already given up looking for it. She even tried to summon it with Mr Bobinsky’s rats but to no avail. 

On her fifth dreamless night, Hange was once again woken up by… nothing in particular. Her room was empty, curtains swaying in the open window. She sat up for a better look, trying to pinpoint the disturbance that awoke her. Eyes drifted to the mirror in the corner of her room and she saw the black cat sitting behind her on the windowsill. It watched her with unblinking blue eyes. 

‘Hello,’ said Hange. ‘Where have you been all this time?’ Of course she didn’t expect it to speak like it used to in the other world. Hange got out of bed and turned to the sill so she could pick the cat up. 

Only there was no cat. The window was empty. 

She turned to the mirror and the cat tilted its head to a side and grinned at her, just like the boy had beside her dug-up grave in the dream. Her body froze, she didn’t dare move, eyes fixed on the mirror. 

The curtains swelled and danced in the breeze, blocking the cat out of her sight for a second. When they settled back, the mirror reflected a pale boy watching her with an amused expression. 

‘Hello Hange,’ he said. A shiver ran down her back, like the caress of death itself. He hoped down and began to approach her in small, leisurely steps. Her feet stumbled, shifted and she twisted back, ready to push him away this time before he could do something. But her room was empty. Eyes back to the mirror and the boy was walking towards her. 

She watched helplessly, voice and limbs paralysed, as he stood right behind her. She could see his chest going up and down with rattling breaths but none could be heard or felt on her back. In the mirror he bent down until his mouth was right beside her ear, his eyes were locked onto hers, piercing and cold. 

A whisper bleed through the fabric of worlds and she heard, ‘The name’s Levi.’  

adventurer and guide

The Cat's fur is soft and glossy, almost shining under the moonlight. He's a tad small, but cute. Hange cocks her head to the side. The world rotates; she can understand it better if she shifts, bends and twists it according to her own perspective. The Cat scrunches his nose at her scornfully, as if looking down at her peculiar behaviour. Hange pays it no mind, she's used to that treatment. "Who are you?" she asks. He doesn't reply, of course, and she doesn't need him to. She already knows the answer. He's her new friend.

[t4t-scout]

hot and bothered evenings

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[inumakis-boo]

TOGE INUMAKI ⟢. ݁₊⋆.˚ ༘♡˚

fanfiction synopsis ␥ you and toge inumaki are both in your third year of jujustu high, but youve barely spent a moment alone yet. when you do on a saturday night, you realize exactly why you need to "hang out" more // aka, the first step to being friends with benefits.. hooking up the first time.

word count - 4,629 // hope you enjoy! tw obviously.

You would have never guessed how this night would end, compared to its beginning. Like something you would have read in a terrible booktok novel with its cliches and tropes- but you could have never understood how even cliches, imitate life.

It was finally Saturday night, and all of the second and third years sat in Itadori’s room, with the dim blue LED lights circling them, and posters of clad women on the wall to give off the perfect teenage boy aesthetic. Some game was going on the TV and both Itadori and Nobara had been occupying everyone's attention with their shouting and cheers as they fought on screen.

You didn’t know exactly how or why or when, someone had swiped a bottle of something, and now it lay on the mats on the floor, empty with a broken seal. At least everyone had gotten more than a few sips of the fire in the bottle, and you struggled to swallow it, but you still smiled after and laughed. It made the stress of training on the body at least feel a little better as your fingertips buzzed.

Nobody checked the time, and everyone laid out on his bed, on the floor, on the desk and chair. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem- all the teachers would be gone for the weekend. After all, they were all old enough that Satoru Gojo wouldn’t have to babysit constantly, right?

They sat, comfortably then, letting the TV be loud and the shouting obnoxious.

It had taken you awhile to notice, but one member had been missing for the last few minutes with no explanation. You double-checked the room and did not see the violet-eyed boy sitting anywhere. He had last taken a few sips of the bottle and beat Itadori in a game, before at some point dipping for.. whatever reason.

Perhaps he had gotten sick or was fetching something? You decided to go check it out. You silently got up off the floor and didn’t pay much attention as everyone laughed at Itadori dying for the 7th time tonight.

The hallway was darker than usual, but it was probably too late anyway. Moonlight shone through the panes of the window, their crossed shapes decorating the hardwood down the hall, each window revealing the silky glow from the outside. Your eyes followed down and caught to one pattern disturbed.

You follow it up and see the one you were checking on, leaning on the window sill, soaking up the moonlight. It glimmered against the pale skin of his face but did not fade the marks around his mouth.

You slowly walk over, and he tears his eyes from the scene towards you and smiles a little. Instinctually, he pulls out his phone.

“You look happy.” You remark, and his smile grows as he types into the notes app.

// Just felt like walking around, but seeing you here is better. //

You were familiar with his real personality beyond the curse lodged in his throat, the silly and rather typical teenage boy attitude in everything he did. But for some odd reason, it was seeing it face to face was a difference. You had only maybe a few conversations with him before over text, and while you trained together in class, didn’t mean you were used to him yet.

// Something happen? //

“Nah.” You lean on the sill with your body, feeling the open breeze come in. “You're not missing anything.”

He just smirks with a little head shake, and his eyes that had met yours look back to the sill.

// I won’t keep you here, //  He types as you look over. // I should be back soon. //

“I’m not in a rush to watch Megumi and Itadori argue about the game rules again.” You smile and snicker. “Out here is nice.”

// Not surprised about that at all // He snickers aloud, // I would like company. //

The moonlight and the random liquor someone brought must have been messing with your senses- He felt welcoming and charming, and in this space, it was more private than anywhere else.

“You had plenty of company in there.” You bring it up, but he just shrugs. Perhaps he wasn’t asking for that kind of head-ache-inducing company.

He scrolled up again to the first note.

// ..it is better seeing you here.//

What was happening with your stomach? It was like something was bubbling up, in a good way. He gazed with an interested eye. and you tried to hold back a dopey grin.

He turns to face away from the window and stretches. You watch him turn back to you, his face now in the dark of the hall. He types-

//I am going to go back to my room, wanna me to walk you back to everyone else?//

“W-What?” You stutter embarrassingly, then clear your throat- “Nono, you don’t have to. It is only down the hall. Let me walk you instead.”

Ah, his smile was so genuine, and he brushed back his hair for a moment before shrugging. A visual okay.

You begin to walk with Him down the silver halls, cusping your hands in yours, watching as you walk in step, his dorm slippers on with his casual sweatpants and navy t-shirt. He wanted to be comfortable- it wasn’t even the first time you had seen him in casual clothes.. although it was more of a rare sight to not see his mouth covered.

You blindly follow him to his room, your eyes catching peeks of his face. He still looked like he did last year according to school photos, but his jaw was more defined, and of course, his inky markings had always made themselves apparent. You thought they were interesting, like any tattoo or scar.

His eyes look at you curiously, and you realize you're just staring at him and look away. You don’t look back, even though he brushes his arm against yours. He had little words to say, yet had better social skills than anybody here. It didn’t feel awkward though, it was just a little new. You hadn’t really noticed him before.. nor had you noticed him noticing you.

Both of you arrived at his dorm room, a little wood plaque around his doorknob that was a gift, a salmon emoji that had been painted for him hung there. It was cute, and you watched it as the door opened.

Toge stepped into his room and didn’t bother to flick on the lights, the full moon shining right through his windows. You couldn’t see much but you could smell him from outside of the room, a mix of his shampoo and cologne- fresh and warm. It almost pulled you in.

He turned after he kicked off his slippers, coming back to the door with his notes presented still.

// We should hang out more often. I think you're fun. //

You shake your head with a laugh. How did he come to that conclusion?

“We didn’t even do anything..!” You laugh, rubbing your arms. Toge returns to his phone. “How would you know?”

// Yeah but, I have my reasons, don’t I? Maybe I have a feeling. //

Okay, maybe your knees had good reason to be weak. Was he flirting? His face seemed to say so.

And.. what could happen if you tested the waters? You hadn’t ever flirted with many people before but.. he was just a friend, right?

You look down the hall and bite your lower lip with a smile. “What kind of feeling?”

It is his turn to look away, leaning against the door frame. He is trying to not smile too hard, you can see.

“Are you feeling like.. we should hang out sooner than later?"

You were wondering if others had drunk more than you had, and according to his eyes, sizing you up, you had an inkling that he might've had just enough to not fear with his expressions. If he was truly cautious, he would be covering his mouth, right?

And according to the feeling between your legs, you had little filter to worry about.

He took a step once, then twice until your chests were practically meeting, and he looked like he had already decided what he wanted, and was bold about it. While your heart was still beating, even if rapidly, you wouldn’t stop until you figured him out.

Of course, he typed with one hand by your side, then presented.

// I am feeling like you are curious about me like I am curious about you, and I wanna see more. Only if you wanna. //

He had read you like a book. You licked your lips and sighed, looking up at him. His hair had been pushed back some since he arrived at his dorm, and the warmth from his body mixed with his cologne was driving you nuts. You wondered how toned he was under these clothes- and wondered if he thought about you the same way.

“If you're so curious..” Your hand slipped onto his pec- firm and warm. “How about you come find out?”

That would do it- one smirk and another step and his lips were pressing against yours. So softly at first, but once your hand had slowly crept up his neck and pulled him just a tad closer, you could feel the intensity rise, his tongue running across your lips and into your open mouth, hands running up and down your hips, never pulling you further but always closer.

Then you could feel him moving back and pulling you with him. You were still in the hallway outside of his dorm, after all. You accepted it- and had no room to even protest. He was too good of a kisser and knew exactly how to take control, not much of a surprise there.

By the time you had started paying attention again, you heard the decoration on his door tap on the door as it closed shut, and realized vaguely you were in a dark room with his boy that just moments ago, considered nothing more than friendly with.

How far this was going to go or fear of being caught was honestly the last thing on your mind. He had reiled you up and at this point, he could have anything he asked for. He wanted to know, he needed to know.

You let his tongue slip into your mouth as his hands run underneath your shirt, his hands on your skin sending you even more haywire. It was addictive, and you were determined to make the same reaction out of him- if not better.

You let your fingers curl in his hair, pushing him forward more, his warm sigh against your cheek telling you how much he was enjoying this. He deserved it, for being so nice to you, and coming onto you like that, making you feel so nervous and witty. You let him guide you to somewhere in his room, and suddenly you can feel the edge of something behind your ass. You were slightly pinned to the end of his bed frame, just enough to keep you from running away.

His knee slowly dragged between the gap of your legs, and the proximity made you sigh in appreciation. He hummed, yet didn’t dare leave your lips. He was being so explorative, passionately involved in every toss of your tongue in your mouth and every patch of skin he touched. His fingertips were dragging across your flesh, and the entire time you could barely keep yourself sane enough to touch him back.

But you did- starting at his navel, just to make him sigh through his nose as his kisses traveled from your mouth to your neck and ear, the brush of his face and lips making you want to squirm with delight. Then, the palm of your hand, just teasing enough, palmed his firm abs, defined so perfectly that you could imagine them in your dreams just by touch alone- but here you were, touching his so wantingly. Your fingertips, like his, grazed so temptingly across his obliques, feeling their tightness and the rumble in his chest easily.

At this point, his shirt was bunching at your wrists, and as a final act of teasing, simply made a motion to pull it up, and meeting violet eyes as he did could’ve made you sink to your knees at a moment. His eyes were lidded and needy, and his lips were pinker with friction, and you could only imagine if he was the type to leave marks behind.

The white shirt had been tossed, maybe on his desk chair, he clearly hadn’t cared where it ended up, because he was too busy doing the exact same to you. You wouldn’t even break eye contact, wouldn’t dare, as his hands sat right below your bra, and could feel the urge in his grip to just take it off right then and there.

Maybe helping his urges wouldn’t be so bad, right?

You took his hand, and encouraged the back of his, allowing him to sneak under the wire and squeeze your perky tits, watching his eyes return to yours as he squeezed on his own.

There was no way you were returning to your dorm room tonight.

Next thing you knew, your bra wire was sitting right near the top of your breasts as he had leaned down, holding his head as he licked and sucked on the hard nipples, rolling one in the other hand. It was erotic, watching his tongue, marked with the scar of his curse, flicking your cute buds to make your body jello in his hands. It was extremely hot, and you knew that these panties were going to be ruined by the time you let him tear them off of you.

Speaking of underwear, you forced his head to lay next to your neck, returning his lower half to be in your grasp, and immediately got to work palming at the other. He sure was enjoying that attention, letting you fondle your smaller hand against his clothed thickness, shuttering at the idea of sitting right on it. The lewd thoughts were going a mile a minute, and you weren’t planning on stopping.

He continued to pull at your sensitive little buds as you fondled him, his breath becoming heavy against your neck as you thoroughly got an idea of what to expect- but hands wandered on his side, and you knew that his long fingers were not going to be idle much longer. His entire hand curled around your mound over your sweatpants, and the pressure in his fingertips along your pantied slit was driving you nuts.

But, with bra abandoned on the floor, he moved you with his hand still on your crotch to the side of the bed, his forehead against yours as he switched places and sat down first, then brought you into his lap.

You could tell he was not going to be rough in manhandling you, just simply moving you just to better fit his need to touch you, and the touch alone was enough to make it obvious how wet you were- and he became very aware the moment he dragged down the band of your sweatpants to reveal the heat of your pussy, throbbing with need for any kind of friction, by anything.

You could hear the hum in his throat, the holding back of a groan as he touched the lace of your underwear and found it moist, clearly satisfied with all that had been hidden before. You could feel the grind of his cock against your ass as he leaned back more into the headboard and pillows, making your torso almost barely sit up, while your legs were pulled apart so easily by setting them on opposite sides of his own knees. You were so bare, and his fingers trailing around your clit, throbbing with need, was enough to make you moan into the air, your chest rising with the lighting going through you.

“Be quiet.” The command shot through you instantly, and your mouth closed, only faint whimpers lodged in your throat managing to make any noise- anyone could hear, of course, it was late.

But no- that was only one half of the coin. The other half was being able to hear the gushing noises as he softly slapped your wet folds, just enough to hear it, and being forced to hear how needy you had become. His other hand held your jaw close to his neck, and let you cover your whimpers there. You moved your ass against his length just below, but he wasn’t done here.

One finger had slipped in so easily with all the lubrication gushing out of you, but the second dreadful finger had entered so achingly slow, pushing your insides slowly apart as he made a few experimental pumps before sinking them deep and curling, slow at first then faster and faster.

You weren’t going to make it like this. You were bound to cum, splayed out like a breeding slut for him, taking his fingers as he fucks you so earnestly, and sighs and grunts like he is fucking you, all the while not even having the pleasure to groan out yourself- only forced to hear how much your pussy needed his cock soon, and by soon, you meant thirty minutes ago, out in the hall way in the moonlight outside of Itadoris bedroom.

“Haah..” He grazed your ridges so slowly that you almost came, his thumb flicking your swollen clit too many times to count. He was too good at this.

You couldn’t handle it anymore- it was either you were going to cum here, or he would fuck you. Or both. Hopefully both.

Your fingertips grab onto his waist band and try to pull it down, but the angle is hard and you almost grow frustrated. He only bites his lip, forces your head so he can kiss you, and drags his own pants down, lifting both of you up to do so briefly.

Your first contact with his cock is when it slaps against your wet folds, the tip of his dick just brush so teasingly against your slit that you can barely imagine how you would somehow fit it in your throat eventually (hopefully, eventually, if she made it out alive.)

Now he was gasping, the mix of the delicate heat on his shaft, the wetness leaking from your needy hole, and his tiphead rubbing against your clit was even driving him insane. His hands were bruisingly gripping your waist, keeping you still as he slides up and down, shifting his hips to graze his tip all around your folds.

“P-Please, Toge-” You manage out when he gets weaker, your watery eyes and whimpering tone catching his ear immediately. “I want y-you to fuck me.”

He wouldn’t resist that kind of plea, not when he himself wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last- fuck it, he would use his curse to go longer if he needed too, as long as he was buried inside your cunt when it happened.

You felt it, instantly as the tip of his cock buried slowly into your hole, finally, stretching so good you were ready to about give up and let him take you anyway he wished. He was not going to let that happen though, you had to witness it all, how good he was laying it down.

The shaft went deeper and deeper until you felt the tip graze your delicate cervix, even with this much preparation, you still knew it was going to be bruised tomorrow morning. Fuck it, what did you care. Toge Inumaki was going to fuck you, and hearing his whimpering as he finally hit his base against your folds was like music to your ears.

He pumped it in, slowly and surely, until the pumps couldn't be timed anymore as he was, becoming steady thrusts into your creaming cunt that the hand on your jaw moved to your lips to block any noise from escaping.

God, his cock was so perfectly heavy just enough to burn your entrance as he entered over and over again, and perfectly long to make you groan into the palm of his hand as he slams it into you. It was too erotic the noise, what was the point of even covering your voice? Between his huffing and the squelching, it would be instantly noticeable to anyone outside the door.

Yet, he fucked your pussy until you could feel all the wetness gather at the base, dripping down his shaft. He didn’t even care beyond holding your mouth in his palm to conceal the noise.

But, he wasn’t done yet. No.. one final trick.

“Sit up and face me.” He whispered, and thank goodness you did not resist whatsoever to spare his voice, already so weak, you found yourself slipping his fat cock out of your needy cunt, and turning around, watching him readjust himself to look at you.

Yep, as expected. Face nothing more than a filthy reaction, dimmed and teary eyes, bitten lips, and red-got ears and cheeks, followed by cute red marks all along your neck, just enough to match your pink, toyed nipples against your pale skin, and finally, hand marks to go right along with glistening folds, already drooling all over the cock in his hand, directed right at your hole.

His hair had long since been pushed back, and his cheeks and lips were the same hue of red, his chest sweaty from bearing your heat on it as he fucked you on your back against it, and finally, silvery hair trimmed right at the base of his hard cock which throbbing and beading with precum.

“Sit on it, like a good girl.”

You had no inclination to do otherwise, feeling the tip enter you again, but this time, so much deeper than you knew another could go. It spreaded you out perfectly, watching as he got a perfect view of your hole, stretched around his dick while your tits sat prettily on your chest, hands stabilizing you on his hips.

You sat fully on it, your insides spazzing as it throbbed inside you, and you watched his face as he relished in the feeling, so completely trying to hold back from the display in front of him.

You wanted him to tell you exactly what to do- you were going to be his plaything tonight, no matter how much embarrassment you would feel in the morning, you were addicted to the idea of this man find every weak spot inside you, and letting him do exactly what he wanted.

He got the memo very fast.

“Bounce up and down, baby.” He whispered again, and your thighs moved, allowing you up and down on his shaft with ease. Even the burning in your thighs had disappeared, thanks to his order. You let his cock pump into your the first few time, watching as he tilted his head back to feel the bare heat, the friction of your ridges inside of you dragging across his head and shaft constantly.

You didn’t tire of watching him, not of him holding your hips and guiding you even though his words had done enough, not tiring of watching his eyes roll back, his mouth opening to moan aloud, his abs squeezing as he control his abdomen from reacting. It was your turn to watch him fall apart, and with all the foreplay with your tits and clit, you thought it well-deserved, if not vengeful.

You gained confidence as you rode him, hearing the slickness coat your thighs then meeting his, creating a sound so erotic it would get you both kicked out of jujutsu high, but you didn’t care when you grabbed his hands from your waist and let them grope at your tits, watching his eyes dilate with the motion of them moving in his hands. It went right to your abdomen as you felt his fingers pull at your already tender nipples.

You weren’t ever going to be the same after this- of course, you fooled around briefly before you joined the third years before Jujustu High, being a late bloomer, but this was going to be part of every wet dream, every shower spent with your fingers deep in your holes, would be about this moment, with his eyes grazing over you like he had a million things to say and command, and you're expected (and will) obey every single one, simply because he could fuck you to the point that you hoped he cummed right inside of you.

The very thought was going to make you explode, right on the base of his cock, you were going to lose all control, and nothing but his words were going to stop it.

But he was waiting for the perfect time- no, he wanted to cum with you, at the same moment, wanted you to cream right inside you as you creamed on him. He was going to make you remember this night, when you discovered all of him.

The sickening slaps had increased, and the effect of his words had worn off, but you didn’t care. The feeling of your g-spot being constantly rubbed into, fucked into, was all that mattered. His hands abandoned your tits for now, and instead, settled right on your face, and brought you down to kiss him. Now, it was his turn.

He trusted his hips deep in your cunt, and if nobody knew you two were fucking, somebody probably knew now. The dick was simply too good to even speak, feeling your lips wet with drool as he kissed you, your tongue being eagerly played with as he entered your mouth. He wanted you to go insane- he refused to be the only one.

Finally, he pressed your forehead against his, with both of your sweaty bodies rubbing together as he fucked your cunt easily with a flick of his hips, your moans and breath sharing the same space between your faces, he couldn’t resist any more. Not any longer could he hold out, now when you looked so prettily drunk on sex.

“I want you to cum.” He managed in a guttural demand. “Right now.”

The squeeze of your walls finally killed him as your racked out a deliciously loud moan turned whine, his hot cum shooting right into your clenching pussy as you leaked all over him, twitching and stuttering and faltering, head meeting his chest and neck as she came hard, right where she wanted to the most.

He holds you with both arms around your back, giving slowing thrusts into your sensitive cunt, tits and chest heaving against his as your whimper and whine, until he finally comes to a stop, and with the missing of friction, comes out his hard cock, and the load dripping onto his navel that he had buried deep inside you.

You were delirious with sex, completely and utterly spent as you panted against his chest, feeling his breath match yours so perfectly it was calming your brain down. You couldn’t stop twitching though, and you didn’t know if and when you would stop.

“Breathe..” He whispered, using probably the last of his energy to calm you down. Of course, it works, and you can feel yourself take a deep breath and release it with a shuttering take.

“Is it okay.. if I stay?”

You could hear the soft noise of him tapping a screen.

// To hang out? //

You smiled weakly, and lifted up a finger to type back.

// yes pls. //

Thank you all for reading! I had rewritten this, it was supposed to much more vague but.. i like this better.

anyways, @inumakisser and @nectardaddy this is for you pookies, i promised fr to deliver.

see ya later!

[diwatopia]

★ lovely ; james potter.

info: comfort, james potter x fem!reader, under 1k.

your head nuzzles into james' neck, inhaling greedily. "you smell good..." you sigh dreamily, nails raking the tiny curls at the base of his neck.

"yeah? i took a shower earlier... used that lavender soap you like," he hums while adjusting at the duvet. he huffs softly, unsure whether the cold touch of the wall that digs into his side annoys him more or the small amount of bedding left.

he tugs at the thick blanket as if attempting to get comfortable but you choose to not think much of it. in your mind, he fancies your cuddles, your affection, like he does every day.

after few seconds of finagling and a growing frown of frustration, "can you back up just a little bit? you've left me no space and this window sill is just stabbing my side like mad..." he groans.

you pout slightly, cheeks flushing a soft hue that closely resembles one of embarrassment. "sorry," you reply softly, body rolling over before scooting towards the opposite end of the bed.

"oh, love..." he makes an awfully sweet crooning sound, lips matching your bitty frown as you hug the bunched up duvet in your arms as if wired to cuddle something, to cuddle james.

james sighs, inching closer till your back meets his front. toned arms wrap around your midriff in attempt to apologize further.

"'m sorry, i didn't mean to be all over you." you speak understandingly, barely there and james feels his heart crack into trillions of pieces.

because here you are, being his undoubtedly sweet girl, showering him in your love that it makes his own affection cower next to yours.

"it's not your fault, baby. i dunno' why i spoke that way, 'm sorry." he speak weakly, as if barely noticing his original tone of voice.

you hum, "you seemed like you had a rough day... cuddles always seem to do the trick, but i guess today's different and that's okay." your voice is nothing but a squeak, soft and meek in a way that makes james believe that you'd rather not upset him again.

he's quick to prove otherwise as he showers your nape and cheek with the sweetest of kisses, soft lips against your supple skin.

"i'm not mad, my beautiful girl. you're so kind, always caring for others, thank you for the cuddles!" he lays it on thick, tone drenched in the finest of honey from the most richest of hives.

you giggle as his kisses grow tenfold, thicker fingers tickling at your waist. "jamie!" you laugh, swatting at his wrists with no real defense, more or less for show.

laughter and tickles turn to soft grazes and a love-sick gaze that makes you melt into the sheets like putty.

"why're you looking at me like that?" you whisper, thumb grazing his hairline absentmindedly.

"'cause you're lovely," he whispers back.

"you're lovely," you quip back with ease.

"nuh-uh, sweet girl. you're definitely loveliest." he coos.

★ diwa's notes: haiii this is my first post in ages and i'm super nervous bc ik my small amount of followers are def gone bc this isn't atwow TT this was just something sitting in my drafts so i hope ppl enjoy it :3 (and ellecdc if ur reading this which is a very low chance, ty for ur advice 🤍)

© hobietopia 2024.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader[4.7K] a little oneshot looking into the relationship that follows from ISITTGG. just smut, my dudes 18+

Steve Harrington was throwing gummy bears at your bedroom window. 

It was barely dusk, the sun just setting, that pretty kind of twilight light settling over the town in a blue-pink glow. The grass below your window was still too long, flowers still in bloom despite the way summer was leaving and September had begun. It smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the air outside was clean like chlorine, like freshly cut grass and the crisp like the beginning of fall. It wasn't as warm as it had been, but when you braced your hand on the sill and looked down to the space between your house and the Harrington’s, your boyfriend was standing there in just a short sleeved t-shirt. 

His jeans had a rip in the knee and his hair was wild, no doubt from driving around town with the car windows rolled right down, Eddie and Jonathan fighting over riding shotgun and the radio station. His cheeks were flushed, like he’d been going too fast, like he’d seen Chief Hopper’s flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror, laughed and gave him a chase.

Or maybe, just maybe, he’d been too eager to get back to you. 

He grinned at the sight of you, head tilted back, the crawling ivy that trailed over the bricks of his house brushing his hair. He had more freckles than ever from the summer passed, a dust of them over his nose, the leftover line from a scratch on his right brow from when Eddie dared him to land an ollie after a keg party.

Steve couldn’t skateboard.

“There she is,” the boy called out. He leaned against the wall, ivy and honeysuckle staining his white t-shirt. “Did you get prettier?”

You snorted, an unattractive noise that only made Steve grin wider. You leaned out the window a little further, pyjama shirt getting pulled by the wind. “You saw me four hours ago, Harrington.”

Steve squinted up at you, a half smile, a half shrug, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek. He looked like trouble, some kind of James Dean daydream. “Point still stands, princess. You gonna let me in?”

You rolled your eyes like it was all too much effort, even though your heart was bursting against your ribcage and the thought of Steve sneaking in through the garden gate to see you, standing in wait at your front door so he could slip up the stairs behind you. He was leaning against the bricks when you met him round the front, cheeks hot when he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to one, ‘cause your parents were in the kitchen making pasta and drinking red wine, greeting the boy warmly and throwing half serious threats up the staircase about keeping your bedroom door open.

You ignored them, closing it behind Steve as he wandered into your room, throwing himself onto your bed like he always did. The window was still open, curtains catching in the breeze, the soft static of your record player singing something he didn’t recognise. You watched the boy stretch out across your sheets, sneakers toed off over the edge and hitting the floor with a thud as he grinned at you. Steve had been yours for a month now, best friends for a decade longer but the sight of him against your pillows still made your inside somersault. It was a giddy feeling, when he coaxed you closer, sitting up so you could stand between his legs, denim jeans scratching at the outside of your bare thighs and he hummed when you wound your arms around his shoulders, fingertips playing with the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands found the backs of your legs, the soft skin just under the curve of your ass and he nosed at your sternum, grinning when he realised you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all night,” he murmured softly, lips grazing the cotton of your sleep shirt - his shirt. “Too soft, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile, the kind that made your feature scrunch up, cheeks warm and aching with that new kind of happiness that you hoped would never get old. “The softest,” you declared. “You were supposed to be having fun with the guys.”

Steve craned his neck back, face tilted up to you and the last of the sunlight that came through the corner of the window. It turned one eye lighter than the other, honey and whisky, his lashes casting shadows over one sunset coloured cheek. “I did, until Eddie tried to start a fight with Carver. Again.” His fingers pinched softly at the fat of your ass, making you squeak. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a kiss, huh?”

You pulled at his hair in retaliation, smirking when he only grunted in response. You ducked down a little to meet him, nose bumping his, loving the way his eyes found your lips, focused on your mouth. “He can ask nicely, for a start.”

You shrieked when you were hauled against the boy, laughter caught in your throat as Steve threw himself and you back onto the mattress, both of you landing clumsily amongst the pillows, on top of each other. He had you pinned before you could get your bearings, legs on either side of your hips as he grinned down at you victorious. He leaned in, crowding you, the smell of his cologne, smoke that you hoped was Eddie’s and not his, all around you. He was part of you now. Steve clung to your bed, he stayed in your sheets, left a part of himself behind on your pillows.

“Please, princess,” he whispered against your lips.

It was easy to give in, easier than trying to pretend you wouldn’t have kissed him without politeness. It was a sticky, soft thing. The sweetest kind of kiss, the kind that came from being so happy that you were finally able to put your lips to his. He tasted like vanilla, like cherry coke and Steve. It was the easiest thing in the world to let him tug you into him , his smile pressed against your own mouth, as he hummed, falling onto the mattress again and pulling you onto his lap. 

You petted at his hair, pushing the mess of it away from his forehead so you could sit some kisses there too, grinning when he squeezed at your waist, the soft of your hips. “You hungry?” You asked quietly, enjoying the warmth of him underneath you, like he’d brought the sun home with him. “Have you had food?”

Steve shook his head, hair brushing your cheek as he tried to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, nosing at the collar of your shirt so he could kiss at your throat. “Had some cereal, at like, ten,” he mumbled. 

“Steven,” you admonished, “s’almost nine at night.”

“Mmm, call me that again, s’hot,” Steve teased. 

You shoved at the boy’s shoulder, rolling your eyes and hiding your smile even though Steve was grinning. You eased off him, lying next to him on the bed instead. Your gaze met his, so close you could count those new freckles. “I could make you somethin’. Grilled cheese? You gotta eat, babe.”

It was lighthearted the way Steve pulled one of your legs over his hip, palm climbing up your bare thigh, so big his fingers were curling round to the inside, close to grazing your cunt. He kissed a line over your jaw, nuzzling into the crook of your neck until you squirmed. His voice was salacious, only half joking when he said:

“Oh my god,” he groaned dramatically. “That sounds better than head right now.”

It wasn’t out of the blue, that kind of talk, not really. Your sex life with Steve was still new, experimental in the best way. It had been almost five weeks of learning about each other in a way that you’d never gotten to before, working out how the other liked to be kissed, touched, teased. There’d been hurried make outs in the back of his car, on your living room sofa before your parents came home, quick touches and messy grinding on his bed before you had to return to your own. 

And when the time allowed it, when Steve got you to himself for hours on end, he kissed you until your jaw ached, until his lips were as pink as yours, working you up with his fingers until he could slide his cock inside of you and press you into the mattress. It was all new, shiny and glittery, warm bodies in the beds you used to make pillow forts out of, his cologne on your sheets, your perfume on his sweaters you stole. You shared bottles of sunscreen, swam in the backyard pools when the day turned to night and it felt like you were floating between stars, leftover barbeque smoke in the air as your legs touched Steve’s under the water.

It was a summer of sex and chlorine on skin, taking late night drives to the seven eleven in the next town over, icee’s for dinner, throwing gummy worms into the boy’s open mouth until he pulled you into his back seat and you could taste the sugar on his tongue. Steve was yours now, and god, your boy was summer incarnate.

But he hadn’t done that. Not yet.

You squirmed, feeling that too hot flush creeping up over your chest and neck. You rolled to the side, lying on your back so you could squint at the ceiling and try to work out how to make a joke out of it. You laughed, a little weakly, half shrugging and refusing to meet his gaze when the boy leaned up on his elbow to look down at you.

“I, uh, I wouldn’t know.”

Steve stared at you, one corner of his lips quirking up like he thought you were telling him a joke. When you didn’t laugh, he wrinkled his brow. “What?”

You didn’t feel embarrassed per say, in fact, you were reminded of a time - years and years ago - when you and the boy were trapped in a cupboard, standing too close to each other in the dark as you whispered about the people you’d kissed, the things you’d been to shy to do.

“What?” you shrugged, unaffected by Steve's bewildered stare. “So no one’s gone down on me, it’s not a big deal.” You tried hard not to sound defensive but Steve must’ve picked up on it anyway. 

“No, no,” Steve reassured, leaning in closer to dot a kiss to your cheek, another on your forehead for extra reassurance. “It’s not a big deal at all, babe. I just, I just thought - I assumed - you know. An ex would’ve offered, or something.”

You took the hem of the boy’s shirt in between your fingers for something to do, your gaze lowered when you shrugged again. “I mean, I don’t think a girl’s pleasure was at the forefront of most seventeen year old boys minds - or eighteen - and then, I don’t know, Chris--”

Steve made a face at the mention of the other boy.

“--he tried once, kind of, I think and, I guess it was okay? He didn’t really do it for long? But maybe I just took--”

“Did you come?”

You snorted, unable to help it and Steve grinned. Any chance to one up Chris Maxwell, no matter how long it had been since he’d had to watch you go on dates with him, Steve would take happily. “No, I didn’t get the chance to enjoy myself. It felt weird, and honestly, he was too busy trying to get a condom out at the same time.”

“What an asshole,” Steve groaned and he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, your jaw. 

“You’ve always thought he was an asshole, Steven.”

“Point still stands,” Steve scoffed and he pulled back, staring down at you with a sudden intensity. He worked his way between your thighs. “You trust me, right?”

You nodded. Of course you trusted Steve. You’d know him longer than you hadn’t. He’d already seen you naked, shit, he’d been inside of you. But there was something so incredibly new about the way he was lying between your legs, your knees by his shoulders as he pressed what was supposed to be a calming kiss to the inside of one. Instead, your heart jumped. It rattled inside of your ribcage, threatening to break the bones there. 

“Can I try?”

You were speechless, blinking at the boy as you tried to imagine what it would feel like to have his mouth on a new part of you. His tongue, his lips, kissing over your cunt. You were suddenly burning. 

“You don’t have to say yes, if you don’t want to, babe,” Steve murmured, sensing your hesitation. “If you don’t like it, we can stop.” Another kiss, this time a little higher in the inside of your thigh. “But I promise I’ll try to make you feel real good.”

“I know,” you whispered, hands fisting your sheets in anticipation. “I just— you wanna do this, right? Like this isn’t just ‘cause no one’s ever done it to me properly before?” You hated how unsure you sounded and you felt yourself go hot when Steve raised his brows at you. 

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Steve laughed, not meanly, not at you. He moved closer, kissing a line up the inside of your leg until his shoulders were pressed underneath your thighs and god— his face was so close to the soft cotton of your pyjama shorts. “Babe. Baby, you’ve no idea how much I wanna do this. Just, relax for me, yeah?”

You looked down at Steve as he shuffled between your spread legs, curling his arms around the tops of your thighs so he could pull them apart a little further, making more room for himself. He looked up, his hair falling over his forehead, into his brown eyes. “Ready?”

You nodded, whispering a small, shy, excited ‘yeah,’ before Steve grinned up at you. You let yourself fall back onto the mattress. Eyes on the ceiling, body electric.  

You expected your sleep shorts to be rolled down your hips, over your legs and thrown to the floor. But instead, Steve leaned in to kiss over them, the thin cotton not doing much to dull the feel of his mouth over your cunt. You jumped, gasping, head lifting back up and off of the bed to see Steve smile, his pink, full lips pushed into a pout as he kissed over your covered folds. He hummed, nose pushed to you in a way that made the fabric cling to you, damp seeping through already. 

“Good?” Steve asked quietly, hiding his smile at your soft noises of agreement. “You like that?”

It was maddening, the soft lilt of his voice, teasing, gentle, earnest all at once. You wanted to cry out when he let his tongue drag over you, sleep shorts getting more and more wet as they stuck to the lines of you, your cunt almost visible through the damp fabric. Steve pushed his thumbs into the crease of your thighs, soothed you back down a little as he kissed your knee. “Your parents are downstairs, babe, you gotta keep quiet, yeah?”

His words made you spin, too dizzy to comprehend that you did actually need to shut the fuck up. But it hadn’t felt like this when Chris had made an attempt, a thirty second appearance between your thighs in the back of his car before he got too impatient and demanded you ride him. So you whined a little desperately and gasped at Steve’s touch, wondering when your boyfriend was going to put you out of your misery and take your shorts off. 

But Steve ducked back down to kiss over you again, proper, open mouthed kissed against the folds of your pussy, his tongue sneaking out every now and then to bump against your covered clit and you were wriggling in his hands, head thrown back, vision hazy because you forgot to blink, lips parted in a quiet moan. You felt fingers at the band of your shorts then, warm and sure and you lifted your bum up in anticipation. But instead of being pulled down your legs, Steve tugged up. 

Cheeks hot with a strange type of embarrassment, you gasped out, realising that the thin cotton of your tiny shorts were now tucked between your folds, a firm pressure on your clit that had you reeling. You couldn’t fathom what you must’ve looked like, but when you gazed back down at Steve, glassy eyed and panting, Steve was staring at your pussy like a man starved. 

His own eyes were heavy lidded, dark and heated, his lips parting at the sight of you. Steve pulled up again, just slightly, groaning low when the fabric slipped further between your folds. He can see the outline of everything, the soaked patch that’s clinging to your entrance, the bump of your clit under pink cotton. He reaches out to trace it with a fingertip, swearing when you jerk forward, wanting more. He pulls you into him, hands grabbing at your thighs so he can push his face back between them and he licks a flat, slow stripe over your cunt. 

You can’t help but arch up, biting down on the meat of one of your hands while the other finds Steve’s hair, fingers twining through the strands and pulling, hard. The boy moans at that, something you already knew he liked too much but it sends his own hips rocking into the bed, chasing any friction he can get, letting you know he’s enjoying this as much as you are. And once your underwear is soaked through, you’re fuzzy, feeling drunk and ready to beg for him to take them off but Steve is one step ahead of you, tapping your ass so you’ll plant your feet on the mattress and lift your hips for him. 

You do it immediately, muffling a whine as he has to peel your wet underwear from between your folds, dragging them down your legs before settling back between them, kissing over the soft of your stomach as he pushes the hem of your too big shirt up your ribs. “Let me see you, princess, lemme see those pretty tits.”

The breeze from the evening came through the still open window but you were more than sure the goosebumps on your skin came from Steve’s words, his rough, wrecked sounding voice. You obeyed, pulling the fabric of your shirt up until it rested under your chin. “Steve, please, I really need—”

Another kiss, just below your belly button, another, climbing up your ribcage and the boy hushed you. “S’alright, I know, I know.” He swiped two fingers through you, feeling how warm and slick you were for him. “Shit, baby, wanna really feel me, yeah?”

You nodded, a furious movement that made Steve grin. You settled back on your elbows this time, legs open for the boy, eager to watch. “Please, yeah. Fuck, it’s— Steve, please.”

Steve didn’t hesitate, pressing himself down onto the mattress as he spread you with two thumbs, groaning at the way you glistened in the last of the lowlight, your bedroom turning seven shades of blue as evening rolled in. He could hear sprinklers turn on outside, the faint hum of your parents television from downstairs, the way your breathing picked up when he blew over your clit, pink and swollen for him and his touch. 

“So pretty, baby,” he praised, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Don’t tell you that enough, huh?”

You scrunched your face at the praise, cheeks burning, your bare chest rising and falling faster and faster and faster. “You tell me that all the time.”

Steve laughed softly, ducking his head down to kiss you, a chaste peck in the dirtiest of ways, lips sliding over your cunt, still spread for him. You gasped, head falling back for a second, clenching down on nothing and you knew Steve would see, you knew Steve was watching. You heard him exhale roughly. 

“Talkin’ about her, princess.” Steve hummed, licked over his lips to chase your taste and dipped down again to drag his tongue oh so fucking slowly from your entrance to your clit. “Yeah? Talkin’ about how pretty this pussy is.”

The compliment made you pull Steve’s hair harder, hips wiggling as you groaned, eyes falling shut when the boy huffed out a soft laugh and pulled you closer, nose bumping against your clit as he pressed his tongue into you, slick, wet noises filling the room and making your breath hitch. Up and down, up and down, up and down, Steve licked you like a popsicle, humming when your hips twitched, pushing his lips around your clit and sucking gently, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before he went back to kissing all you all over. 

It was messy, wet, Steve’s lips and chin shining with you, his eyes fluttering shut every time he dragged his tongue through your folds, his hips rocking down into the mattress as he tried to ease the pressure in his jeans. He was harder than he’d ever been. 

“Steve,” you whispered, your voice broken and cracking at the pleasure. “Steve, please, I’m so close.”  

The boy murmured softly against your skin, a thing you were sure was supposed to soothe you but you just arched against his mouth instead. He pulled back, just slightly, smiling when you cried out, hushing you with wide eyes. “Princess, hey, hey, baby,” he kissed the crease of your thigh, licked the wet there that made your skin shine, growling at the taste. “You gotta stay quiet, yeah? Keep quiet baby and I’ll make you come, I promise.”

You nodded, doe eyed as you stared down your body at him, barely keeping yourself up on your elbows, legs quivering as Steve pushed them further apart. “Lie back for me, yeah? That’s it, good girl. M’gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, princess, tell me what you need.”

Steve sounded reverent, kissing over your stomach and the small thatch of curls before licking into your folds again, pressing his lips to your clit. “Fingers,” you gasped out, clenching your comforter in each hand. Your knuckles were white. “Please, fingers please.”

Steve didn’t even respond with words, he just sucked his middle and pointer into his mouth and pushed them into you, groaning at how easy they slid in. The feeling of being so suddenly full made your head fall back, huffs of air escaping from your lips and making the ceiling fuzzy, it was glittering. The stars didn’t seem to stay outside anymore. 

“Pull your legs up, baby, c’mon, open up for me,” Steve rasped, pushing your legs up with his shoulders until you got the hint and pressed your knees to your chest, letting them fall open even further until you were sure you were going to die from the way you were so exposed for him. 

But Steve whined, a needy desperate noise and you felt the mattress dip and lift as he jumped himself into the bed, chasing his own release as he gave you yours. “Oh, good girl, baby, that’s so good. That’s it, yeah? Can get my fingers nice ‘n’ deep, huh?” He proved his point by rubbing the tips of his digits in small circles, pressing into the spot you could never reach. 

It made your legs shake, toes curling and you were able to gasp out, “mouth, use your mouth, please,” just as you felt yourself getting pulled into the mattress, a hook in your tummy that was getting warmer and heavier, a buzzing in your ears like white static and Steve’s tongue was almost lazy as it dragged over you clit, soft and slow and languid. You felt every bit of it, cunt fluttering around the base of his fingers, sucking him in until Steve swore into you, lips parting around your pussy in a messy, wet kiss and he sucked hard when your back arched, legs falling, feet hitting the mattress, ass lifting up and into his face. You pushed yourself against his mouth, uninhibited, eyes squeezed shut and your hands fumbling for a pillow, an old stuffed teddy, anything to bite into to stifle your cries. 

“Shit, princess, so fuckin’ hot, Christ, that’s it,” Steve groaned, pupils blow wide as he stared up at you. “Touch those tits for me, baby, play w’them, yeah.”

The boy’s hands grabbed at your thighs as you obeyed, fingertips biting into the soft skin, pulling you into him, groaning almost too loud when you moved against his tongue, hips rolling as you came. You felt it everywhere, a slow roll into an orgasm that shattered, sending you reeling, unwound, undone. There was glitter behind your eyelids, stars, a new planet. 

You bit down into the corner of your cushion, soft, muffled noises caught between your teeth and you felt something wet slip from one eye, a tear that rolled over your cheek and onto the baby blue pillow case. You twitched, whining as you tried to pull away, overstimulated, easing yourself back onto the bed and trying to catch your breath. 

Steve ran his wide hands over your thighs, up and down, up and down, one pressing to the soft of your tummy as he soothed you. “Shh, princess, I know.” He kissed over your clit, cooing when you jerked underneath him. “Sorry, sorry, s’okay, just lemme—” he cut himself off to lick over you, soft, slow drags of his tongue that avoided that overly sensitive bump at the top of your cunt. 

You sighed prettily, soft moans as your eyes closed again, sucking in deep breaths as Steve cleaned you up, licking away everything you gave him, kissing sweetly over your folds before easing your legs from his shoulders. You lay spent, eyes closed and cheeks warm as the boy crawled his way back over you, dotting kisses over your ribs, the curve of your breast, grinning as you whined when he grazed his teeth over a nipple. You clung to Steve as he burrowed into you, nosing at your neck and humming, letting you grab at his hair and drag his mouth to yours. 

This kiss was as  languid and hot as it was when he kissed you elsewhere, his tongue licking over yours, the taste of yourself making you whine. You could feel Steve smiling, lips still pressed to yours, his nose against your cheek. He leaned back, just slightly, one hand pushing your hair from your damp forehead, grinning wide at the sight of your glassy eyes. 

“You okay?” He asked softly, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. 

You mumbled something Steve couldn't make out and clung a little tighter, pulling the boy down until he was pressed against your chest and you could hide your face in his neck.  

“That good?” Steve tried to tease but he couldn’t help but sound sincere, you were still trembling, doing your best to burrow into him. 

“Insane,” you said into the cotton of his shirt, lips pressed to his shoulder. “Stupid good, yeah. Fuck.” You were whimpering a little, voice soft and half asleep sounding and it made Steve beam. You wriggled against him, the breeze from the window seeming cooler now that Steve wasn’t working you up and your thigh brushed against a damp patch against his crotch. “Did you come?”

There was no judgement behind your answer, just quiet awe. You smiled when Steve scoffed, nodding as he leaned in to peck at your lips again. “Uh, ‘course I did. How could I not? You were grinding all over me like some kinda wet dream, princess shit—”

“Steve,” you whined, a little embarrassed as the high wore off, cheeks too hot when Steve laughed. You crawled over him, thighs straddling his lap. Your shirt - Steve’s shirt - fell back down, pooling your waist and covering you back up. Steve pouted, hands diving underneath anyway, fingers spanning over your thighs. You raised a brow. “You still hungry?”

Steve smirked, squeezing at your legs, revelling in the warmth he could still feel from between them. “Oh, she’s got jokes now, huh?”

[worldofkuro]

This is going to be some what werid. Do you think you can do a one shot were it's the sceene where reader has that cold and alastor thought you would die but alastor point of view. Him scared of us dieing seems fun.

It is not weird at all dear. It was nice to write! I hope you will enjoy it. It is not very long unfortunately.

Sick of You

“ She is sick, bébé. She can’t come see you.”

Alastor looked at his mother, blinking at her. 

You’ve been sick for a whole week and his mother didn't want him to meet you because she didn’t want him to catch your cold. He tilted his head as his mother left the living room, letting him all alone with his thoughts. 

You were sick…

What a strange combination of words. 

You could be annoying, you could be funny… But sick ? He went to his bedroom and looked at Eamon who was sitting on his bed. He took the plushie and held it in front of him. Was it because he took it from you? Maybe Eamon was really protecting you from something?

You were sick…

Was it his fault? 

He was squeezing the plushie against him. He didn’t want you to hate him. He should give you back the plushie so you could get better and meet him once more. 

He waited until it was dark outside, until his mother was deep asleep and left the house. He held Eamon against his body, walking into the dark street of New Orleans. He was looking around, never feeling scared, not even once. 

He saw your house and went to the backyard, climbing to the tree and tilted his head when a crow sat on the branch, next to him.  The crow tilted his head before sitting on the window sill, tapping his beak against the glass.

He tilted his head when he saw your mother open the window and tried to shush the crow. She wanted you to rest but it seemed like the crow was disturbing you. He waited, counting to one thousand before going near the widows and tapped against the glass. He could see your sleeping form moving. He knocked once more and saw you form clumsily opening the window.

“ Go away, crow… I want to sleep…”

He entered your bedroom easily, you seemed so weak, it was horrifying. You were staggering toward your bed and fell on it, breathing heavily. He walked toward you, kneeling in front of your bed. He could see you sweating a lot, you seemed to have problems breathing…  

You were sick…

And it was making him feel bad and he didn’t like that.  You were supposed to be stronger than this, you were stronger than this. You shouldn’t be this weak, it wasn’t you. You were supposed to shine bright, smiling at him, being upset at him for teasing you, running away from him but always coming back when he couldn’t catch you. Seeing you this weak was reminding him that he was like you.

Weak.

He shook his head, you weren’t weak… But seeing you like this, having troubles just to breath was terrifying. Were you going to die…? Were you going to leave him alone? You couldn’t, you did not have the right. 

He put Eamon next to your head, making you wake up. He was staring at you, whispering in the dark, could you even see him?

“ You need to get better.”

You blinked before falling asleep again. You were squeezing Eamon against you, maybe Eamon was given you strength like it did when his father was beating him? He watched as you smiled in your sleep, hugging your plushie against you. 

He stayed with you, staring at your chest, making sure it was moving.  He would wipe your forehead with his sleeves, sneakily going into the kitchen to bring you water when you unconsciously said your throat was dry. You seemed to be delirious because of the fever, you weren’t fully conscious, you didn't seem to be aware of his presence. 

He blinked when he saw the first light of the sun. He blinked, he was used to getting sleepless nights but it was the first time he had to take care of someone. Your fever went down a little, and your breathing was less labored. He was feeling less anxious about leaving you alone.

He walked toward the window and left you, climbing down the tree before running back home. He didn’t want his mother to find his room empty, he didn’t want her to be worried.

You were sick.

It was a stressful experience, it was like you were running away from him in a place he couldn’t follow. 

But he knew you would come back to him.

Just like when he couldn't catch you, you would run back to him like you couldn’t stay away from him. You would come back to him.

You were sick, but not sick of him.

[juneberrie]

SAY THAT YOU LOVE ME ➜ peter parker, mcu

requested: yes / no — first "i love you" with peter

author's note: this idea came from a weird ass marvel fic i started in 7th grade and never finished... here u go pookies! enjoy!!!

ⓘ content: pure fluff, mcu!peter, kissing, fem!reader, not proofread we die like tony

word count : 0.6k || peter parker masterlist

peter ❣️💙 : angel

peter ❣️💙 : babe

peter ❣️💙 : baby

peter ❣️💙 : open ur window please 🙏

you glanced at the pouring rain outside of your window, then back at your phone.

y/n : are u crazy

peter ❣️💙 : absolutely !!!

peter ❣️💙 : please please please please pleaseeeeeee

y/n : fiiiiineeeee

you throw off your blanket, immediately getting hit with a wave of cold air. you mentally curse your boyfriend of three months, best friend of years, for making you get up out of your cozy bed.

you move towards your window, squinting to see through the rain, and see a soaking wet spiderman standing on the fire escape.

he waves and points at the window. you roll your eyes and push the glass up, leaving to grab a towel for him as he climbs inside. when you turn back to hand him the towel, you see him pull his mask off and shake his hair out like a dog.

"hi," he says happily, grinning at you. you throw the towel at him, laughing.

"hi," you reply, sitting back down on your bed. peter dries his hair with the towel, then moves to your closet, where you had stashed away some extra clothes for him to wear on days like this.

he throws the towel over his shoulder as he moves aside your sweaters and shirts to find a pair of sweatpants and an oversized "i ❤️ nyc" shirt. you lay on your stomach and scroll on your phone, trying to decide on a movie.

you feel the bed dip beside you and you turn to see your boyfriend smiling at you. "you're so pretty," he says.

"says you," you reply as he wraps an arm around you and kisses your cheek.

"you are!" he protests.

you shake your head, laughing. "okay, buddy," you remark.

he kisses your cheek again. you roll over so you're facing him, and kiss his nose. you end up falling asleep, some chick flick you found on netflix playing softly in the background.

a few hours later, you wake up to a cold bed. you roll over, groaning, to see peter hurriedly putting his spider-suit back on.

he notices you awake and starts quickly explaining, something about a bank and a robbery. you get up out of bed and kiss him in an attempt to shut him up.

his hands immediately drop his mask and go to your waist. his kisses are always the same, sweet and loving. after a few seconds, he pulls away. "im sorry," he apologizes, leaning back down to pick up his mask.

"it's fine," you wave it off, moving behind him to zip up his suit. he turns his face, a slightly guilty look on his face.

he kisses your cheek and moves towards the window. crouched on the sill, he shoots a web out.

"hey." you say, stopping him.

"hm?" he turns, mask half on his face.

"be safe." you walk over and kiss his nose. taking a deep breath, you say the words that have been caught in your throat for what feels like the past thousand years. "i love you."

from what you can see of his face, his cheeks turn pink. "really? i- oh, uh, that's great! i mean- shit," he stammers. "i love you too."

you laugh at his response. "go save new york, spiderman. i'll be waiting."

he nods, pulling his mask fully over his grinning face. as he swings away, you hear him yell, "I LOVE YOU Y/N!!" he disappears over the rooftops, in the direction of wailing sirens, and you laugh quietly to yourself.

"i love you too, peter."

[verbenaa]

air so deep and sweet

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.”

Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life! 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.1k 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, hand jobs, vampire bites, mentions/discussions of anal, vaginal sex, vampire sex, soft dom astarion

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: This is my first ever fanfiction despite a literal 20 years of reading them LOL i truly have lost the plot. Find me on ao3 too, my username is leadii 💕

ao3 here

masterlist

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Dim candlelight plays along the walls of Astarion’s studio, illuminating the discarded bolts of fabric leaning against the wall with haphazard grace, the threads of linens, silks, and cottons a riot of color against the muted walls. Spools of silken thread and tangles of ribbon lay sprawling across the work table, interspersed with pincushions and stray needles waiting to be threaded.

The studio itself is small, humble in its nature. Set aside on a small street within the city walls it wasn’t a far walk from your shared home, making it an easy decision to join him on the nights he decided to work.

Lush velvet draperies hang heavily across several leaded windows, while multicolored rugs layered themselves over the floor. Fat pillars of candle wax sit haphazardly upon several surfaces, filling the room with moving pockets of light, their dance helped along by the light summer breeze blowing through the open windows. It was undeniably one of your favorite places to be.

Despite Astarion’s initial claims to the contrary (if you could even call his half-hearted condescension to the concept such a thing), he was decidedly well suited for a life of domesticity. Much like a spoiled cat, he very much enjoyed his luxuries. Vials of scented oils, a soft bed covered with blankets and quilts, piles of books in the corners of rooms waiting to be read at his decision. You were very quick to learn that Astarion was nothing if not a creature of comfort. And he made it so very easy to spoil him, accepting your love and affection with open arms.

You nestle deeper into the nest of pillows that made up the corner you had decided to call your own, novel discarded beside you and your goblet of wine long emptied of its contents resting against the floorboards. With a small huff your attention turns from your surroundings to said owner of the studio, watching him weave the needle in and out of the fabric in his hands, focus intent on his art.

He had such beautiful hands, you couldn’t help but think. Hands as well-versed in sowing chaos as easily as they could thread a needle to create the tiniest of embellishments upon a single piece of silk. Hands as intimately versed in the art of death as they were in the art of drawing pleasure. Sometimes, you think, he is secretly desperate to prove that his hands no longer have to steal, cheat, or seduce for others and instead were capable to creating something soft and vulnerable for himself instead.

With a small stretch you sit yourself upright, adjusting the lovingly embroidered straps of the light linen dress you wore to compensate for the overbearing warmth of summer. You were always content to accept any creation Astarion made for you and your dress was no exception, tailored to perfection to sit on your curves perfectly with small decorations of lace and embroidery as he saw fit.

As though drawn by your thoughts, his carmine gaze glances up to meet your own. Astarion’s eyes linger upon your form as you slowly stand and stretch your arms high above your head, back arching slightly with the motion before you step to the nearest open window. A light breeze ruffles your hair as you rest your elbows on the sill, careful of the several plants currently residing there as your eyes move to watch the people below weave through the streets in the darkness.

“Dearest, do you mind lending me those ever-so-lovely eyes of yours for a moment?” His voice is a casual drawl. “I wish to seek your opinion on this particular color scheme.” 

You turn to face him from your spot at the window as he gestures to the work in his hand with a small movement of his wrist, and quickly step across the floor to stop at his side. You glance down to see the wooden embroidery hoop he holds with measured regard in one hand, the other carefully grasping a small, sharp needle. You lean in slightly to see better, your breasts adding the barest of pressure against his arm.

You focus your vision upon the delicate pattern of his needlework, the threads weaving together to create an intricate pattern of scrolling vines and abundant spring blossoms in a warm milky white adorning the collar of a cream colored linen shirt, the colors almost ethereal together in their similarity. 

“I hate to break this to you, but…I do believe it is simply cream upon cream,” you say with a small smile gracing your lips. “What ever is there for me to even give my opinion on?” 

“It’s called monochrome, my dear.” Astarion gives you a look of affectionate exasperation before continuing, “Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of subtlety when the occasion permits.” You briefly turn to look at him, an elegant eyebrow arching in amusement. 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly before murmuring, “Certainly those pretty eyes of yours can see the differences despite the similarity of color?”

Sure enough, upon further inspection you could pick out the slightest hint of metallic gold threaded throughout the creamy colored delicate flowers and surrounding vines, the only detail differentiating the colors from one another. The subtle shine of the golden threads were mesmerizing to follow with your eyes, the candlelight bouncing off of them creating fiery highlights on the raised embroidery. Like everything Astarion touched, it was undeniably beautiful.

“I suppose it looks decent.” You tease, pressing your chest further into his arm while your attention shifts to the elegant planes of his face. He was simply so easy to admire, the way his hair always seemed to fall so perfectly into place, his mouth held soft in concentration looked so inviting.

A noise of protest leaves his lips at the mere thought his creation was only ‘decent’, and you can’t help but laugh at the reaction while leaning in to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.

“It must be so hard to have such artistic merit, Astarion. I’m afraid such a talentless individual as myself can’t fully appreciate such craft and workmanship.” You playfully lean your body back and throw a hand up your forehead in mock distress, earning a short laugh from him. 

“Despite such questionable opinions, you are far my talentless, my dear.” Astarion sets aside the hoop and needle to the far edge of the worktable and turns in his chair, settling his full attention on you.

“In fact, I would be more than willing to remind you of the several of the talents you possess.”

Slowly, he draws his eyes from your features to glance down at the twin pinprick scars decorating your neck before slowly continuing lower to finally rest on a spot above your breasts. He brings his fingertips to brush lightly against the skin, pressing against the delicate lace trim of the neckline, sweeping slowly and softly back and forth against the swells. He watches the sudden intake of your breath with interest before his eyes glide up to meet your own again. 

A slow, feline smile graces his lips. “Such a distraction, dearest. Especially when you press these lovely breasts of yours into me.” 

You match his smile with a sly one of your own.

“Can you blame me?” You give a half-hearted shrug, hardly caring that you had been caught in your so-called crime. “It’s quite hard to not want to be close to such a beautiful individual like yourself.”

“Ah yes, there it is. Talent number one: flattery.” 

He moves the hand tracing patterns against your skin upward, glancing touches against your neck, before curling his fingers underneath your chin to bring your face closer to his own. 

You knew he could easily see the effects of his relatively innocent ministrations, could view the inevitable pink beginning to decorate your cheeks. 

Could smell it in the blood beginning to race through your veins. 

Astarion had always known exactly what to say made you breathless and had never held back on using that knowledge to his advantage to make you weak to his whims. 

“Now be a good girl and take a seat.” His voice is low, hungry; he leans forward and both his hands find your waist and pull. 

You feel your body relax easily into his touch, letting him smooth your skirts out of the way as he brings you towards his waiting lap. Your hips instantly connect together, fabric the only barrier between you. You feel a telltale twitch beneath you, signaling his pleasure at the slight friction created by the connection and your hips grind against his own instinctually, the friction and pressure adding to the growing warmth deep in your belly. 

Astarion leans forward, connecting his mouth with your own in a scalding kiss, moaning into your mouth as his hips roll against your own, his growing erection pressing closer to your covered center. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself even closer to him as your hands card through the silver curls sitting at the back of his neck. Opening your mouth, you lick against his lips hoping he will open them for you. Astarion obliges, meeting your tongue halfway. 

Your tongue brushes against a sensitive fang, drawing another moan out of him and he slowly pulls away from the kiss, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he leaves before moving to press small, sweet kisses across your jaw. 

“Would you indulge me a snack, dearest?” He presses a quick kiss followed by a small lick to the skin behind your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your skin.

“I suppose I could be convinced…” Breathy sighs fall from your lips as he peppers kisses down the elegant column of your neck. “Quite easily perhaps, too.”

“Will you give me a small taste, my dear?” he mouths the words against your skin, lips hot.

Your eyes fall closed at his kisses. “You know you don’t even have to ask to have my blood. I give it to you, freely, and I always will.” With a tilt of your head you grant him more access to continue his search.

“I don’t deserve you.” “Absolutely false. You deserve everything.” The words roll off your tongue with quick ease, certain you’ve never spoken truer words.

As Astarion moves the straps of your dress aside to hang off your shoulders and free the expanse of your neck and collar he finds the spot he had been looking for, laving the area with his tongue briefly before he bites down.

A split second of burning heat as his fangs dig into the flesh of your neck with as much delicacy as he can manage before he finally begins to suck, the pull of the blood leaving your body as he drinks brings a decidedly indecent moan to your lips, the heat of your core growing wetter with every draw of his mouth.

As Astarion drinks in your lifeblood in slow gulps, you feel his hands moving to the neckline of your dress and he grabs at it, pulling the fabric down across your chest, exposing more and more of you with every pull of the fabric. You had forgone a corset today in an attempt at comfort in an unending battle against humidity, trusting the bodice of your dress to instead keep your (somewhat questionable) modesty in tact. 

The rush of cold air combined with the sudden brush of his chilled hands against your breasts as he lets the dress fall to hang freely around your waist draws a surprised gasp from your lips. You move your arms out of the straps before burying them again in his silver locks.

He quickly brings a free hand up to grasp a breast, brushing his thumb over a newly hardened nipple. Extricating his fangs from your neck, his tongue moves to lick up the blood tracing down from the wound, not letting a single drop go to waste.  

“Such a delightful little treat,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing with every movement as your hips grind downward against his growing erection in slow rolls. 

His lips move further down your chest, no longer following the trail of fresh blood but that of the blood in your veins leading to your heart. 

Astarion presses a chaste kiss over the place where your heart beats, your back arching with the movement of his lips as he moves lower to capture a hardened peak. A soft cry at the touch of his mouth falls from your lips, the motion of his tongue drawing circles around the bud sending a flash of heat straight to your core. 

He laves at the bud, alternating licks and soft bites in a bid to stoke the fire inside you even higher, his free hand coming up to massage its twin with delicate motions.

Astarion cants his hips up into yours as he sucks hard at your breast, his prominent erection pressing into your growing wetness before his mouth moves to your other breast, continuing his ministrations.

“Astarion, please, I need more.” You whine, attempting to press harder against his erection in hopes the touch will grant a reprieve from the building heat between your thighs.

“As you wish, my love.” He grants your request with a whisper, his hands falling on your thighs to support you as he moves to stand, bringing you with him. Chair pushing back with the movement, he places you on the desk in front of him as his hips spread your thighs. 

Desperate to keep the connection between the two of your bodies, Astarion stands between your legs, pressing close. His hands skate up your body to land on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at his own as a thumb brushes absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, your eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips. 

“Lay back, love,” His words are a whisper as one hand makes it way from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His eyes never leave your own as your body relaxes, trusting him, and he leans you back onto the tabletop with care until your body meets the wood. 

Barely breathing, you watch as his hands made their way teasingly downwards, skating over your bared breasts to find the skirt of your dress, moving to push the thin fabric tantalizingly up your thighs to settle around your waist and out of the way. Astarion’s eyes settle upon a tiny, lacy pair of panties, the fabric the only thing keeping you from being completely bared to him. 

“You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.” Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

He was so beautiful it made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

With bated breath, you raise a hand to draw your fingers softly over his cheek, capturing his attention. 

“Promise me that you will tell me if this gets to be too much for you,” Your eyes meet his as you watch his expression fill with sudden affection at your request. 

“What a sweet thing you are,” Astarion brings a hand to cover the one you had placed over his cheek. “Thank you for always taking care of me so.” With a small movement, he turns his head to bring his lips to press against your palm. 

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” Astarion moves the hand that covers yours to flit down your body, teasing touches over your peaked nipples, down your belly, before brushing against the line of your underwear. A sudden intake of breath escapes your lungs as he watches your stomach jump with the touch. 

A smirk graces his face as he moves those same fingers lower, brushing lightly against the gusset of your underwear before pressing harder against the growing damp of the lace. His touch creates a sweet friction, your wetness mixed with the texture of the lace and the pressure of his fingers drawing a soft moan from you.

You whine as his fingers pull your underwear to the side, Astarion moving to slide his fingertips up and down your exposed slit, spreading your wetness. He makes teasing passes around the small pearl that rests above; close but never quite touching where you need him, your arousal aiding the smooth glide of his motions.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me, darling?”

“You know I always aim to please.”  The words are hard won but you manage to  give him a haughty smile nonetheless, trying to maintain the last shred of willpower you have left to pretend to be unaffected.

He moves to pump a finger shallowly inside you, not nearly deep enough to provide any relief. You gasp at feeling, attempting to roll your hips in hopes to bring his finger deeper. But just as quickly as he enters he leaves, eliciting a noise of frustration from you.

“Patience, patience.” He tuts, hands moving to your hips to tug at the lace resting over them. He yanks at the fabric, and you raise you bottom to aid him in finally removing them. Astarion pockets the pair with a smug look as his hands move to spread your thighs further apart.

With every push of your thighs Astarion bares you to him, your arousal glistening against your center in the low light.

“You know, dearest, I think I would maybe like to have a taste of something else as well.” You feel your cunt clench at the prospect, adding to the building heat deep inside you. 

“Consider me at your mercy, then.” A smirk from him at your blessing as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before your spread legs.

Astarion is supplicant before you as he rests his head on your upper thigh, unfairly close to where you want him most. Your hips jump in anticipation as he begins pressing tantalizingly soft kisses into the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

You feel his fingers touch you finally, delicately spreading your folds as he watches your most intimate place open for him. His thumb comes to rest against your clit, rubbing lightly at the small bud and you release a contented hum at the warmth of the pleasure inside your body growing with the movement of his fingers.

Your eyes fall shut at the sheer relief of his attention, his expertise in knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive you wild drawing a moan from you. Your hand falls from its place in his hair to land beside your head, jostling errant sewing supplies from their resting place next to you.

“Careful, darling. Watch those lovely hands of yours to not catch on a needle. I would so hate for you to bleed so needlessly.” A roguish smile alights his lips as he lowers his mouth to lick a slow stripe up your center, intent to collect as much of your wetness on his tongue as he can.

Your hand immediately finds its way back to his hair, gripping his silver curls mindlessly as he begins to work his tongue up and down your center, tracing patterns against your sex as he goes.

His tongue moves to finally circle your clit with small movements, intent to drive your pleasure higher and higher with every pass. His mouth moves lower, licking across your folds as he finds your entrance, tracing around it with agonizingly slow motions.

Astarion is quick to move a hand to rest over your belly as your hips jut up, applying soft pressure as he grows bold in his motions and his tongue moves to push inside of you. Your grip on his curls grows harder with every thrust of his tongue inside your body, head thrown back and moans growing louder as he brings you closer and closer to completion.

The hand resting on your stomach moves to press lightly at your clit, once again resuming the small circles round and around as his tongue continues its exploration deep in your core, eating you out with fervor. 

Astarion continues to lave inside you, his soft tongue whorling against your walls as his fingers expertly work your clit in tandem with your cries as your hips ride his face, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels towards you. 

And it’s just like that when you cry out and finally come, his tongue moving deep inside as his finger strums your clit with practiced motions and the feeling is white-hot as you plunge into your ecstasy. He licks up your come greedily, tongue never stopping its endeavor as you ride the wave of your orgasm, breathy cries leaving your lips and hips rolling until your body finally relaxes. 

Shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand falls from Astarion’s hair to rest over your eyes as your breathing begins to even out and you finally come down from the high, Astarion cleaning up your cum until you can take it no longer, hips jerking in overstimulation away from his mouth.

Astarion places a light kiss over your clit before raising up from his knees back to his full height, your slick glistening on his chin and lips in the light of the candles as his still clothed cock brushes against your empty center.

Astarion leans forward, arms caging your head as he leans down to nuzzle your cheek whispering ardent words, “Out of all the beautiful things in this room, you are by far the most gorgeous.”

His admission momentarily stuns you. Astarion had never been shy in his admirations of your beauty and while you had grown more used to them during your time together he still managed to catch you off guard with such compliments from time to time.

“Can I please touch you? Taste you?” You pant, desperation coloring your words in the wake of his earlier admission as you begin to push yourself up onto your elbows. Astarion’s hand comes down and gently presses on your chest instead, and you lower yourself back down at the gentle command in the gleaming red of his eyes. 

“You can put that clever mouth of yours to use later, my dear. I have other plans for you, I think.” His eye rove your features before pressing his mouth upon yours in a fevered kiss, his tongue licking against your lips asking for entry. You can taste the essence of yourself on his lips and groan at the taste, opening yours to tangle his tongue with your own.

Astarion deepens the kiss as his hands find your own and grasping them gently, he brings them down his body to rest upon his still-clothed cock. 

“You said you wanted to touch. Indulge me, lover.” His lips never leave your own as he speaks the words, tongue sneaking out to lick at your bottom lip.

Your hands spring to action immediately to palm his cock through his leather pants before you find the laces holding him and undo them with deft fingers familiar with the task.

Astarion’s thick cock springs free of the confines of the pants and your fingers find the beads of precum decorating the tip and spread the wetness down his length. your fingers glide from top to bottom in smooth motions over the veined velvet of him, his essence aiding your ministrations as his mouth falls open from the sheer indulgence of your touch. His head falls heavily onto your shoulder and his lips move over the spot he fed from earlier, kissing and licking the area as your hands work him closer to closer to the edge. 

Lifting a hand from him you bring your fingers to your own wetness, drawing your fingertips through your slick before pumping two of them inside yourself in an imitation of his own motions earlier as you moan at the feeling.

Astarion glances down to see your fingers buried in your own cunt, the sight making him go impossibly harder as he watches you briefly pleasure the both of you. With a whine, your fingers leave your body to return to Astarion, a mixture of your arousal and come coating your fingers as your spread it onto his waiting cock, increasing your rhythm to rub him faster.

“Gods Above, you really are something else.” His pupils are blown out in lust as he groans at both the sight and feel of your hands working his shaft, one hand massaging the crown of his cock while the other works him closer to the base in quick motions.

A wicked thought strikes your mind, and you almost feel badly for even entertaining the idea. Almost.

You can feel his breath fanning your neck with every pass of your hands, his moans growing more unrestrained as your ministrations draw him to edge of completion. Without warning you withdraw your hands from his weeping cock, cruelly denying him the climax he was so close to.

Astarion’s head flies up from where it rests on your shoulder as a noise of disbelief leaves his lips and he shoots you a look of pure shock. The knowledge you caught him so unaware has you riding another kind of high, one you rarely had the privilege of reveling in.

“You little minx! Who knew you were capable of such cruelty. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

Mischief settles on your features. “Maybe that was the goal.”

“Ask and you shall receive, little love. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His lips curve with a devilish grin, eyes glinting in the candlelight as his hands move to grip your waist, fingertips pressing hard into the soft skin.

“How should I make you pay for it, then?” He muses. “Should I shove my cock into that tight, sweet cunt of yours and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand? Or maybe I should make good use of that wicked little mouth of yours and fill it instead?”

His darkening eyes bore into your own, your cheeks heating at his suggestions as you shift under his contemplation.

“You do look quite beautiful like that, you know. Mouth stretched around me as I fuck your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You give an enthusiastic nod at the prospect, excited for whatever punishment he deems appropriate to hand out.

Without warning, you feel the hands upon your waist move to lift you up and flip you over, your stomach making contact with the table as your bare breasts press tight against the wood grain. His hand comes to rest in the center of your back, pushing you further into the surface. You move your head to rest your cheek upon the table, the coolness of the wood a welcome sensation to the quickly rebuilding heat inside you as your eyes glance up to meet his own in curiosity. 

“Too bad. I have another idea instead.” His voice is deep with promise.

Such trouble you had gotten yourself into, it seems. 

Cool hands move from your back to the forgotten skirt of your dress to flip it upward to rest around your waist once more, exposing your ass and glistening center to the warm air. 

Astarion brings his hand down hard against one of your cheeks, the sharpness of the spank making you cry out as surprise and pleasure mingle into one. He rubs the growing red mark left on your skin before bending down to press a his lips to it, soothing the area with barely-there kisses. 

He brings both hands to your ass now, rubbing soothing circles over the area before moving to pull your rear cheeks apart, allowing Astarion to see absolutely everything.

A wave of embarrassment hits you to be put on such display for his vision despite his knowledge of your body, and you fidget slightly under his intent gaze of your most intimate areas. 

“Astarion…” you let out a moan and he is quick to shush you as he moves a hand off your asscheek to brush his thumb in light circles over your asshole. 

“Maybe I should take you here instead, I know how much you love when I play with your pretty ass.” His voice is deep, eyes impossibly dark. 

“Oh fuck,” His words draw a ragged moan from your lips at the mere thought, setting your neglected pussy on fire with need.

“Prove to me you can be a good girl.” His thumb applies soft pressure before it leaves you to be replaced by his lips. He presses a soft kiss to the tight hole before kissing downwards and licking deep into your cunt without warning, lapping at your waiting wetness.

“Gods, Astarion…” your hips press backwards towards his waiting mouth. “Whatever you want, wherever you want, my love. I’ll do anything. I just want you inside of me.” Your voice is hoarse with need, no longer caring to win this little game you had started.

You feel Astarion’s mouth leave your pussy and whine at the loss, but he is quick replace your empty cunt with two of his elegant fingers instead, sliding them in and out at slow, measured pace. 

“Do you think I should let you come one more time before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly?” You are helpless to do anything other than nod your head in insistence, hoping he won’t rob you of your orgasm the way you had done to him. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

Astarion slowly pulls his fingers out of your body only to add a third finger on the plunge back in, drawing a cry from your lips at the sudden fullness. 

His fingers push deep and curl inside of you pressing against that special spot over and over again, driving you to new heights as the lightest veil of tears begins to dust your lashes at the sheer bliss of the feeling.

Noticing the tears, you feel Astarion immediately stop his ministrations and lean over your back to look into your eyes with concern, a noise of protest at the lack of motion falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly leave your body to rest on your hip, brushing calming circles on your skin.

“Is this too much, love?” Any trace of his teasing dominance is gone from his voice as he speaks the words to you clearly, looking intently for any indication you needed him to step back from the scene the two of you had created. “We can stop, darling, if you need to. I don’t want you to push yourself too far to please me.”

You smile at genuine concern evident on his face, blinking away the sheen of tears. 

Pushing your hips back into him with as much motion as you can manage in your prone position against the table, you lean your body up in hopes to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion leans in, mouth quick to meet you halfway in a kiss as his spare hand moves to cup your cheek.

“The only thing you are pushing is my patience, love. Please don’t stop.” You beg, hoping he will acquiesce to your desire to continue as you lower your body back down onto the table. “The only thing I want in this moment is to come so hard I can’t think straight and then to have that beautiful cock of yours inside of me in whatever way you wish to give it to me.”

“Insatiable. Who taught you such language?” His body follows yours down, back pressing against your own as his lips brush against yours as he speaks the words, the concern leaving his eyes replaced with mounting desire.

“Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to be buried deep inside you,” The hand on your hip makes its way back towards your center. “Make me the same promise I made you earlier.”

The words come to your mouth effortlessly.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” You recite the words softly, with ease. 

Quieter now, you whisper. “I trust you, Astarion.”

You know how much your words and trust mean to him, can see it in his unguarded expression. Astarion didn’t put much trust in the Gods, but he would never stop thanking whichever one it was that brought your paths together. His fingers gently graze your pussy, ringing around your entrance with soft, teasing touches.

“I love you.” Astarion says before pressing his lips firmly to your own, those same three fingers finally slipping back inside.

Astarion renews the pace of his fingers right away, pressing and curling with precise motions meant to bring you to the brink.

You give into the sensation of every movement of his fingers, mouth open and eyes falling shut at the feeling and it’s not long before he has you once again close to your orgasm. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimper as your thighs begin to shake.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion brings his other hand down your body to brush lightly against your clit. He sounds as lost in desire as you feel. “Want to feel you come on my hand. Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

His words have you clenching hard on his fingers, the pressure of them against your insides combined with the fingers of his other hand brushing light, concentric circles over your clit have you coming within moments of his request.

“Such a good girl to give me what I want so easily.” You barely hear the words that fall from his lips through the haze of your ongoing orgasm, the feeling of his breath on the skin of your ear serving to only enhancing the moment.

Your body spasms around his fingers and cries of ecstasy fall from your lips as he continues, working you through your orgasm while his lips press soothing kisses anywhere his lips can reach—your face, your neck, the tip of your ear. 

“That’s it. You always look so beautiful when you come for me.”

Slowly, finally you feel your body begin to relax through the haze of your orgasm. Your mind comes back to you and you release a small laugh as your breath starts to even out, feeling him leave your body. Without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that had filled you so deeply to his mouth and licks them clean. The sight of it sends a wave of heat right back to your cunt, a shudder of anticipation running through you.

“I think you already succeeded in your wish to make me unable to stand.” You pant.

“And to think I haven’t even fucked you yet.” His cock is hard as his eyes scan your form from the flesh of your core to the flush of your cheeks, your eyes glassy with a haze of lust.

“I think I want to fuck you just like this.” He whispers into your ear as his hands run soothingly over your back. “I like you this, on display as you wait for me.” You desperately attempt to push your hips back to brush against his uncovered cock, looking for any bit of friction.

You watch him from your place on the table, the lithe way his body moves as he takes off his luxurious silk shirt to expose his chest.

His beauty was almost otherworldly as the dancing candlelight illuminates the carved marble of his skin, light and shadow creating a moving chiaroscuro upon the planes of his body.

He looked like a god.

“You are so beautiful.” Your words are a mere whisper as he moves his thick cock to finally brush against your center, slicking himself in your spend as the tip catches against your clit, drawing twin moans from you both.

Grabbing your hips, Astarion positions himself at your entrance and begins to slowly push inside, so familiar with your body he barely needs to guide his cock.

His head drops to press a kiss to your shoulder before righting himself again, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your walls closing around him as he slides in, your wetness aiding him as he bottoms out and his hips press hard against your own. 

Low moans escape you at the sheer feeling of his cock stretching and sliding home and your hands move grasp for purchase on the desk as he slowly begins to rock back and forth. 

“If only you could see yourself now,” His voice is deep as he watches himself pull his cock out of your body almost completely, only the head left resting shallowly inside you before pushing forward with a hard thrust, hitting a place so deep you let out a ragged cry at the feeling.

“Gods, Astarion, just like that.” He fucks you hard, the force of his thrusts pushing you back and forth with small motions, breasts pressing hard against the wood of the table as one of your hands finds his own still holding your hips. You grab at his wrist in hopes he will take it, needing to touch more of him. Sensing your need Astarion takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it before resting your joined hands on your lower back. 

“No one takes my cock like you,” He pants through his thrusting. “You were made for me, weren’t you?” 

Supplications fall from his lips as he moves in and out of your body, showering you with worship as if you were his own private deity. His words further kindle the rising flame inside your belly, every touch of his cock against your walls serving to push you closer and closer to your third orgasm. 

“Only you,” you pant, hips canting back into his own to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “No one else.”

You feel so incredibly full with your body positioned like this, every movement of his cock has him pressing hard against your sweet spot, the feeling like heaven as cries fall from your lips.

“I love how wet you get for me, darling,” Astarion can feel you tighten around him as you grow nearer to your orgasm, your body trembling and cunt pulsing with pleasure as your hips drive back into his own. The feeling of you so close to your orgasm has hips losing their rhythm, his eagerness at the two of you reaching your end together driving him to move harder with every press inside you.

You love seeing him, feeling him like this. His hips finally moving with wild abandon, chasing pure instinct as he moves fast and deep inside your body. A hand comes up to settle in your unbound hair, softly gripping the silk-like strands in his fingers and in his passion he pulls softly, the motion lifting your head. His lips lower to your ear as his back presses fully against your own, the feeling of his cock moving even deeper inside you unmatched. Between his chest against your back and his cock moving so deep he was practically rutting inside, you were almost certain your cunt had never felt so full. Breathless whimpers escape your mouth at the feeling, eyes closing in complete ecstasy as the sound of his own moans against your ear leaves your cunt clenching hard as he hits your g-spot over and over again with each deep thrust.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

And beg you do.

“Please, Astarion!” A chorus of pleas rise from your throat voicing your desperation as his tongue licks the shell of your ear, the hand in your hair tightening slightly with every word and moan that falls from your lips. 

You can barely think as you feel your orgasm careen towards you, unintelligible in your words as you lose yourself in the feeling of your bodies. Astarion’s cock hits that deep inside spot at your front wall once more, and you finally let go, orgasm taking over your body, stars behind your eyes in all-consuming pleasure. You recognize Astarion nearing his own end, his hips rutting into yours as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, cunt squeezing him in a vice. He comes with a drawn-out moan as he paints your insides with his cum, hips shuttering until his thrusts slow down.

Astarion stays inside you, cock softening as he rubs his hands up and down your sides as you both come down from your high, his cold cheek pressed against your shoulder. With deep breaths you take air so heavy and sweet with your shared lust into your lungs, the weight of Astarion on your back an anchor to the world.

With one final pump Astarion pulls himself from your body, watching as your empty cunt weeps with a mixture of his and your own cum. Before he can stop himself, he reaches two fingers up to catch the cum on his fingertips, gently pushing it back inside you before it can fall out onto the table resting below your hips. 

“Wouldn’t want you to waste a single drop, my love.”

You whine and buck your hips, overstimulated after coming so many times in a row. With one last press of his fingers, he leaves your cunt, leaning forward to place a kiss on the small of your back.

Astarion grabs a discarded piece of silk off the table beside your head and he gently wipes at the mess that threatens to leave your body before cleaning his own spent cock. As your breathing returns to its normal pace, you push yourself up slightly. 

“Silk. Really, Astarion?”

“Only the best for you, my love.” Astarion is quick to help you off the table, steadying you as you sway slightly after being in the same position for so long. He presses a kiss to your lips as he helps pull your dress back up over your breasts and into place. 

“I would ask if I was too rough, but I know you better than that.” His remark makes you laugh as you lean into him, throwing your arms around his neck with a wide smile.

“You know, I think I’m missing a tiny piece of my clothing,” Your eyebrows raise as you gesture to his pocket where a tiny piece of darkened lace sticks out from. "You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why bother?” Astarion gives a casual shrug as he waves off your query. “I’m just going to take them off of you again when we get home.” 

He stuffs the underwear in question deeper into his pocket, patting it securely before flashing you a crafty smile.

“After all, I haven’t even had my dinner yet.” He leans in, setting your heart aflame with a passionate kiss before grabbing your hand to lead you out the door and into the waiting night.

[sleepyangelkami]

THUNDERSTORM d.dixon

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 2K

DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - your boyfriend travels through alexandria on foot even though the amiss of a thunder storm is unfolding, just to make his way to you, his precious girl, terrified of thunder and lightning.

 ☆ WARNINGS - crybaby reader, anxiety/worry, crying, rain, thunder/lightning, stormy weather, use of good girl (non-sexual) petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

the storm was getting bad, really bad.

you watched from the window of your home, sitting cross legged on the window seat and anxiously tapping your fingers against the window sill. your teeth had clamped down on your wobbly bottom lip as you watched the clouds dissipate and reappear, covering the town of alexandria in a new sleek coat of rain.

you wondered where everyone else was, hoping and praying that everyone was inside their houses, safe.

nothing bad really happened in alexandria before rick grimes and his group came. then again, nothing happened at all in alexandria before they came. they gave life to the people, hope, something to look forward to, a future.

you weren't an exception of that hope.

some would say that you're soft, possibly the softest girl in all of alexandria. you kept to yourself, pretty sun dresses and bows, always smiling at the people you passed.

but there was only one person who you felt truly knew you. that was your perfect boyfriend, the man who'd do just about anything for you, worshipping the mere ground that your dainty feet stepped on.

that man was daryl dixon.

he was feared. he was known. everyone had heard the stories of the walkers he'd taken down, the people he'd shoved out of the way. he was one of the ones the people of alexandria feared the most at the beginning, however they soon learned that he wasn't as rough as his accent made him out to be.

the sound of your door swinging open was enough to have your head whipping around in a flash, enough to give you a pain in your neck. your fists had balled over the little pink throw that had gathered around your legs.

however, the fear soon dissipated like the clouds as your eyes caught the glimpse of daryl dixon standing at your door, drowned wet and soaking. though, he soon began to rid himself of his jacket.

"got here as soon as i could." his gruff voice came out. "what are you doin' over there? c'mere." though he was already helping you up, tenderly grasping your arm and leading you away from the window seat.

you followed his instructions, seating yourself on the bed as he peered out the window himself. "is the patrol back yet?" worry evident in your honey-voice.

the man could merely grimace. in the apocalypse, everyone sort of became a liar, it was a force of habit to protect themselves and something about daryl dixon is that he was a well good liar when he wanted to be. however, in all the time he's known you, he's never been able to lie to you. perhaps it was because of those doey eyes that looked up to him or that naive head and heart he knew you had. he couldn't lie to you because he knew just how easily you'd believe him. "nah, they should be back before morning, though." his eyes softened as they glanced over your face, your own eyes looking down and appearing distant. always worrying about everyone aside from yourself. he sighed before kneeling down in front of you. "'m sure they're fine, sweet girl, probably jus' holed up somewhere, didn't wanna come back through the storm. okay?"

you knew those eyes.

daryl was quiet, mysterious. but with you, he could talk for days on end. and that meant he liked to listen too, especially to the sound of your sweet voice. he needed you to answer him. "okay." you mumbled, your voice a little shaky.

his lips turned up as he stood and reached his head down to press a chaste kiss against your own forehead. "good girl." he mumbled before turning back 'round to the curtains that were still slightly open. "why don' we throw on a movie, get nice 'n cozy in bed, yeah?"

he could tell by the look on your face that you weren't exactly pleased.

you hated the rain, the wind, everything that came with bad weather. you hated when your socks got wet when you passed puddles, you hated the way the mud smeared around after the rain, you hated the sounds of the stormy weather from outside. you loved the way daryl knew all this.

"c'mon, angel, a little rain ain' never hurt nobody." shutting your baby pink curtains closed. you gave him a look, knowing that on countless events, people had in fact, been killed due to the rain. he merely sighed. "you know what i mean."

he knelt in front of the dvd player. “now wh’s it gonna be? disney or the muppets?” 

you did adore the muppets, you loved the way daryl found himself chuckling at little pieces of it, finding joy in his own way in the little movies and shows that they played out. but right now? you so desperately needed the comfort of the movies you grew up with. “disney.” you answered, your voice small. “definitely.” 

he could only smirk. “as you wish.” 

daryl never made fun of you for your fascination for cartoons and picture movies like them. you liked them because they reminded you of what was before, how you grew up and the things you enjoyed doing before all this. there was a sense of nostalgia that hit deep in your gut and weirdly enough, you liked it. you liked watching the pictures move and allowing your mind to drift to when you were young. and daryl adored that pretty smile on your face or the way you laughed at the same cheesy romance joke you’d heard a thousand times over. he’d only roll his eye with a small chuckle but deep down he could feel his heart begin to race. something reminding him that there was still a form of innocence in a world full of chaos. 

“daryl?” you called from the bed. now that the movie was beginning, the rain didn’t seem as loud. and daryl had awful hearing as it was so he always played the movies loud for you both to hear it. you swore it would drive your hearing down the same road as his. 

“mhm?” a rough hum as he used the controller to skip past the pre-recorded ads on the dvd you owned. the swan princess, a movie you adored ever since you were a child, and daryl knew this.

he knew everything there was to know about you. 

you’d seated yourself beneath the blankets, your jammie covered legs finding even more heat in the white and pink sheets. everything about your room was girly. “how’d you get here?” your head tilting at the man. 

he merely stood, sniffling quietly and tossing the remote elsewhere so he could kick off his boots. “i walked.” he answered so casually, as if it hadn’t been a big deal at all. and to him, it truly wasn’t, he’d faced worse things than walking in a little rain. besides, he wasn’t scared like you were, he didn’t worry like you did. the rain didn’t effect him.

but you on the other hand, had never seen the dangers that daryl faced or the monsters he’d looked right in the eyes. a little rain scared you alone let alone with daryl walking in it. “you walked?!” your voice all accusing and full of both shock and concern. 

daryl began stripping himself of his button up shirt, finding one of those black tee’s he owned lying around your room somewhere. “yeah.” he chuckled, voice all gruff. 

“daryl.” you scolded, though how could you really scold when you sounded like a fresh pot of homemade jam. you sat up on your knees on the bed, brows pinching together. “‘s so dangerous, anything could have happened.” 

any other situation and you would have been staring at the way he dragged his jeans down his knees. “gotta keep the wife happy.” he joked despite the fact that you were not his wife (yet, that is.) 

but you were just staring up at him with those doe-like eyes. they were full of concern, full of worry. anything could have happened to him. “daryl.” is all that came out from your mouth though your voice showed your evident distaste to his recklessness.

he merely waved you off, though. daryl never could see his own faults. “wasn’t gonna let my girl sleep through a storm alone, no way.” he found his way to the bed, now clad in a shirt and dark sweatpants. “so be happy you have me.” he smiled up at you with that infamous grin, the one that made your heart flutter.

biting down on your bottom lip, you shook your head. “of course i’m happy to have you―” you’d never pass up an opportunity to see daryl dixon, your beloved boyfriend. 

“then leave it at that.” but his words weren’t condescending or in any way angry with you. they were soft, gentle, as he always treated you. like a porcelain doll ready to smash at any moment. “c’mon, you missed like, half the movie.” finding his own ways beneath the covers.

a smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down at him. “it barely started.” 

and before he knew it, it ended.

he didn’t know when or at which point in the movie you’d fallen asleep but by the time the end credits rolled around, your eyes were shut closed, lips pressed together as you practically dug yourself into his thick arm. his second arm was wrapped around you, keeping your icy skin somewhat warm. 

the only warmth either of you had was the body heat that you shared with one another.

the storm wasn’t going to get any better, daryl was well aware of this. and he hoped for everyone else’s sake that the patrol team were, in fact, holed up in a shelter, waiting for the rain to stop before coming home. 

when the soft breaths hit his arm gently, he knew you were passed out asleep. and despite the loud rain and wind from outside, he still found himself shutting off the tv, incase it woke you from your slumber. 

and then, the first clap of thunder hit. 

you woke with a strangled whimper, instinctively pushing yourself closer to the man. a coo and a shushing sound fell from his lips unconsciously, his hand settling on the back of your head, pulling you in. there was something so comforting about his shushing and his touch but when the first lightning strike hit, you could only whimper out again. “daryl.” his name once again falling from your lips because when you didn’t know what to say, that was all you could think. 

“i know, baby, i know.” fingers toying with your hair and his separate hand gently running up and down the tenderness of your upper arm. 

your legs wrapped around him, hands practically clinging to him. he was your safety net when things began to go south. when your brain turned to scrambles, he was the one holding you together until you were ready to pick yourself back up again, if you could even call it that, he was always doing all the work for you.

and in the dead of night, the darkness of the room completely and utterly consuming you both. you whispered what you thought you’d never have the courage to. “I’m scared.” voice cracking as hot tears filled your eyes. 

what a terrible thing to admit?

the fear of the dead getting inside with broken walls due to the storm, the fear of god help us the lightning strike hitting your house. you could never be sure, never and perhaps that was why the fat tears began to roll down your cheeks. 

but, as always, daryl was ready to pick you back up again. “‘s okay.” his usually gruff voice so tender and soft. “ain’ nothin’ gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.” and he meant that, truly and wholeheartedly as his thick fingers began to wipe away the stray tears from your cheeks. “too pretty to be cryin’, angel.” 

“‘s jus…” 

“scary.” he finished. “i know.” he knew but he didn’t know. he hardly felt fear as it was let alone like you. he was met with another whimper and a clap of thunder. “i got you.” his arms holding you so close. “‘s okay, i’m right here. i got you.”

and somewhere, between the heavy rainfall, the thunder and lightning and all the rest, the peaceful arms of your lover was enough to soothe your tear filled eyes back to sleep. 

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

[reaveries]

▬  𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲

gif credit to @robpattinsongifs (much higher resolution on their account)

summary: late-night visits from your definitely human boyfriend

pairings: edward cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k (approximately 7 minutes reading time)

a/n:  I’ve had this baby marinating in my drafts since January, when I was going through my bi-annual Twilight Renaissance. I was actually in the middle of writing a RE2R Leon Kennedy fic today and decided to put on a twilight playlist, and then I just knew I had to finish this one. It’s my first *published* non-RDR fic heehee (I have so much in my drafts, it’s insane). Anyways, enjoy (pardners)!

masterlist archive of our own

It’s that dreadful time of year again. 

The sun is making its curtain call as students from the nearby elementary school trip over themselves running home. Little girls and boys have sticky remnants of lunch peeking from the corners of their mouths and the grass is still slick from morning showers. But dusk is impatient in February, and its eagerness is encouraged in a town hidden beneath perpetual overcast nine months out of the year.

The school children ran past her window minutes ago when the sky had been painted brilliant indigo. Now, when she looks up the only thing left to see is her own dark reflection and the warm orange glow from a candle on the sill. Its tall flame stutters, collapsing and rising with the damp breeze. 

A page turns, disrupting the otherwise quiet room. The only other noise that can be heard is a soft pitter of water dripping onto the floorboards from a coat hanging off the closet door. 

She reaches for a mug sitting on the corner of her nightstand and promptly sets it back down upon finding it empty. It returns to its spot atop crumpled receipts and library hold slips belonging to the growing stack of books accumulating dust at her bedside. These books tower over the permanent nightstand residents: lazily discarded beaded necklaces, a sample bottle of floral perfume from Christmas, two little ceramic bunnies purchased from an antique mall in Port Angeles last summer, car keys, and drugstore chapstick. It might be worth convincing her to let go of some of these post-object permanence discoveries, but that is a matter for another time.

In a desperate attempt to comprehend the words she’s reading, she rolls onto her back and extends her arms straight in the air so the book hovers a foot from her face—a change of perspective to freshen the mind.

It does not help. 

No matter how much she shifts or squints, the antiquated prose remains stubbornly uninviting. She can’t fathom why anyone would willingly subject themselves to something so archaic and convoluted and furthermore, recommend it as one of their favorite novels.

With a huff, she adjusts the headphones at her ears, hoping the music will clear her mind. But despite her best efforts, the book slowly drifts closer to her chest and her eyelids grow heavier as the music lulls her into a dreamless sleep. 

When she wakes to cold fingers grazing her jaw it’s impossible to tell whether she’d fallen asleep or if she just blinked. The weight of the headphones gently disappears as they’re pulled off and set down on the nightstand. She grumbles incoherently and stretches out her legs, not unlike a cat after a long, difficult day of lounging around. Her eyes begrudgingly flutter open and immediately find him only inches away. He’s watching her, peering down with a twinkle in his amber-colored eyes.

“Edward…” she whispers.

“Dracula,” he says, eyebrows raised as he makes the observation. “I thought you didn’t like Gothics.”

She reaches a finger into the book on her chest and folds the page over before tossing it carelessly into the sea of knitted and quilted blankets at the foot of the bed. With the haze of sleep still clouding her eyes, she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“I’m trying.”

He chuckles lightly and brings his hand to her hair again, brushing stray strands off her forehead and tucking them behind her ears before leaning down to place a chaste kiss above her eyes. Though his lips are soft, the icy touch of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. He’s always cold; a result of his anemia, he says. However, the downpour that's dampened his hair and clothes to his skin has chilled him even more so.

In an effort to sit up, she raises herself onto her elbows and catches a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers on her bedside clock.

“You’re late, you know,” she chides, watching him settle uncomfortably at the head of the bed. He sinks down among the pillows, their plushness contrasting humorously with the stiffness of his demeanor. He reaches behind his back and tugs free a stuffed rabbit lodged between him and the headboard, then sets it down softly beside himself.

“I had to make a quick stop. I hope you can forgive me,” he says in a hushed voice, so as not to make too much noise in the resting house. His eyes flit towards the nightstand and she follows them to see a new item sitting amongst the disorder. A tall styrofoam cup with steam rising thinly from the lid. Coffee. 

The mug she just finished sits right beside it. She’d considered brewing more but that was before being rendered unconscious by Bram Stoker nearly an hour ago. Her heart swells at his thoughtfulness, but a more pressing question comes to mind before she can voice her gratitude.

“How did you even climb up here with that?” She asks, reaching for the cup with both hands.

“I’m very…agile.” There’s a look in his eyes that tells her there’s more to it, but she chooses to ignore it for now with a shake of her head.

The taste is immediately harsh, significantly more bitter than how she makes it herself. Any trace of a smile dissipates and is replaced with a pronounced look of disgust.

“Good God, Edward,” she exclaims. “Decaf? What did I ever do to you?”

He laughs and takes it from her hands, leaving her still reeling from the unexpected taste. “As much as I love staying up with you, you need sleep,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. “You didn’t get any last night and you don’t hide it well.”

He says the last part sweetly, tilting his head to the side and following her motions with his eyes, watching her pick up the stuffed rabbit by its cotton paw.

“Don’t hide it well?” She repeats, the indignation in her voice contrasting with the softness of the toy as she raises it high into the air and brings it down against his chest with a soft thud. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to hide anything if you—weren’t—keeping—me—up—all—night!”

With every word, the rabbit hits his forearms poorly attempting to shield himself from the blows. Edward grins as she attacks him, the soft toy barely making a sound against his arms. He watches as her hair falls across her face in the midst of the unrelenting attack, the warm glow of the candle casting a soft halo around her.

But then, his amusement fades as he sees the exhaustion in her eyes. 

He gently takes the rabbit from her and sets it aside before grabbing her arm mid-swing and pulling her into his chest. She sighs heavily and surrenders, relaxing against him. "I’m sorry," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ll let you rest tonight.”

Despite his tender words, a residual half-baked frustration lingers inside her. “How did you manage to stay awake in class?” she mumbles into his sweater, the words muffled. “I mean, you didn’t get any sleep either.”

He chuckles, as if privy to some inside joke.

“Well, someone had to take your notes for you,” he says, his fingers trailing through her hair in a soothing motion. “And besides, you looked so peaceful drooling away.” 

She looks up at him, a hint of a drowsy smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I did not drool,” she insists.

He grins down at her, his eyes alight with fondness. “Of course not.”

She groans and buries her head into his chest, to which he responds by encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“I’m never falling asleep in front of you again,” she grumbles.

His chest rumbles beneath her cheek as he laughs. “Alright, angel.”

He shifts his hand from the crown of her head to the curve of her back, tracing languid circles over the fabric of her t-shirt as the room fills with a comfortable silence. The rain outside grows heavier, tapping against the glass with a more insistent force. Her body is warm against his and he can feel the steady thumping of her heartbeat as if it's his own. A few minutes slip by, and he senses her breathing even out and deepen. Without disturbing her, he reaches for a nearby blanket and drapes it over her, then turns his gaze to the candle on the windowsill.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, as the dwindling flame fades out of focus. 

This is his favorite part of the day.

Vague arrays of soft, muted hues and shapes swirl around in his vision, overtaking the warm surroundings of her bedroom. They morph into recognizable figures after some time, and he can hear them speaking when he focuses. For the most part, they sound as if he’s underwater and they’re conversing on the shore. But every now and then, a clear phrase emerges.

Suddenly, the floating shapes assimilate into a figure resembling him and he realizes what this dream is. It’s a recurring one he’s particularly fond of. He settles in and pulls her closer as the scene ebbs between reality and distortions of the unconscious mind. 

He can’t remember how he used to pass the night hours before he met her. Books, records, films--looking back, they feel hollow compared to nights spent like this. Part of him hopes he’ll never know what it's like to want for this. But these dreams, and her thoughts in the waking hours, assure him he won’t ever have to find out.

[xothatnerdykid]

Aizawa x Reader Established Relationship Headcanons

(Cannot, for the life of me, get over my writer's block but I've still got Aizawa brainrot thanks to s7 so here.)

I might be in the minority here but I don't think Aizawa would smoke. He eats healthy and works out to keep his body in shape. Why would he compromise his health by smoking?

His only vices are chronic snacking (he loves those jelly pouch things) and caffeine.

He's usually up 'til dawn most days because duh, he works two jobs (hence the 5-7 shots of espresso in his coffee). 

Despite his sleep deprivation most days, he is soooo sexy when he wakes up in the morning. Messy hair. Baggy shirt and boxers. Or sometimes a body hugging tank top and sweatpants. And his voice — his raspy, sleep-addled voice. The feeling of his stubble against the smooth planes of your face waking you up. 

He doesn’t usually cook breakfast but he does always brew a fresh pot of coffee for you. And he never leaves without a kiss goodbye, even when you’re still snuggled up in bed, asleep.

When you first start dating, Shouta talks to you pretty much the same way he talks to everyone else. So curt and succinct, you sometimes used to wonder if he was upset with you. He’d usually get confused as to what made you ask that, and then explained that he’s just a man of a few words, that’s all. 

As your relationship becomes more established, you notice subtle shifts in the way he communicates. It's not a sudden change, but your conversations start to feel more like a secret code over time, filled with inside jokes that never fail to make him smirk.

Shouta’s love language is definitely acts of service. He’s a pragmatic, action-oriented person who values efficiency. So of course he’d think that actions speak louder than words when it comes to letting someone know your true feelings. 

That’s why he loves it when he comes home to your cooking, especially when you surprise him with his favorite dish. Because after 16-hours or so of working two jobs, he usually just passes out on the couch the moment he gets home and you’re not around.

He feels so bad when he comes home too late sometimes and finds you already asleep and his dinner sitting cold on the stovetop or in the fridge. He always makes sure to make it up to you by preparing breakfast the next day or…other…pleasing ways…

Seeing you take care of Sushi, the cat his very-well-and-alive friend Nemuri sometimes asks him to babysit, makes him feel all warm inside, too (although he doesn’t actually admit it, you just catch him smiling softly at you sometimes and quickly looking away when you notice).

As for how he expresses his love for you, it mostly comes in the form of acts of service, too, as well as gifts and physical touch.

Shouta’s romantic gestures are like rare collectibles. They often come as a surprise, but when they happen, you cherish them dearly. He'll surprise you with a thoughtful gift and leave it on your desk with a simple, "Saw this and thought of you."

He won't serenade you under the moonlight or anything, but he'll make you a warm cup of tea when you're tired, or wrap a scarf around you when it's cold.

You don't really have time to go out on dates most weeks, but when you do, you're either at a quiet restaurant or taking a walk through nature in the parks. 

His favorite thing to do is sit with you by the window sill on rainy days and just have you snuggle up to him, bundled in his arms, while you read or do your own thing in comfortable silence.

Fighting with Shouta was like having a verbal sparring match. He’s always strategic, although his patience wears thin sometimes, even with you. Still, he knew when to bring something up and when to back down. 

He won't shy away from a disagreement, but he's not one to let it linger. He’ll tackle the issue head-on, find a compromise, and move on.

One of your favorite things about him was that he never held a grudge or took conflicts personally.  

Shouta’s life is a constant juggle between being a pro hero, a UA teacher, a single dad, and being your boyfriend. But oh, does he master it.

At first you thought maybe he was just a really efficient and organized planner, but one look at him, his apartment, his phone, and his non-existent planner told you otherwise.

“How do you plan on getting all of this done?” You often ask him about his mountain of papers to grade and reports to submit, to which he just shrugs.

“I don’t know, the usual? Coffee. Eye drops.” He sucks on his second jelly pouch of the day and goes back to his cluttered desk, papers strewn about like fallen leaves. "Duct taping my eyelids," he grumbles the last part under his breath.

You laugh, watching him from the couch with a fond look in your eyes. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

He looks up, one eyebrow raised. “For what? Managing to stay awake?”

“For…everything,” you shrug, walking over to perch yourself atop the edge of his desk. “For being you.”

He hums appreciatively as he pulls you closer by the waist.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”

He glances up at you, smiling a little. You scratch at the stubble on his chin. 

“Ready to call it a night?”

“Not quite,” he smirks before leaning up to kiss you fervently, tangling his hands in your hair.

Both of you slept better than you have all week. Afterwards.

You occasionally surprise him by finding him when he’s out on patrol and checking up on him. You love seeing him like this, in his element. He’s so kind to all the people he helps…

(A lot of the time, you end up making out against an alleyway or with him hanging upside down from a fire escape, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

[ghcstao3]

prompt from @juggalomary :

“A teenaged ghost who often shows up to places with bruises and cuts. Who is a regular visitor of the homeless shelter by the soccer pitch popular with the local grammar school boys. Soap who is a troubled student from the grammar school who plays keeper in soccer matches with his friends.

One day ghost missed the final call before they locked the shelter after a late night argument with his dad. He slept on bench for the home team at the pitch. Soap being soap was up at that ungodly hour playing soccer when he accidentally hit ghost with his water bottle.

Next thing they knew ghost will either throw rocks at soaps windows or just walk through the front door when he can’t sleep at home.”

-

Plink.

Johnny frowns, tearing his gaze away from his homework for a moment to wonder if he’d really just heard something. But when nothing happens for at least another minute or so following, Johnny resumes his work and chalks it up to his imagination.

Plink.

There, again. Johnny turns to the window where he’s sure the sound had come from, if it isn’t just in his head, and watches. Mindlessly twirls his pencil between his fingers and waits… for nothing. Another drawn out silence.

Plink.

Just as Johnny is making for his second dismissal, there’s a flash of grey bouncing off the glass that catches his eye. He slowly sets his pencil down and stands from his creaky desk chair before creeping toward the window.

There, on his lawn, with a bruised jaw and a toothy grin, is none other than Simon Riley.

Johnny hastily pulls his window open, leaning over the sill to whisper-shout, “Were you throwing rocks?”

“Maybe I was,” Simon whisper-shouts back. He less-than-discretely empties his hoodie pocket of an arsenal of pebbles now that he’s gotten Johnny’s attention. “You have room for one tonight?”

“Your dad kick you out?”

Simon shrugs a shoulder, grimacing. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Right, well—“ Johnny casts a quick glance back to his room, winces at the state of it, then decides Simon probably wouldn’t care, “—I’m sure my Ma won’t mind. Just wait there a sec.”

His Ma wouldn’t mind, sure, she loves Simon—but Johnny doesn’t imagine she’d be all too pleased to be disturbed at this hour, either, so he’s silent leaving his room to quietly greet Simon at the front door to let him in.

It’s the first time he’s ever come this late.

Johnny immediately shushes Simon once he’s ushered inside, though Simon has yet to say anything. He lets himself be led toward Johnny’s room without a word, dutifully following Johnny’s silent instruction to sit on the bed and wait while he retrieves the First Aid kit from the bathroom.

The bruise is worse, up close, though it’s old. Nothing Johnny can fix.

What he can fix, however, is the cut on Simon’s temple and the one through his bottom lip—all it requires is some gentle blotting of a cloth soaked with cold water to clean, and butterfly stitches on Simon’s head because it’s either that or Johnny’s wee sister’s princess bandaids to keep the wound covered.

Which, Simon jokes, would make him look too tough. But they both know the real reason he can’t use one.

When Johnny realizes he’s still leaning too far into Simon’s space, even now having finished tending to his cuts, he reels back before Simon can notice the blush that begins to bloom across his face.

Johnny hangs his head, picking at a loose thread on his pyjamas, doing his best to ignore the warmth burning from ear to ear.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” He mumbles.

He can feel Simon staring at him, something he always seems to be doing whether or not Johnny notices. Johnny continues picking at the string.

“Not really,” Simon says. “Can we sleep?”

Johnny nods, standing to push his desk chair back in place. He can hear Simon moving back on the bed, crawling underneath the covers like he’s now done so many times. Johnny clicks off his desk lamp and blindly wanders to the unoccupied side and gets into bed along with Simon.

They sleep back-to-back, always. And also like always, Johnny fights his exhaustion until he can be sure that Simon’s breathing has evened out; that he’s actually getting a proper rest.

Johnny knows he’ll have to deal with his Ma in the morning, but he doesn’t care. He just wishes it were easier for Simon to be safer like this every night, and not just the few he ends up staying here.

Johnny is still happy to provide any bit of help he can, though. God knows Simon needs the support.

Satisfied when he hears quiet snores escape Simon, Johnny, too, falls asleep.

[venerawrites]

reader and vi reunite after the bridge fight in caitlyn's room, and while caitlyn is out talking to her parents, reader and vi end up making out on caitlyn's bed...!!! (WITH INCREDIBLE HESITATION ON VI'S END BECAUSE VI DOES LIKE CAITLYN AT THIS POINT BUT IS ALSO SO GLAD TO SEE THAT READER IS SAFE. READER ALSO HAS A VENDETTA AGAINST CAITLYN AT THIS POINT SO READER GETS LOWKEY LIVID AT HAVING FOUND VI IN THE ENFORCER'S ROOM)

author's note: I may have screamed a little when I saw this request because this idea is just *chef's kiss*! Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you like it!

warnings: nothing explicit, but it does get a bit heated toward the end, so just in case ... 18+ implied, MINORS DNI!!

Red.

That's all you could see, as you peeked through the window of Caitlyn Kiramman's bedroom. Blinding, raging red, which threatened to consume you whole and make the last thread of self-control in your body snap. Your fingers involuntarily twitched next to you, grazing the handle of your gun. A shot from here would be pretty clean, it would take that enforcer girl out straight away. One less problem for you to worry about...

Suddenly Caitlyn stood up from her bed, shaking her head while saying something to Vi. You couldn't hear her words, but a few moments later she started heading toward the door before quietly exiting the room. The pink-haired woman buried her face in her hands, running her palms up and down the bruised skin.

A few moments passed and you held your breath, trying to make out the voices coming from the open window downstairs. You leaned your head to the side, squinting your eyes as if that would help you hear better. And it must've worked, as the loud screeching of both Caitlyn and her mother arguing reached your ears.

"This whole family is a bunch of morons", you thought, rolling your eyes. Taking out the knife from your waist you pushed it between the window frame and the sill, wiggling the blade till you heard a soft click. Your fingers froze and your eyes flew immediately to Vi, checking for any reaction. She, however, seemed to be so deep into her own thoughts that she paid no mind to the soft sound that came from you breaking the lock.

Slowly you lifted the lower sash only as far as to give you enough space to squeeze into the room and with one swift move, you lifted your body with your arms, quietly dragging it inside. Scanning the room with your eyes, your whole face twisted in distaste.

Every single object in the room was worth more than all of your belongings put together, and probably more than what the majority of the people in Zaun owned. But, of course, what else could you expect from the daughter of a Councillor?

"Huh... Didn't know the rich spoiled girls were your type", you hummed, tilting your head to the side while still observing your surroundings. The sudden words startled Vi and she immediately jumped from the bed, assuming a fighting position, which relaxed as soon as she saw you.

"You...", her brows furrowed, while her eyes drank your form sitting at the window still. Once upon a time, you were everything for her - her safety, her heaven, her muse, her future... She often thought that no matter what happened, you were going to be a constant in her life. Something that she knew was hers and would always be hers.

But things and people change, and, damn, Vi should know that better than anyone else. Nothing in the Undercity was the same as it was before she was thrown in prison, and that included you. What was once the person she could confine all her secrets in was now a stranger, a mere ghost of her best friend and first crush.

"What are you doing here?"

You finally acknowledged her, your purple gaze boring into her face. "High on shimmer", noted Vi in her mind, and her fists clenched by her sides. Just like Powder, you have fallen a victim to Silco's manipulations and twisted games. He took both of you in after the explosion that night and has raised you both as his daughters, molding you into the perfect weapons of destruction. He gave you a second chance and the opportunity to start all over - something you both craved, needed even. But while Powder Jinx found comfort in her guns and trinkets, you found the same feeling in Shimmer.

"I am here for you, silly", your tone was dry and mocking, almost as if the purpose of your visit should be obvious. You swung your legs over, lowering them to the ground, before taking a few steps toward the pink-haired woman.

"I am here to take you home."

Home. The word caused a shiver to run down Vi's spine and while her brain screamed for her to step back, to create a bigger distance between you two, she stood frozen in her spot. Once she was within your reach, you lifted your hand gently placing it on her cheek and rubbing your thumb against it. Even now, when you were all grown up, she was still towering over you, and you had to look up, searching her eyes with your own.

"You are going to come home, right? To Jinx? To me?", you pressed, leaning closer.

Vi gulped, fighting the urge to lean her face against your hand. You used to do that a lot when you were younger and she was feeling stressed. Always treating her with such gentleness and love, making her feel way more beautiful and deserving of you than she actually was.

Now it was... different.

Your hands were rougher and there was no affection in these purple eyes of yours. Quite the opposite - there was something dark, something sinister, which was making her scared. Perhaps Ekko was right - you did not belong to her anymore, you belonged to Silco. The irony of you calling her sister Jinx also did not escape her - she remembered the days, when you would hug the child and scold Mylo, whispering sweet words into her hair and promising her it's not her fault that your little raid ended like this and that she would never "jinx" anything.

"You need to go."

What was supposed to be a command came out like a broken plead. The small smile that you had on your face quickly dropped and you furrowed your brows, the movement of your thumb against her cheek stopping.

"But I just got here", you let out a dry chuckle, before stepping around Vi and plopping yourself on the large bed behind her. The feeling of the satin sheets felt so smooth, that you could not fight the urge to lean back and sink in their comfort. Closing your eyes, you stretched your arms above your head and sighed in satisfaction. So this is how the rich bastards from Piltover lived, huh?

"Caitlyn will come back any second-"

Vi was interrupted by the angry huff that left your lips when you heard the enforcer's name. Your body suddenly raised in a seated position, a newfound spark of anger and frustration written all over your face.

"Why did you not look for me?"

The woman raised her brows confused.

"What?"

Your position shifted once again so you were now on your knees, leaning forward while glaring at her with a mix of hurt and fury.

"You claim you came for Jinx, but that is not true, is it? You came with a damn enforcer to look for that weird crystal!", your voice became louder and louder with each word, "And not even for one second you thought about me! You didn't even care if I was dead or aliv-"

A large hand pressed against your lips silencing you. Vi, which so far looked somewhat composed, was now having her lips twisted in a snarl.

"Don't you dare!", she growled, her voice low and bitter, "I turned the whole city upside down to try and find YOU and Powder! Every single day, every damn minute I thought of you and prayed for you to be alive! So don't you dare saying I didn't care!"

Her fingers trembled against your mouth and her grip loosened. You watched her head fall down while she took deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions that was swirling inside of her chest. On one hand, she knew she should not entertain your little games. You were not the sweet and kind-hearted girl you were years ago, and the way you fought Ekko was proof of that. On the other hand, however, the memories of her love for you kept flooding her mind, making it hard to distinguish what were her real feelings and what was just fragments of her imagination.

Pulling her hand away, she kneeled on the ground next to the bed, pressing her forehead against your leg.

"The only reason why I survived all these years in prison was because of you. I thought...", she got quiet for a few seconds, trying to choose the right words. She had so much to say, so much to share, but were you actually willing to listen?

"I thought that if I ever had the chance to see you again, it would be just like it was years ago. That we would pack our stuff and leave this cursed place forever. I imagined us in a small house next to a coast somewhere, waking up late every morning, because none of us could let go of each other's warmth. Our house would have a small garden, full with all the flowers and vegetables you told me you wanted to grow."

As you listened to her, your expression gradually softened and your hand found its way to the top of her head. You gently stroked her short locks, the image of what could've been slowly coming together in your mind.

"We would also have a dog... and two cats, because you love cats. You would make me a blueberry pie for my birthdays and I would start a local job, so we can save money to go and visit one of these tourist islands you kept reading in the newspaper about", Vi stared at the blank wall ahead, mind lost in this imaginary life. She had dreamed about it so many times, sometimes it felt almost real.

Your fingers stopped massaging her scalp and instead slid from her hair to her jaw, lifting her face, so she could look at you. And then, just for a moment, you were the same girl Vi remembered and fell in love with. There was the same gentle smile on your face, the same loving touch, the same mischievous spark in your now strange eyes.

"Who said we can't still have that?", you whispered, grazing her lips with your thumb, before leaning toward her, "All you have to do is come home, Vi... Come with me and I will be yours. Only yours."

The lie fell so smoothly from your lips and while she knew you were not sincere, she pushed her doubt and mistrust aside, instead choosing to cling to your promise and allow herself to believe there was still hope.

Pushing herself from the floor, she grasped your face in her hands before pressing her lips against yours. The kiss was nothing like the few sweet pecks you had shared before - now it was messy, harsh, and rough, a battle for dominance between you and her. She slowly climbed on top of you, while pushing you back against the mountain of pillows on the bed, not breaking the contact even for a second. Her hands gripped your own, slamming them above your head, while she continued to suck and bite your bottom lip. Filled with a new dose of adrenaline, you let her take control, while arching your back and trying to get as close as possible to her.

Suddenly, the image of Caitlyn flashed in front of her eyes and she pulled away, panting heavily. She shouldn't be doing this, especially not with you and especially not here... Before she can let go of you completely, however, you wrapped your legs around her waist, bringing her back to you.

"Vi...", the name sounded like a sinful prayer falling from your red and swollen lips, "I missed you so much!"

Against her better judgment, she closed her eyes, pressing her lips against yours once again, this time licking them with her tongue as a request for her to finally be able to taste you. And once you granted your permission, she didn't waste even a second, exploring your mouth and satisfying her craving. You whined and moaned below her, moving your body under hers in a way to try and get as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. She stilled her tongue for a few seconds and you immediately grabbed the opportunity to suck on it, while rolling your eyes in pleasure.

Her hands released yours and instead, they grabbed your hips, trying to control your movements. Her mouth started pressing open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, slowly sliding down your neck and you could do nothing else, other than turn your head to the side and give her more space.

Somewhere deep inside, Vi knew this was wrong. You were not hers anymore and no matter what sweet promises you made, you were never going to turn against Silco. Zaun was a place where you thrived, why would you ever escape from there? And while she was trying to hold onto your past memories together, she couldn't lie to herself anymore by saying her heart still belonged to you. Because it didn't. There was a good and kind girl, who liked her and accepted her for who she is.

And what did Vi do? Make-out with her ex-crush on her bed.

You, on the other hand, did not have any internal struggles or questions about how morally right or wrong was your current situation. As you stared at the door, which was slightly open, your eyes locked with those of Caitlyn and you couldn't help but grin at her, burying your hands in Vi's hair while she still marked your neck.

She was yours. Only yours.

cc artwork: JunNing Chen

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Im Only Gonna Drag You Down

Eris x Reader

Summary: You've been fine, but your depression comes out of nowhere. Now all you can feel is numb as you look for an escape from reality. Eris takes it upon himself to help you through it.

word count: 1.7k

cw: I'm so sorry... the demons told me to write this /s

The morning sun cast a soft glow across the room, illuminating the dust motes that danced lazily in the air. You stirred under the warm blankets, eyes slowly adjusting to the light that seeped through the gap in the curtains.

Your hand reached out automatically to the cold space beside you, expecting to feel the reassuring warmth of your mate's body. But the emptiness only served as a cruel reminder that you were alone.

Eris had left early to attend to him duties in the court, giving you space to deal with your tumultuous emotions.

You hadn't seen him since the night before, when you'd broken down, the weight of your depression finally too much to bear. His eyes had been filled with a mix of pain and determination as he held you tightly, whispering soothing words into your ear. But even his gentle embrace couldn't chase away the numbness that consumed you.

Now, lying in the quiet of the room, you felt the heaviness of your soul pressing down on you like a leaden blanket.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt like it was made of stone, unresponsive to your desperate attempts to break free.

The once comforting scent of him on the pillow only served to deepen the ache in your chest. You could almost hear the echo of his footsteps, the sound of his laughter, but it was all just a taunting memory.

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself upright, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, sending a jolt up your spine.

You knew you needed to get moving, to do something—anything—to keep the suffocating emptiness at bay.

You glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the half-empty mug of tea he'd brought you last night, the candle that had burned down to a stub. The sight of them made your stomach clench, a reminder that even in the midst of your despair, he was there, trying to be your beacon of light.

The sound of a bird's sweet trill outside the window pulled you from your thoughts.

You stumbled over to the sill, gripping the edge for support. The sight of the vibrant world outside was jarring, quite the contrast to the gloom that clung to you.

You watched the sun rise higher in the sky, the colors shifting from pale pinks to vibrant oranges and yellows. It was a beautiful morning, a perfect day that you had no right to spoil with your dark thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, you turned away from the window and reached for your robe. The fabric was soft against your skin, but it couldn't soothe the turmoil within.

You shuffled over to the washbasin, the cold water a shock to your system as you splashed it onto your face. You stared at your reflection, searching for any semblance of the person you once were.

The eyes that looked back at you were hollow, lifeless pools of despair.

What does he even see in you?

The question whispered through your mind, as persistent as the buzz of a pesky fly. You knew you weren't whole, that your shattered pieces were held together by a thread so thin it could snap at any moment.

Yet Eris had claimed you as his mate, promising to stand by your side, to cherish and protect you. The weight of his love was a burden you didn't feel worthy of carrying.

You managed to get dressed, the act of pulling on your clothes feeling like a monumental achievement.

As you stepped out into the corridor, the castle's usual bustle felt alien and overwhelming. Voices, laughter, and the clatter of footsteps echoed around you, each sound a knife twisting in your gut.

You craved the solitude of the library, a place where the words in the ancient tomes had once offered you comfort.

The library was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could lose yourself in the tales of heroes and myths, if only for a brief reprieve from reality.

As you approached the grand oak doors, they swung open, revealing Eris standing there, a book tucked under his arm, his gaze searching for you. His eyes widened with relief when he saw you, and he strode over, his movements full of concern.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his voice a soothing balm.

You tried to smile, but it felt forced.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." The words were heavy, a lie coated in a thin layer of hope.

Eris studied you intently, his gaze sweeping over your drawn features. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat like a lump of unyielding ice. But the warmth of his touch was a gentle prod, urging you to open up. With a shaky exhale, you nodded.

"I just...I don't know what happened. I felt okay, and then everything just...crashed."

He led you to a secluded corner of the library, his hand never leaving yours. The scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the storm raging in your chest. Eris sat beside you on the plush velvet bench, his eyes never leaving yours as you spoke.

"It's like...everything just stopped making sense," you whispered, the words raw and painful. "I feel like I'm stuck in a fog, and I can't find my way out."

Eris's grip tightened on your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles.

"Depression can be like that," he said, his voice low and soothing. "It doesn't always come with a warning. Sometimes it just...appears."

You nodded, his understanding piercing the fog ever so slightly.

"I know. It's just...I didn't think it would come back. I thought I was stronger than this."

Eris leaned in, his eyes filled with a fierce tenderness.

"Strength isn't about never falling, it's about always getting back up." He paused, his expression earnest. "And you will. We'll face this together."

But the words felt hollow, the weight of exhaustion dragging at your very soul.

"What if I'm too tired to keep fighting?" The question slipped out, a quiet admission of defeat that hung heavy between you.

"Then I'll carry you," Eris said firmly.

His hand cupped your cheek, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin.

"We'll fight together."

You searched his eyes, looking for a crack in his resolve, a hint of doubt. But all you found was a steadfast belief in you, a conviction that you were worth fighting for.

"It's not your burden. You deserve someone better."

"Someone better?" Eris's voice was a soft rumble of disbelief. "You are my heart, my mate. There is no one better for me than you. We face this as one, just as we face everything else."

His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped your lashes, the warmth of his skin leaving a trail of comfort.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a fraction.

"But what if I drag you down with me?"

Eris's eyes searched yours, full of a fierce love that seemed too bright for the dimly lit room.

"Then I'll fly with you, even into the darkest depths of the earth. I swore an oath to you, and I meant it. Through every joy and sorrow, I am yours, and you are mine."

He took a deep breath, the air in the library seeming to still around you both.

"But I need you to do one thing for me."

Your heart thudded in your chest, hope and fear mingling in an uneasy dance.

"What?"

"Let me help you," Eris said simply, his eyes never wavering from yours. "Allow me to share this burden, to support you when you can't stand alone."

You bit your lip, the tears welling up again.

"I don't want to be a burden."

Eris's gaze softened, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're not. You're my partner, my equal. And in the same way that I would fight to the death for you, I'll stand by you in this too."

He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Please, let me in."

The sincerity in his words pierced through the fog, and you found yourself nodding, the first real spark of hope flickering in your chest. He leaned over, wrapping his arms around you in a fierce embrace. You melted into him, feeling the warmth and solidity of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

"I'll read to you," Eris murmured, pulling back to look into your eyes. "You just listen and rest."

He picked up the book he'd brought, the title long forgotten in the face of your pain. As he opened it to a random page, you leaned your head against his shoulder, the comfort of his presence seeping into your very bones.

His voice, deep and melodious, began to weave a tale of adventure and love, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The steady rhythm of his reading soon lulled you into a doze, the story's cadence acting as a lullaby to quiet the chaos in your mind.

The sun shone in your eyes as you sat up in your small bed, the light revealing the cramped room you called home.

The smell of burnt toast wafted in from the kitchen, a reminder of your mundane existence.

Your hand reached out to the cold space beside you, searching for Eris's warmth, but all you found was the chill of the pillow.

Your heart sank as reality crashed down on you like a lead weight.

You pushed yourself off the bed, the springs protesting with a groan. Your bare feet hit the floor, the coldness jolting you fully awake.

The dream had been so vivid, so real, that for a moment you had truly believed in the fantasy of a world where you had a mate, a love so strong it could conquer your deepest fears.

But it was just a figment of your imagination, a desperate attempt to escape the loneliness that had become your constant companion.

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[perksofbeingpoet]

Do you have any headcanons abt nights at welton??? I know most times they’re in the cave, but when they’re not what do you think they’re up to?????

☆ NIGHTS AT WELTON ☆

》 We see the poets play darts, and i think that's one thing they'd do in the evening! Charlie thinks he's really good and makes a big thing out of every dart he throws, but i think pitts would be best at darts? He's just like quiet and precise about it, and Charlie pretends not to care

》 Todd is definitely an evening shower person. It's less crowded then, and there's no stress of getting ready before classes start, so he'll often take showers in the evening, and then join the poets with damp hair and rosy-warm cheeks, looking younger than usual in his pyjamas. (Neil absolutely thinks he looks SO cute and has to try really hard to not care)

》 Meeks drinks WAY too much tea, but the caffeine doesn't seem to have any effect on him (anymore). He'll go through like three mugs in the evening, and sometimes pitts wakes up and his bedside table just looks like meeks has purposefully tried to leave no spot un-empty-cupped

》 Pitts' and meeks' room is definitely where the poets will relax in the evenings if they're not in the common room (or whatever that room with the dart board is). They'll put on music on the radio and then panic every time they hear someone walk by and quickly turn it down. It's super comfy in their room, everyone's sitting on or in beds, there's plenty of blankets, and they get to just talk and joke and be teenagers.

》 When they get ready for bed, they all brush their teeth together and continue their conversations muffled. It's always too crowded in the bathroom and Todd will take to sitting on the window sill. Charlie and pitts have play fights.

》 Card games!! They'll play everything, from strategic games (Meeks wins every time, maybe sometimes Cameron because he actually remembers all the rules and knows what tricks will work and throw the others off), team games (Neil and Charlie team up every time, and they're like EXTREMELY immature about winning, but they're so cute about it that the other poets can't really say anything) or kinda luck-related games like UNO! it's so much fun and eventually always spirals into deep talk or the stupidest jokes ever

》 Todd and Neil both like to read before bed, but that's something they'll do in the quiet of their own room. It's soothing for both of them, reading and hearing the other's breathing and the turning of pages from across the room. Sort of a lullaby, really.