#so if you burn them the fire turns green

[cha0sbutt3rfly]

HDHDHSJDJSJSHKSSKSKSK

Its gorgeous it's beautiful it's amazing ily

AAAA 0 ON STEALTH I'M CRYING

I'M GIVING YOU MY FAVOURITE ROCKS FOR THAT ONE OMG

So

I know you're taking requests and not commissions but I'll give you some chocolate next time I see you as a payment anyway

Throw in a cool rock and I'll give it to you physically when we meet :>

[a-simple-imagine]

Don't They Know a Rabbit Can't Cry

Synopsis: while travelling the witches' road you're forced to confront the two witches who left you centuries ago without an explanation.

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader x Rio Vidal

Words: 2.3k+

WARNINGS - swearing, choking, knives, nightmares, brief mentions of burning and being buried alive and playful use of 'mommy'

It's a quiet evening as you pluck wildflowers in the wake of the setting sun. You would have to head home soon; to avoid the danger of navigating your way back in the dark. The older witch did not like you being out alone at night but you weren't quite done yet. The bouquet had to be perfect. Not that she would ever say otherwise. not to you anyway. Too soft. Too sweet. She had a soft spot for you. They both did. You twist the delicate stem between your fingers. Lavender. Beautiful. Intoxicating. And... hot. Sizzling against the pad of your pointer finger and thumb. And searing into the skin. You drop it quickly. Flames swallowing the single flower. Bizarre. You take another. plucking it from its spot. Flames shoot up from the ground surrounding you entirely. Red hot and roaring as the flowers make way for beautiful flames that dance in the breeze. Creeping closer and closer. Quicker and quicker. Until you feel it burn against your skin.

You jolt up. Sweaty and warm in the night's cold embrace. You're safe. Right now at least. No fire. No nothing. You rub your temple. Just a nightmare. They'd been more frequent as of late. Little flashes of the past engulfed in fiery fury. Fitting. The makeshift campsite was still. The ashes of the small fire dance in the breeze. Witches litter the ground in a moment of respite. You didn't know them but you imagine they're quite desperate. Most weren't brave enough to even dare travel the witches' road anymore. Pushing up you decide to go for a walk. Not far just enough to feel the cool air and calm your heart. Away from prying eyes. There wasn't much around here anyway.

"can't sleep?" it's a startling thing. To hear such a familiar sound so abruptly. It brings with it a quickened heart. A look of surprise. that voice. An unpleasant reminder of the past. That's all this trip seemed to be. A constant trip down memory lane. In many ways, you wish you had never agreed but maybe your darkened heart may still hold a few soft spots.

"just needed a minute alone,"

"That's a dangerous game around here," there is a playfulness to her tone. one that makes your jaw tense.

"can you just go away?" you ask. "I can't- I can't deal with this right now."

"playing hard to get?" just as playful but different. Still familiar. Annoyingly so. "what happened to that sweet girl who brought me flowers every day."

"don't," a threat. You wished not to relive the past right now. Not with them. They didn't deserve to remember you so fondly.

"made us little flower crowns." her voice travelled the woods. Surrounding you from all directions. Trapping you in your spot.

"stop."

"used to bring us fresh bread."

"fuck off," you bite back with an equally sharp turn. Subdued anger began to rise at the mere sight of them. Agatha Harkness. The harbinger of your nightmares. The years had been kind to her appearance but if rumours are to be believed she had a dark reputation. Evil. Soulless. Murderer. Maybe in another lifetime, you would have disagreed. A green witch stood to her side. Far enough away for you to know they weren't on good terms either. She sported a signature smirk you wanted to slap away. Rio Vidal. Infuriating in every conceivable way. They both brought different feelings. Similar but still different. "why can't you just leave me alone?

"we're only checking on you, dear,"

"After such a scary nightmare." Rio teased. "do you need to get in mommy's bed tonight?"

You take a deep breath. Don't raise to her level. Don't give her the satisfaction. It's not quite admitting defeat but you're tired. Falling against a nearby tree. "please leave." you let your head fall back against the bark.

"I'm sure Agatha won't mind,"

"leave the poor girl alone," as always Agatha comes in to mediate. It's always just a little misleading. The woman crouches down before you. Glassy eyes bore into yours and for a moment you're that girl again. The one they remember. Who picked flowers and planned picnics? Ran in the meadow and liked to sit at the edge of the lake. Who held on tight to Agatha's hand as she walked you home. You didn't have much back then. Lived in a small cottage in the woods with your family. The older witch came into your life so abruptly. Looking back on it now she probably just saw a naive girl she could play with. "are you okay?" her question brings you back to reality. The here and now. Stuck on the road with a bunch of washed-up witches and the two people you hate most in the world. Stuck in a never-ending cycle of reliving the past. The end seemed so far away. Who knows if you'll even make it that far with this useless bunch. "do you wanna tell us about it?"

"Agatha," said softly.

"yes, dear?"

"fuck. Off." quiet but firm. You can tell she wasn't expecting it. A little chuckle sounds from behind her. The witch raises.

"fine." Agatha answers. "forgotten how stubborn you can be." your eyes trail after her as she begins to walk away, Rio takes a moment before following. And the question that has been bubbling in your chest for centuries finally comes up.

"Why did you leave me?" they slow to a stop. Yet to turn back. Did you even really want to know the answer? Perhaps it was a question best left unanswered. Years of bitterness already seeped into your bones. Little to be said to make you less angry at them. Less murderous rage. "what did I do?"

"Nothing," Agatha urges. Short and simple. No explanation needed apparently. "don't stay up too late,"

"then why?" you asked again. a little louder. A little firmer. Why was she acting like this? Pretending she cared. It was infuriating.

"Just tell her," Rio presses, turning back to you.

"don't," Agatha places her hand on Rio's shoulder but that doesn't stop the green witch from sulking towards you. A malicious little smile.

"come on, look at her," a knife pointed in your direction as she makes her way over. "just as pitiable as she always has been." she crouches down in front of you much like Agatha had before. But you don't see that girl you once were. Her eyes fill you with anger. It's strange to think you used to admire her so. Used to put flowers in her hair, and she let you. The tip of her blade forces your head up ever so slightly. "A pathetic little girl. Scared of the world," a sharp pain. You swallow hard  "scared of anything real."

"Rio," Agatha walks up, towering over you two. "put it away,"

"Why should I?" she wonders. Pressing a little harder. "tell her."

"What happened to you?" Agatha questions. Your eyes flicker up to her. Did she really want to know or was it diversion. "where does this hate come from?"

"you left me," you reply. A loud bark of laughter from Rio as her blade lowers.

"no," the woman shakes her head slowly. "that's... not it."

"boring," Rio groans loudly. "I didn't lie, y'know? I know you don't want to believe me but it's true. Isn't it Agatha?" the woman rises to her feet. Patting the other witch on the shoulder. "we left because you were weak."

"it... it wasn't quite like that," Agatha offers out a hand. You brush it off, standing up. "we thought you'd be better off."

"alone?"

"without us." Agatha corrects. "you were so..." her eyes trail over you. "different back then. You didn't know you were a witch. You were just so..."

"innocent," Rio insists.

"no- well, yes but not in the way you might think. You just needed a push and we were being so careful,"

"soft," Rio interjects once more.

This little game of back-and-forth was cute. But you didn't care. Rio was using it as an excuse to get some sick sense of pleasure from throwing in insults while Agatha was doing anything to avoid saying what she thought. You knew Agatha. She could be just as mean as Rio. "can you get to the point?"

"you already know," you ignore Rio, looking straight at Agatha.

"We wanted to protect you," you can't help but roll your eyes. That was the best excuse she could come up with. Some fairytail bullshit. "felt easier to leave." you glance at Rio who looked just as over it as you did.

"Agatha thought you'd be better off without us. That we shouldn't be dragging you into a world you weren't ready for. Blah blah blah. Too weak to come with us. If we left you wouldn't get caught up in anything bad,"

"Rio was actually the one who didn't want to go,"

"Whatever," she huffs. Her gaze down at the knife in her hand; twisting the edge against the tip of her forefinger. "I thought it'd be worse if we just left you. that it'd fuck with you- we just needed to be harsher."

"but I was right,"

"you were wrong," Rio answers.

"How? I mean look at her," Agatha ushers towards you. "a full-fledged witch. Survived centuries. That's something. You didn't need us."

"do you wanna tell her or should I?" you wonder if Rio is genuine in her question or if this was just another attempt at teasing. This conversation had mainly been between the two of them.

"Tell me what?"

"I wasn't... okay, Agatha," you admit for perhaps the first time ever out loud. Only Rio knows what happened to you in the years between them leaving and the last time you saw her. You made sure of that. The two of them had grand legacies but you wanted to be forgotten in history. Like the legend of Bloody Mary. Not a sole dare speaks your name anymore because who knows what'll happen if you show up.

"oh bunny," a pet name you hadn't heard in a very long time. It almost seemed childish now. Pathetic. "just talk to me."

"you don't care,"

"god do I have to do everything around here," Rio complains. "she was tried as a witch, Agatha. Use your head for once."

"Rio," you huff.

She rolls her eyes. "burned at the stake."

"Rio," you snarl. "stop. I don't wanna talk about it."

"yes you do," she responds sharply. "you want nothing more than to make Agatha Harkness feel guilty for leaving you. Hurt her the way she hurt you." you dart for her in one swift motion. A hand around her neck. The teasing just becoming too much, and you were sick of hearing her talk.

"you hurt me too," you bark, shoving her against the nearest tree. What should be fear is instead a small smirk and dark eyes.

"fiesty," she quips. She knows you won't kill her. You can't.

"you're the only person to ever leave a mark." you resume. "an ugly scar that my body just refuses to heal."

"come on sweet one." you drive a little harder. "make it hurt."

"do you know what it's like to be tied up and buried in a coffin? To slowly suffocate to death over and over and over again," fingernails dig into the skin of her neck. You can see it's having an effect. The wobble in her smile. "the way your body screams for oxygen. Your insides burning with desire but there is nothing you can do?"

"drop her," Agatha's hand reaches your shoulder and your powers kick in. Your free hand waves her away. Energy blasts her backwards and she stumbles to the ground. A lesser witch wouldn't know of Agatha's ability to drain magic but you were smarter than that. careful in your use despite the speed. control what's around her rather than directly blasting her.

"don't touch me," you growl.

"our... little girl... is all grown... up," choked out of Rio's mouth. You watch her grow a little paler. A little more starved for breath. And then you drop her. She crumbles to the floor. "and filled..." she coughs. "with... murderous rage... apparently."

"calm down," Agatha tries from her place on the floor, as she tries to get up. You use your magic to help her up. Leaving her hovering just a few feet off the ground.

"y'know, when they dragged me from bed and burned me at the stake all I could think about was you two. Surely, they didn't just leave without a word. They'll... come back and help me." you can still picture that night. The confusion. the heat. The pain. "you left me," you walk towards Agatha. "and look at you now. The great Agatha Harkness is completely powerless."

"we're sorry, okay- aren't we rio?" rio shrugs a little. With a heavy sigh, you drop Agatha to the ground. "you've come a long way bunny."

"wasn't really a choice,"

"Can we just backtrack a little," the older witch requests. Brushing herself off as she stands back up.

"immortality looks good on you," Rio teases. You hold up a middle finger.

"you're immortal?"

"for the longest time, I thought one of you cursed me with it. Some fucked up way of protecting me. But then I went looking for you. Heard all about your extra circular activities. Witch killer, hiding behind dark magic," Agatha just looks back as you turn to Rio. She knew the story. "Rio was easier to find,"

"should have stayed dead," Rio insisted, the cold metal blade dancing across the scar on your neck. "how easier that would be," you shove her away and she just chuckles. "oh how I missed this," she wonders over to were Agatha is stood.

"I'm going back to sleep," you announce. "let's just leave it at that,"

"Why did you come," Agatha asks. You wonder if it's worth the conversation. The headache of continuing to engage with them. "if you hate me so much?"

"to die," you say eventually as you head back to camp.

// NEXT

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Luffy gets into an alluring tin of mysterious cookies. One thing leads to another, and he ends up in your room, disoriented and distressed. What will it take to help him feel better? ~5k words.

CW: Smut with a bit of plot. Afab reader, gendered language (“princess”), overstimulation, dry humping, begging, aphrodisiacs, penetrative sex.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Luffy stumbles into your cabin late at night. The door is wide open and it seems like no one else on the Sunny is awake. You’re messing around on your phone, doom scrolling to pass the time and entertain yourself. You wish that you could fall sleep, but it won’t come any time soon. It’s a restless sort of night.

He almost trips over his feet as he crashes onto the chair by your desk.

“Luffy, what’s up? It’s late.”

A closer look at him reveals that he’s sweating and bright red. His eyes look off and he looks sick.

“Are you okay?” You’re worried—he looks seriously unwell.

“I feel funny. I think I ate something bad, my tummy hurts.” Luffy’s brows are bent in the middle and he’s grimacing.

You’ve seen Luffy when he has food poisoning before. He literally turns green and complains non-stop. It’s his own fault, he’s like a racoon. He’ll eat anything, regardless of how questionable it is. Old leftovers wherever he can find them, almost-rotting fruit, poisonous fish, none of it matters for Luffy. If it looks edible, he’s taking it to the neck. He frequently suffers the consequences.

But right now, he’s not green, like he usually is when he’s eaten something spoiled. He looks different.

You get up and walk over to him, placing your hand on his forehead. When your skin touches his, he lets out what initially sounds like some sort of moan, but you shrug it off—that must have been a wail of pain, right? He’s concerningly feverish and sweating bullets.

Does he have the flu? Should you wake up Chopper?

“Luffy, you’re burning up. Like, you have a really bad fever. I’m going to get Chopper.”

“Wait, I feel—I feel weird inside,” Luffy’s voice strains and he sounds like he’s in pain He’s visibly shivering. “It’s like my stomach is on fire, but I feel cold.” He continues almost babbling, so obviously in distress and discomfort, feverish nonsense falling from his lips impulsively.

You don’t realize it yet, but his hand wanders to his crotch and starts to fidget.

“Your stomach is on fire but you’re freezing cold? Did you eat something that went bad again? What did you eat?” You raise an eyebrow at him, vaguely annoyed. He sure doesn’t look like he has food poisoning. Also, there isn’t usually much spoiled food on the ship. Sanji keeps the fridge nice, tidy, and clean.

Why did Luffy come to you, instead of Chopper? He’s distracted, eyes zoning out somewhere and his face wrinkled up. He must not have heard you.

“I said, what did you eat? Luffy!”

“I ate—fuck,” Luffy’s brows furrow and he closes his eyes in anguish. “Ate Sanji’s cookies.”

“You did what? Sanji’s cookies? The ones with the huge note that says ‘do not eat’ on the tin?”

Luffy lets out another wail of pain and shifts in his seat. His fingers squeeze his crotch again. He’s hard, rubbing his massive erection, sliding his fingers over it, squeezing it and playing with himself.

“Luffy, what are you doing?!” You’re incredulous when you realize he’s touching himself. You’ve never seen anything like this before. He’s your captain, for fuck’s sake. What was he doing touching himself in your room, with a raging fever and chattering teeth?

Putting the pieces together, you remember that Sanji had devilish smirk as he brought his special souvenir onto the ship. It was a pretty box, made of metal, covered in some sort of light blue paint, filigreed with gold accents and illustrations of pretty pink ribbons. The chef put an obnoxious “DO NOT EAT SANJI’S COOKIES” sign on the box and slid them to the top shelf of the pantry, almost out of reach. It was, admittedly, extremely naïve of Sanji to expect Luffy to pay any heed to that sign.

You put two and two together. The cookies must have had something in them.

As a response to your indignance, Luffy squeezes his erection harder and gasps quietly. Sweat drips from his temples and down his cheeks. His mouth hangs open, and his pupils are huge. He’s a fucking mess, and you have no clue what to do in this situation.

“’m so cold,” he whines and shakes. “Too c-c-cold.”

This is wildly inappropriate, but… you are kind of turned on, just because he’s touching himself. You have some sort of repressed crush on your captain—how could you not? You usually push it to the back of your mind, though. Pining over him is a waste of time when nothing would ever come of it.

“Fuck,” Luffy’s voice is gravelly and his hand moves of its own accord. “Feels like it’s helping. Feels warm.”

Your heart does a flip. Luffy is palming his cock in front of you, panting with arousal, head thrown back. He can’t help but touch himself. It’s the only thing that’s relieving his discomfort, evidently. You feel awkward, but it’s almost starting to get you going. You’re blushing up your neck and frozen still.

Luffy’s eyes wander to your chest—he’s staring at your breasts, drinking in the shape of them and the outline of your nipples though your shirt. You start to turn red, matching his color rapidly.

“Luffy, what the fuck? Stop! You’re a wreck.” You divert the awkwardness for a second. “No wonder the sign says do not eat! I’m going to get Chopper. You need to rest. Go do that in your room.”

Luffy grinds his palm down his erection and a stifled sound of pleasure gets caught in his throat. You pause, against your better judgment. That sound—the sound of Luffy in pleasure—makes you feel some sort of way. You start to warm up between the legs.

“I want you to do it.” Luffy’s voice gets lower each time he talks. He’s still shaking, freezing, sweating, and unwell. But he’s touching himself, and you had imagined this before. It’s hard to look away.

“What?” You respond reflexively, caught completely off guard. Did you hear him right?

“Want you to touch me,” he whines and continues to rub himself. The friction feels electric. “I think it’ll h-help.”

Luffy’s eyes are half open and glossy, still riveted on your tits. His pupils are really dilated. His fingers grasp and stroke his hard cock through his shorts, and each sound that leaves his mouth goes straight between your thighs.

“You want me to touch you? Are you… Are you sure, Luffy?”

“Need it,” he scrunches his face up. “’m going crazy.”

You bite your lip and pause for a second. If your captain was asking you for help, you might as well assist him… Also, this didn’t feel like that crazy of a request for help, considering the fact that he’d literally die for you (and has gotten close to that on multiple occasions). And you could tell he wasn’t being malicious or predatory about his request—he was just being Luffy, asking plainly for something. If you said no, he would be fine. He may whine a bit, but he’d never genuinely pressure you to do something you were uncomfortable with.

But fuck, was he in his right mind? You shake your head. You want to touch him. But you are genuinely worried about him. It must be 2:00AM, so you need to wake up Chopper. You might want to touch Luffy, but you have to do your due diligence. You care about Luffy. If he’s sick or in danger, you have to make sure he’s okay.

“Luffy, no. I’m going to get Chopper. Just wait here.”

You speed-walk down the hallway, heart racing. What a bizarre turn of events. You didn’t expect that to happen when Luffy initially walked in your room. When you reach the door to Chopper’s cabin, you knock.

No answer. He’s obviously asleep.

You knock again. “Chopper? It’s me. Please get up. Luffy’s sick.”

Another knock. Rustling blankets. You can hear Chopper hobble to the door. He opens it and pokes his little head out, squinting. He’s wearing one of those sleeping gowns and a cute hat. “Mhm? What’s wrong with him?”

“Uh... He has a fever. He’s burning up and he’s shaking. He’s sweating a lot, too.” You figured you’d save the ‘and he’s masturbating’ part for later. Maybe you didn’t have to say it at all?

“Does he have food poisoning? Did he eat anything out of the ordinary?”

“Well, I don’t think he has food poisoning... But he ate some of Sanji’s cookies.”

“What’s in the cookies?” Chopper is shading his eyes from the dim hallway light. He’s half asleep and you feel bad for waking him up.

“I-I don’t know. Maybe there was something weird in them?”

Chopper yawns. Fuck. He looks like he’s falling asleep again. You can’t blame him, really, it’s way past his bedtime.

“Chopper, can you please come look at him?”

He yawns again. “I’m sleepy. Can you ask Sanji what’s in the cookies and get back to me? I just want to go to bed a little bit longer.”

You huff and frown as Chopper shuts his door. So now you were supposed to play telephone? If it was anyone else you would have chewed them out, but you couldn’t do that to Chopper.

Extremely aggravated, you storm down the hallway to Sanji’s cabin and knock on the door, loudly. It’s an angry knock. A fuck-you knock.

“Sanji. Get up.” Silence for a moment while the blonde jolts awake. “I said get up.”

His door opens just a tad until he realizes it’s you. Then he opens it wider. His hair is all rustled up and he’s shirtless, in boxers. If he wasn’t half-asleep, he’d be blushing and acting ridiculous because you’re seeing him half-naked.

“Oh, hello beautiful.” His voice is scratchy and he’s blinking. “How may I help you? Are you finally going to crawl into bed with me?” He flashes a cheeky grin and you almost slap him.

“No, Sanji. Luffy ate your cookies. He’s a mess.”

The cook’s half-asleep composure immediately drops. “He did what?”

You can tell he’s fully awake now.

“I said, he ate your fucking cookies, Sanji. What is in those things!?”

“FUCK. How many did he eat?”

“How many? How should I know?! He’s in my room with a fever right now. It’s Luffy, we can assume he probably ate the whole box.”

Sanji smirks and laughs out loud. “Well, there’s only one way to fix that. Good night, princess.” He winks and shuts the door in your face.

“Sanji, what the fuck!?”

You knock on his door again, but you can hear him get back in bed. You’re beyond pissed. You’re ready to kick the door down and wring his neck. But… you have a sinking feeling that you know what the cook is getting at. Fuck. The cookies have some sort of aphrodisiac in them.

You trudge back to your room, flabbergasted and defeated. Luffy is still in your chair, letting out wails of “pain” which you are now realizing are just fucking moans. Not to say that he isn’t in pain but… if the placement of his hand is any evidence right now, he’s feeling pretty good.

“Y-you’re back,” Luffy gasps as he grinds his palm on his erection for what is probably the 50th time.

“Fuck, Luffy. What did you get yourself into tonight? You can be such a bonehead. Goddamn.” Your hands are on your hips and you’re looking at him, weighing your options. You could kick him back to his room and tell him to masturbate.

He looks downright pathetic. His face is twisted up in agony and his hand is putting in work. “T-touch me,” he whines. “P-please.”

“Luffy, are you sure?” You walk over to him and place a hand on his cheek in pity.

He opens his eyes and weakly croaks out, “Not there. Lower.”

You tut and frown. “Ohhh Luffy. What am I going to do with you?”

He tries to give you puppy dog eyes and fails. Another erotic sound escapes his lips as his palm grinds on his cock particularly hard. He whispers, one last beg before he’ll do all the work himself. “Please.”

You cautiously reach your hand down and place it on his erection. Luffy throws his head back, hissing in air through his teeth, and fidgets under you.

“Fuck, that feels weird. Feels tingly, like—like it’s on fire,” he whines.

He grasps your wrist and makes you rub his cock harder, widening his thighs. His grip is so tight that it hurts. He’s forcing your palm down on his cock so hard that you can’t believe it isn’t hurting him.

Luffy’s eyes are closed and he’s actually drooling. He’s still shivering, and his cheeks are crimson. Sweat plasters his hair down on his forehead and temples.

The obscene sounds leaving his lips make you hotter between your legs—you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to mitigate the rising heat, but Luffy’s desperation is making it worse. He’s starting to rut his cock up into your hand.

“Ah, that feels—feels so hot and—fuck—feels funny, like it, it feels good.” You can feel his cock twitching under your fingers. He’s writhing around and whimpering, and fuck, he looks good. “Need more.”

“Y-you need more?” You ask hesitantly.

“C’mere.” Luffy grabs you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up, guiding you to straddle his lap. You freeze up. There’s no way this is really happening.

“Mmmmmm, fuck.” He murmurs in your ear and his hips buck up, cock craving friction through the layer of his pants and yours.

“W-want you to rub on me,” his voice is wretched and depraved. “Feels good.” When you lock eyes, you can see animalistic desire plainly. You’ve never seen him look like this—it’s like he’s a different person; lust is completely driving his movements. It’s like primal instincts took over the second the aphrodisiac cookies went to his stomach.

Luffy dry humps you and it’s starting to feel good. His hands are gripping your hips and he’s doing all the work, dragging you over his cock, pushing you down on it and making your hips roll while needy noises trickle from his parted lips.

As friction builds on your clit, you stifle a moan that threatens to jump out of your mouth. Luffy’s so aroused that he’s panting and slobbering down his chin.

It’s like he’s in heat, the way he humps and grinds on you. Seeing him like this is making you wetter. Your panties must be saturated by now—the friction is already making you buzz, and he hasn’t done much other than rub you on his cock a bit.

“It’s helping,” the words fall carelessly from Luffy’s mouth. He has no clue what’s going on. He’s on autopilot right now, lost in lust and barely cognizant. “Wanna be warmer, ‘m still so—so cold.” His teeth are chattering amidst his moans. Considering how hot his cheek was, he must really be freezing.

Luffy’s hands wander to grip your chest through your tank top so hard you let out a yelp. He pulls it down and starts to greedily squeeze and knead your breasts. Your breath hitches when his fingerpads move back and forth on your already stiff and sensitive nipples.

When he leans forward and wraps his lips around one, you let out a gasp. His tongue swirls around your bundle of nerves and he starts to suck on it hungrily. Luffy is making you wet beyond belief—the suction on your nipple is feeling dangerously good. You’re on the verge of losing it, totally giving in to the nagging animalistic voice in your head that’s telling you to fuck him like crazy.

His erection is huge and hard as it grinds on your core. It feels good—no, he feels good. The noises he’s letting out add to the effect. Your core is throbbing and sopping wet.

“L-luffy,” you moan, finally, as he grazes your clit and sucks your nipple particularly hard. He lets out a muffled hum in response, vibrating your nipple. “Luffy, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.”

He goes faster. He thinks that if he sees your face contort in bliss and hears you moan some more, it’ll fix him. He’s starting to feel better already with each hump. Maybe if he sees you cum, he’ll stop pulsing and his body will stop screaming at him. Maybe if you cum from his dry humps, he’ll be satiated. Maybe his fever will go away.

Luffy can hardly form cognizant, coherent thoughts like this, though. His mind can only focus on two things. First: you. Your pleasure. Your cunt. Your tits. Your smell. He wants to devour you. Second: he’s freezing cold. He needs warmth—twenty blankets, a cup of hot tea, a heating pad, something. He feels like he’s in a vat of ice water.

“Can’t stop,” he chokes his words out with effort, somehow picking up the pace of his cock humping your cunt through your pants. “Need more.”

He grinds your clit just right and it sends you over the edge of orgasm. As you spasm over his clothed cock and soak your panties in ecstasy, he never once lets up the pace. He pushes you back and forth on his erection and doesn’t pay attention to your whimpers from overstimulation.

You collapse forward into him, resting your head in the crook of his neck while he uses his grip on your hips for leverage to rut harder into you.

“Wanna put it in,” Luffy groans and his voice is deeper than usual. “L-lemme put it in. Wanna feel you. Need it. N-need you to—to help me feel better.”

You whisper a hum of affirmation in his ear and he picks you up. Fuck it. He already made you cum. He’s begging for it. You decide to let him ravage you.

Luffy basically throws you on the bed and rips your clothes off. You realize that the door to your cabin is wide open—anyone could walk by and see this. You don’t have the willpower to care right now.

You’re lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Luffy grabs your wrists and holds them over your head with one hand, pinning you down on the bed. His other hand steadies his cock flat on your inflamed, wet folds. He starts to thrust forward a bit, rubbing himself on your cunt, teasing himself before he finally fucks away the ice-cold blood in his veins and stokes that roaring heat his belly.

His cock gliding over your clit feels too good. If he keeps it up, you’ll cum a second time. “Luffy, fuck,” your whimper makes his heart pound. Reality fogs up more and he can’t think straight. He rubs his cock flat on your lips until you’re arching your back, then lines his tip up with your weeping entrance.

When Luffy pushes his cock into your slit slowly, he groans the whole time. “So fuckin’ tight, ‘s like you’re swallowing me whole, fuck. Y-you’re so warm, feels good.”

He’s shaking and shivering still. After a moment of being bottomed out, he starts to fuck you at a measured pace. He’s entranced by the way your tits bounce. He’s still drooling shamelessly, his pupils are blown with lust and he’s sweating. His free hand gropes up for your tits and plays with your nipples. Every time you moan his name, he feels like he’s an animal.

“Nnnnggghhhh, fuck, fuck, you’re—you feel so slippery,” Luffy feverishly grinds his hips into yours, hitting your deep and sensitive spots just right. “Feels weird and hot in my stomach, like s-something’s gonna happen.”

“Luffy, it feels too good,” you keen his name and squirm. “’m gonna cum soon.”

“W-wanna see,” he chokes out an answer between breathless thrusts.

He brushes your hot and soft spot, and you once again are drowning in pleasure, toe-curling and delicious. You cum, squeezing his shaft and milking out as much precum as possible.

He sounds like he’s hyperventilating. He’s truly going crazy. He keeps fucking you through your orgasm and you start to squirm. The sight goads him on.

“More,” he groans. “Please, more.”

Luffy rocks his pelvis into yours. His abs and arms are muscly and defined, his hair is sweaty, his eyes are totally dilated, and he’s looking at you like he’s going to fuck you for hours.

When he feels your walls clench down on him, he starts to cum. He seizes up and his cock plunges into your cunt. “F-fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—I’m cumming, it—feels too good, feels so good, fuck.”

His thrusts are erratic while he pumps ropes of cum into you. He pauses and looks down at your cock-crazed face, closed eyes, and slack jaw. His cum is currently seeping out of your slit, coating the base of his shaft.

But even though he just came, his cock is already starting to pulse again. That one orgasm? It isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

He feels better than he did before, but still not back to normal. The fire and ice in his veins still runs strong, he feels like he's buzzing, like he’s an animal looking for a mate.

You think that he’s had his fill until he starts thrusting again, just as hard as before. After a minute, he shifts you. Luffy pulls out and picks you up again, maneuvering you so you’re laying on your bed with your stomach touching the covers. He gets on top of you and—fuck, he’s heavy. And his skin is boiling hot. You can feel the sheen of sweat on his chest when it presses on your back.

He has you in prone bone now, spreading your thighs wide with one of his hands. When he finally presses his cock into you, your back arches. It feels much deeper than before—is he using his devil fruit powers, or is his cock just this big?

“Fuck,” he’s rasping in your ear. His husky voice goes straight to your throbbing core—god, he sounds hot right now. You can feel his hot breath. One of his hands is braced next to your head as his cock rolls into you. He’s hitting the perfect spot and it’s starting to feel so good that you’re seeing stars. “Your pussy—feels so, so warm and good, I think it’s working.”

You lose track of time while his cock caresses your sweet spots. Before you know it, you’re cumming again. You hardly have the energy to let him know what’s happening. Is it the aphrodisiacs making his performance this good, or does Luffy just know how to fuck? How is he this good in bed?

When you squirm and cream on Luffy’s cock for the second time, he reaches a hand under you and thumbs your clit. He draws circles on it and presses it like a button. It feels like an electric shock—he has neglected it until now but still managed to coax three orgasms out of you. And while you are mildly overstimulated, when his fingers start dancing over your clit it turns up the notch of pleasure inside of you.

“Luffy, fuck that feels good,” a sort of guttural moan escapes your lips and you can’t help but buck your hips up and back onto his cock. “Don’t stop. Fuck.”

You’re keening through the waves of pleasure that he’s pulling out from you while he rams you with his cock. His heavy grunts are like music in your ears—feral, low, and ravenous. Your captain is absolutely railing you right now, and you like it. He more than likes it.

“So tight and, ah, so warm inside, like—aaghhhh fuck—like you’re made for me.” He groans and his thighs shudder. Is he cumming again? How many times is this? Second? Third?

Your mind is in a haze. He’s devouring you like a rabid animal. How many orgasms will it take to fend off his fever? How many hours until the aphrodisiac cookies wear off?

In your haze, filth starts to slip out of your mouth.

“F-fuck me harder, captain—please,” you mewl, and you can feel just the slightest pause in Luffy’s thrusts, barely noticeable. “Your cock feels so fucking good.”

After his pause, he starts pressing his weight harder on top of you, moving his hips at an angle so his cock is literally ramming into your cervix. The sensation is overwhelming, to say the least—painful but so, so good. You’re gasping for air and it’s hard to breathe because he’s on top of you. He’s literally fucking you like he’s in heat.

“Say that again,” he grunts and thrusts with each word but he’s struggling to get them out because he’s barely breathing. “Say it.”

“Captain, fuck, y-your cock feels so good. Fuck, captain.”

He’s somehow going faster, bringing you to another cliff, another ledge of euphoria from which to free fall. His cock bullies your bundles of nerves and your cunt squelches with each pass.

“C-captain, Luffy, please, fuck.” You’re spasming under him again, cumming on his cock for, what was that, the fourth time? Maybe it was the fifth. You’ve lost count. You didn’t know it was possible to cum this many times. You’ve also lost track of what words are coming out of your mouth. “Cumming, I’m cumming, y-your cock ‘s too good, captain, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He’s right after you, jerking his hips deep into yours and cumming inside again. There’s so much cum leaking out of you that Luffy’s shaft is obscured by milky white goop. There’s a sizable puddle of it underneath of you. It’s going to leave an unfortunate-colored stain on your bedsheets. You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

His hips are still bucking though. His cum just keeps… coming. It’s a visceral orgasm. It’s the final orgasm (for a brief refractory period). When he’s done shooting seed into you, he collapses on top of you.

It’s like you’re under a weighted blanket except its Luffy, he’s heavy as fuck, and his cock is in you. And damn, he’s sweaty.

But somehow this is the best sex you’ve ever had. And you have a sneaking suspicion that the night isn’t over yet.

When you protest and Luffy rolls off your back, you use all your strength to open your eyes and check on him. His chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, his eyes are closed, he’s still drooling but he looks decidedly better.

You bring a hand to touch his forehead again and he lets out another quiet whimper. He must be so sensitive still. Poor thing. But his fever is considerably better.

Sanji must have been right when he said there’s only one way to fix this aphrodisiac frenzy. You wonder what Sanji was saving those cookies for. The day you finally crawled into bed with him?

Pfffft. No, thank you. After round six or seven with Luffy, you’ll never look back. You truly didn’t expect your captain to fuck like this. Or to like being called captain when his cock is in you.

“Luffy, are you doing ok?”

He hums in response.

“Use your words. Luffy, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. Feels a lot better.”

When his chest slows, he starts to sleep. You’re left on your bed with a puddle of cum under (and inside) of you, and your captain sound asleep like a rock next to you. And fuck, the door is still open.

Hopefully no one heard that. Even if they had heard, oh well. Too late now to stress over it.

You close the door and turn off the light. Then, you get cleaned up and put your pajamas back on.

Luffy may be sound asleep, but you shove him around so he’s at a decent angle. You fall asleep together on your bed, cuddling, and sticky with sweat (and cum).

Of course, no more than two hours later, Luffy is awake and his cock is throbbing again. He tries to touch himself and make the heat go away but it isn’t working. So… he wakes you up. And that’s how rounds eight, nine, and ten go.

When his fever finally goes away, he’s left with a long-lasting craving that he can only satiate one way: you.

It should go without saying, but the next day you literally cannot walk. You hobble around, trying to play it off like you slept weird or something. Sanji rubs the whole thing in your face.

“How was last night, angel?” His smirk is sly and smug, teasing and suggestive.

“Sanji. Please. Not right now.”

“Do you want me to get more of those cookies sometime? Maybe we can eat them next?” He winks and you blush.

“Fuck off, Sanji.”

The chef chuckles and saunters away. He’s never going to let you live that down.

thank you for reading!!! ive been feeling a certain way about luffy recently. its just his fucking muscles in wano that have me in a chokehold. muscle make brain go brrrrrrrrr.

here's my masterlist and my posting schedule for october!

i'm posting every day from now until halloween!

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.2K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+

SWIM LESSON SCHEDULE

LESSON #1

“Oh, come on,” the guy coaxed, voice wheedling and a little slurred. 

You didn’t really know him, a friend of a friend's cousin who was visiting from out of town but he’d been cute enough to entertain five beers ago. He’d grown sloppier now, a little leery, his hand around your wrist as he udder you towards the dock that overlooked Lover’s Lake. 

You’d dug your heels in, smiling through your teeth as you shook your head and tried not to spill the cheap wine Robin had brought down the front of your shirt. The small beach that was hidden in a cove was surrounded by trees, green in the summer, full and making the crescent moon strip of land perfect for a bonfire and for some drinking. 

There were small crowds of people all over the sandy patch, sitting on blankets and cheap camping chairs, familiar faces lit by the small fire, people you didn’t know as well lingering between, bare feet on the edge of the shoreline. 

You’d came with Eddie, riding in the front seat of his van with a rucksack full of corner store liquor on your lap, the smell of weed coming off strong from the pocket inside his leather jacket. 

“A night full of potential clients, sweetheart, please,” he’d pleaded with you, brown button eyes wide. “The Jacksons have their cousins over from the backass of Georgia, they’ll pay for the rest of our summer if I show them the good shit.”

So you’d agreed, albeit grudgingly, letting your best friend haul you off your sofa and to the get together that you didn’t really want to go to. But Robin was there, and Nancy too, a few people you hadn’t seen since senior year, back for the summer to visit their folks and well - it wasn't all bad. 

Then the evening faded into night and the lavender skies turned inky, the same shade as the lake water. And when people got a little looser, whisky and bud light warming their veins, they laughed as they stripped down to mismatched underwear and dove off the dock, splashing and shrieking in water you couldn’t see the bottom of and god—

You’d, grimaced, turning away from the shoreline and sticking close to Eddie, the boy’s arm always brushing your own even when he was busy dealing, twenties fisted in his hand as he passed over baggies to a twenty something girl you’d never seen before. 

But then that guy found you, relatively sober and sweet until he wasn’t, sloppy with his arm around your neck, breath smelling like smoke and beer and he was pulling you towards the people in the water, telling you it was all part of the fun. You’d protested immediately, intensely, eyes wide as the water came closer and your feet hit the wooden planks of the dock. 

Between the gaps, you could see black, dark water rippling, the moon overhead glinting white off the tips of the current. Eddie hadn’t noticed you were gone until the stranger had dragged you half way down the decking. Your wrist burned from how tight he held it, how hard you tried to twist it from his grasp. 

“Hey— hey!” Eddie had barked out, loud and brash and aggressive enough to make a lot of people around him startle. He broke free from the circle that had gathered around him, lips set in a snarl and determination in his eyes. You knew fine well that when Eddie got his hands on this guy, it wasn’t going to be pretty. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Let her fucking go—”

But Eddie couldn’t reach you in time, not when his boots dug too deep into the sand and there were too many people to push out of the way. The guy laughed at a joke you weren’t a part of and then he pushed. 

Your arms swung wildly, windmilling as gravity took over, your balance gone and you were too near the edge of the dock to do anything about it. Your hands grabbed at the air, fingertips just brushing your new acquaintances shirt and his grinning face and beer blurred eyes were the last thing you saw before you back hit the water. 

It was as dark underneath the surface of the lake as it was above it, an icy shock despite how warm the day had been, how the heat still lingered in the night. You gasped, immediately inhaling, murky water filling your mouth and throat and you kicked, hoping that the direction your hands were clawing in was up. 

But nothing happened and your body didn’t move. 

On the beach, people were murmuring, too drunk to consider the consequences, too stoned to fly into action. Besides, only seconds had passed. Bubbles were floating in the spot you’d gone under, ripples evidence of the fact that you’d once been there. Eddie was sweating, shoving at people as he ripped off his leather jacket and prepared to vault himself onto the water after you but someone at the bottom of the deck beat him to it. 

Steve Harrington had dropped his beer at the first sign of the commotion, his part in the conversation with Jonathan Byers and his friend from California dying off as he turned to watch a guy he didn’t know drag you down the dock. The stranger had been laughing but you hadn’t, and before he could say something, Steve only had a second to look at the absolute horror on your face before you were forced backwards and into the lake. 

He was on his feet immediately, facing back up the dock to where you’d disappeared from, watching wildly for signs of you returning to the surface. And then Eddie was yelling at him, pushing past some underage kids from out of town, half of his jacket hanging from his shoulders and he was yelling. 

“Steve! Steve, she can’t fuckin’ swim, man—”

If Eddie finished the sentence or said anything else, Steve didn’t hear it. He launched himself off of the side, hitting the cold water with a splash he didn’t hear. Water filled his ears and fuck, he could barely see. But somewhere a little below him there was a flash of white from your shirt that had tangled itself up around your neck, your arms flailing wildly as you tried your damn hardest to kick up the way. 

Steve had grabbed your arm, your panic making you slip before he curled his fingers around your wrist and then you were being hauled against him, your back to his chest as he moved with a confidence you could never imagine for yourself. You’d been under for a minute, maybe a little more, maybe a little less, but Steve had your head breaking the surface of the lake in seconds. You were gasping and coughing, your fingernails tattooing half moon lines in Steve’s forearm as you held onto him, fear gripping you as hard as you did him. 

You thought you’d heard his voice, a low murmur in your ear that was fuzzy from the water lodged there, from the buzz and clamour that had then awoken on the beach as the music stopped and people were gathered by the shoreline. 

Eddie had been knee deep in the water, readily meeting you and Steve as the boy swam closer with you, and once your feet hit the sandy bottom, you lurched forward, hands held out to grab Eddie’s waiting ones. 

Steve’s were on your back, keeping you upright and steady until he saw that Eddie had you. You and Steve were both dripping and Eddie was swearing, his cheeks red and his eyes wide, unsure whether to rush you to his van first or hunt down the creep that had put you in danger in the first place. 

But Nancy was rushing forward with a blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders and taking in your chattering teeth and panicked stare, the vice-like grip you had around Eddie’s fingers. “He’s gone,” she said to the boy. “He ran off when he saw Steve dive in. Just get her home, Eddie.”

Steve Harrington had ended up in the front bench with you in Eddie’s van, your shivering frame sandwiched between both boy’s and no one said anything until you all got back to Eddie’s trailer. 

You hadn’t said anything as you’d headed for a hot shower, your wet clothes slapping on the bathroom tiles as you had stripped, slimy weeds and grains of sand stuck to your cold skin and your hands were still shaking as you twisted the squeaky handle to turn the water up hotter still. 

And when Eddie was ripping his room apart for dry clothes for you and Steve to change into, his eyes watery with anger, his throat tight with rage, Steve had been leaning against his door frame with his arms crossed over his damp chest.  

“We’ll get him,” he’d said quietly, just in case you could hear above the spluttering of the old pipes. “We’ll find out who he was and— and we’ll deal with him and then I’m gonna teach her how to swim, alright?”

Eddie nodded, movements sharp and jerky and he handed Steve a pair of black sweatpants and an old Metallica shirt. 

“Alright?” Steve had repeated, chin ducked to make Eddie meet his gaze. He had been so serious. “I’m gonna give her lessons. This won’t happen again.”

The sky was still half pink as you biked down the empty sidewalk. 

A blue-lilac colour, softer than you’d usually witness due to the early morning hour. The sun was still low, the town still asleep, the watch on your wrist telling you the seven am was still to come. Your bike chain whirred softly, brakes squeaking as you slowed by the chain link fence. 

Hawkins community pool was sun bleached and well loved, the old bunting that draped over the water barely red and blue, the shutters for the food stand still rolled down and locked. The aquamarine slide was now more white and it looked like it would give you an infection if your skin was to snag on one of the exposed bolts. But the gate was open, only just, and you sucked in a deep breath as you let your bike lean against the wall. 

Chlorine filled your nose as you walked in, the generator humming and the pool filter trickling, the sun loungers empty and still stacked against the changing rooms. Despite your early wake up call, the air was already warm, a humid kind of heat that Indiana summers brought, sticky and sweet smelling, like someone had left a jug of peach tea on their porch all day. 

The tiles that surrounded the pool were wet, recently hosed down and cleaned, and your sneakers slapped noisily as you walked towards the waters edge. You didn’t go too close, not at all, grimacing at the bright blue rectangle like it would force you in itself. It seemed somehow more menacing when it was still, a glasslike surface reflecting the cotton candy sky above it, no splashing and screaming kids to fill its depths. 

Then a boy appeared - no, more man than boy - from the staff building. 

He had red shorts on, the fabric sitting above his knees and an old white shirt that you assumed must’ve once said “lifeguard.” He was barefoot and tanned, sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t even notice you at first, too busy hanging a net back onto the wall. 

Steve Harrington was pretty and tall and he had really good hair. He was quieter than when you’d know him in high school, softer looking than he’d once been. But you didn’t really know him and he didn’t really know you. But he was friends with Eddie and you were friends with Eddie, so somehow, someway, that meant you were kind of, almost friends with him too. 

Except you weren’t and you had no idea why you’d agreed to this. 

“You can change in there.”

You hadn’t expected his voice, so you startled, arms wrapping tighter around your body and crushing the small rucksack that housed your suit and towel. You frowned at the idea, because changing meant one step closer to going into the water and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to do that yet. 

So you said nothing.

Steve just watched you from across the pool, brows raised. And then he shrugged and muttered something that sounded like “suit yourself,” before he threw his sunglasses onto a plastic chair and tugged his shirt over his head. 

You’d barely gotten a chance to really look at the quick flash of tanned, bare skin he exposed before he dove into the water, barely causing a ripple. You were slack jawed as you watched him move seamlessly below the surface, his body a pretty shade of blue as his muscles flexed, strong back and broad shoulders stretching as he swam. 

When he reappeared, much closer to you, Steve braced his forearms on the edge of the pool and dragged a hand through his wet hair, strands of it plastered to his forehead, water clinging to his lashes. 

You didn’t know where to look. 

“You’re not going to learn much if you don’t take your clothes off.”

Despite the way his words warmed you, skin heating up the same way the morning was, you scowled. You didn’t want to be here. Not at the pool, not around water, not with Steve Harrington and certainly not at seven in the morning on a Saturday. 

And now you were standing under the morning sun and the same boy that saved you from the lake was squinting up at you from the pool below and you were only really here because Eddie had begged you. 

It had been a whole week and you could still taste lake water on the back of your tongue. 

“Changing rooms are over there,” Steve motioned to the building behind you with a tilt of his head.

You tried not to look at him, or the water, when you nodded tightly, dragging yourself off to the ladies section. And when you came back out, the sun had risen just a little more and Steve was still in the pool, floating easily on his back as he used his arms to move slowly around the water. The rays were glinting off of the water and him, toned shoulders and soft stomach glittering with water droplets and suddenly the pool seemed an even scarier place to be. 

The old swimsuit you’d managed to pull on was a little on the tight side, all black and supposed to be modest if the too small size hasn’t been cutting into the swells of your ass and chest. It had been a good few years since you’d had reason to put it on, and even then, you hadn’t gone near water. A beach day on the Fourth of July with enough space between you and the ocean that you hadn’t even minded the sand too much. 

So you stood with your arms crossed over your chest, trying to hide the expanse of skin there, your knees pressed together and you looked downright mournful about your current predicament. If Steve hadn’t remembered the fear in your eyes that night in the lake as you scrambled for him under the water, he would’ve cracked a joke or two. 

Instead, he swam over to you cautiously, fingers curling around the edge of the pool as he swiped his wet hair from his forehead. “Hey,” he began gently. The town still hadn’t woken up yet, not really. It was just Steve’s voice and the hum of the pool filter, some cicadas buzzing in a bush behind the far side of the fence. “Nothing bad is going to happen, alright? Not here.”

You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, eyes wide and lips drawn into a tight line. You didn’t move an inch. And it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him, not really. You were exactly friends but Steve was close with Eddie and if Eddie trusted him— well. He got an automatic pass from you too. 

Eddie didn’t trust a whole lot of people. 

But the problem wasn’t Steve. It was most definitely the rectangle full of blue water, shimmering and pretty as it was, it looked deep, the slope of it going downdowndown and Steve’s body was distorted under the ripples, his legs looking broken and mangled, the surface lapping way too high across his shoulders and neck. 

Your body felt like lead, a dead weight ready to sink to the pool floor, legs unable to push yourself back up. 

You took a step back. 

“Okay,” Steve sighed and he tried really hard to not sound impatient. The day had barely begun and he’d make a promise to Eddie, one he really didn’t want to break. “We’ll take it back a little, yeah? Come over here.” 

You watched as he pulled himself out of the pool with an impressively low amount of effort. The muscles in his shoulders and back bunched up and he swung a leg onto the tiles before standing, water dripping off of him, cool and splashing your toes. He made a point of not looking at your and all your bare skin as he walked around the edge of the pool, right towards the back of the lot where there was a set of stairs that led into the shallow end. 

He didn’t look over his shoulder to check if you were following and you only hesitated for a second or two before you did. And when he reached the top of the steps, he waited for you and held out his hand, brows raised expectantly. 

You stared back. 

The water didn’t look as scary here, but not by a whole bunch. It was lighter blue, the white tiles on the bottom of the pool about more visible and the numbers that were flaking and painted on the side of the wall said the depth was only two and a half feet. 

You could drown in less, the voice in your head told you. It sounded a lot like your mom. 

So you kept your arms crossed for a little while longer, teeth gnawing unkindly at your bottom lip. Steve just waited, hand extended palm up and after a minute had passed, he took one step into the pool, standing ankle deep in the water on the top stair. He caught your eye then, smiling in what he hope was a reassuring way. 

“D’you trust me?” He asked, eyes squinting in the bright sun. There was a mole on his cheek that disappeared into the lines of his skin when he smiled. “S’okay if you don’t yet, but, I’m a lifeguard here, so like, legally? I can’t let you die.”

You surprised both yourself and the boy when you snorted unexpectedly, a sharp sound of amusement that you used a hand to cover up. But it seemed to encourage Steve, ‘cause he positively beamed at you, his hand wiggling, vying for your own. 

“C’mon, I promise I won’t let you go,” he swore. He leaned further forward, his fingers close enough to brush the softness of your stomach, if he so pleased. He didn’t. “We’ll start nice and easy today, alright?”

It felt momentous, when you slid your hand into his. He was still warm despite his pool damp skin, like the sun lived inside his bones. He grinned, victorious, nodding encouragingly when you moved to the edge of the steps. 

“We’ll do them one at a time, alright?” Steve moved to stand in front of you, his other hand catching your free one until he was guiding you closer and closer to the water, walking himself backwards with every step you took forward. You flinched when your foot hit the first step, the water warmer than you’d anticipated, brushing up just past your ankle. 

You had two feet in the pool and two hands in Steve Harrington’s and it felt like the entire world was about to implode on you. 

“There you go,” Steve murmured, warmth and a little hum of pride in his voice. “See? S’not bad, right? I’ve still got you.” So you took another step and another and suddenly the water was lapping at your knees. You froze, grip tightening around Steve’s fingers and your wide eyes found his, all too aware of the way you were very much in the pool now. 

“Hey, hey,” Steve’s thumbs rubbed over the back of your knuckles, the skin there burning from holding him so tightly. “Listen. Do you trust me?”

There was no joke that followed the question this time. His eyes were earnest and warm, serious as they looked at you, searching your face for any signs that you were going to flee. It took you a few seconds, swallowing dryly and taking a deep, staggering breath before you nodded. You did, you did trust him, and that was as surprising as you being in the pool. 

“Yeah,” you told Steve, voice a little weak and hoarse. “Yeah, I trust you.”

He squeezed your fingers and his smile was gentle, an achingly kind thing that made your eyes water in the corners and Steve let you stand on that middle step for a little while longer. “Good,” he finally said and his voice was as soft as yours had been. You tried not to look at the way the chain around his throat caught the sunlight, the silver turning golden, just like his skin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”

You nodded, feverish and your movements jagged and you tore your eyes from Steve to look at your bare feet on the steps, your toes waving under the ripples, longer and skinnier and then fatter and wider. The sight made you dizzy, stomach tumbling a little but even still, you wished you’d had the forethought to paint your toenails something pretty. 

“Two more steps, alright?” 

Steve’s encouragement broke your senseless wanderings and you nodded again, words caught in your throat and he was leading you forward, hands wrapped around your own and he grinned when you took another step down, the water hitting your upper thighs. It was cooler as you went deeper, a stark contrast to the warm, sticky air above it and your skin prickled, mouth falling in a quiet gasp. Another step, happening almost too fast for you to overthink it, the water at your hips and making you swear as you rose onto your toes almost instinctively. 

Steve laughed, not unkindly, as you moved closer to him, unthinking as your hands left his in favour of clinging to his upper arms. It felt safer like that, anchoring yourself to his solid frame, but there was so much bare skin involved and not a lot of space left between you both as you held on for dear life. His fingertips brushed the sides of your waist before he must’ve thought better of it, cheeks burning before his hands cupped your elbows and he took a little step back so your chest didn’t touch his. 

“You’re alright,” he murmured. “You did it, yeah? That’s it. You’re in.”

Steve was grinning and you tried to smile too, trying to feel proud of your little accomplishment but the rest of the pool was stretched out behind Steve’s shoulder and the water there was so much more blue, cerulean leading into indigo until you couldn’t see the bottom anymore. 

Steve must’ve noticed cause he shook his head, the hand cupping your elbow smoothing up your arm until he squeezed, water dripping from his palms and coasting down your skin. “Hey, hey, none of that. That’s for another day. We’re staying here, alright?”

You grimaced at the idea of ‘another day,’ but his words still didn’t ease you. You licked at your lips, dots of chlorine on them and despite how stupid you felt, you asked anyway. “What if— what if l, like, float over that way? Accidentally.”

Steve smiled like he couldn’t help himself, laughter in his eyes and a grin that he quickly tamed. “We’re not gonna catch any waves in here, this isn’t Maui,” he was still smiling, teasing, just a little. But sensing your growing worry, he continued. “And if that had to happen - which it won’t - I’ll come and get you.”

You stared at him, heartbeat in your throat and so many other questions on your tongue. They died there, fizzing into nothing as Steve held your gaze, a silent promise in his brown eyes. You’d never noticed how long and thick his lashes were, still wet and spiky from when he’d been swimming as you changed. 

Maybe there was doubt in your eyes, or maybe Steve just felt the need to reiterate his statement, but when he said once more, “I’ll come get you, just like last time,” you really did believe him. 

[dearlyya]

TIL’ WE MEET AGAIN | Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

Series Summary; Silco tells a new story to a curious Jinx.

Warnings; Angst, pre-canon, hurt/comfort, Zaunites, Piltians, revolution, violence, blood, gore, drinking, smoking, gambling, swearing, sex, brothels, drugs, slow burn, the reader is a coward at first, original character (Wynn), strangers to lovers, bittersweet, Old Silco being weirdly sentimental, Jinx being noisy, and major character death.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Silco's office door closes when Sevika takes her leave, his dual eyes stare indifferently into the wooden entrance.

Briefly resting his face on his hand so he can rub at his cheek bone. He flickers his irritation to the paper in front of him, reading through the documents neatly arranged on his desk. Flipping through it–His lengthy fingers daintaly holding up each page before letting them fall back in place.

Through habit he moves his chair to the left of the desk, opening up the middle drawer, taking out a small compact box, shutting the thing closed and placing the wooden box on the side of the desk, aiming to not dirty the papers. He opens the humidor, four expensive cigars lay neatly inside. Taking one of the sticks and the straight cutters, he fixes the cigar between his fingers and brings the sheers to the front and slides the stick in between the blades, and shuts the guillotine. 

SNAP!

He rolls back and turns the chair to face the large window, so that the green light that pours into the room which not only illuminates the furniture, but the kingpin as well–highlighting his features. His good eye blends with the light, the seafoam green melting away a stark contrast from the damaged one. The green clashes against the bright angry orange, the toxic waters of the Undercity fully displayed on the left of his face, the hard horrors of his youth.

Finally, he slips his hand into his vest. His delicate fingers glided over the finely knitted fabric of his striped burgundy shirt before delving into the soft contours of the breast pocket. With a practiced motion, his digits deftly retrieve a small, rectangular item. Something cold to the touch against his fingertips, the metal texture bumpy and slightly damaged. 

It's a lighter. Gray and metallic with a fancy lace eloping it–vines and roses, perfectly crafted to be comfortable to hold while simultaneously being bold and beautiful even with scratches and dents along the body. Silco caressed the carvings with the pad of his thumb. Specifically a scratchy name on the front of it. Until he was holding it properly, he extended it enough to flick the small thing open and ignite it.

The flame dances dimly, alone. Slico rolls the cigar in his fingers and hovers it over the fire, lighting the end of it. Flicking the lighter closed, he takes a long drag of the cigar. Savoring the smoke he inhales, holding the earthy smoke in his mouth. Not letting it fester for too long he puffs it out. 

Above him is an audible creaking followed by a loud thunk behind him, just then he felt his eye send a sharp pain throughout his face. He takes another drag, hoping that it eases his nerves. It does not. Huffing it out he turns the chair to face the girl sitting impatiently on his desk. Strews of papers now scattered about. Screw organization.

"You have impeccable timing," Jinx smiles and tilts her head side to side while lazily whipping the end of one of her braids of hair in a swirling motion. Jinx then scoots forward. The papers crumpled under her butt make the scooting easier, some falling off the edge. She places her feet in between Silcos spread legs, planting them firmly in place and with most of her leg strength she easily moves the chair with the bemused kingpin closer to the desk. The chair creaked as she did so. Jinx blows a raspberry and guiltily giggles. 

"Pfft- yeah just the best of timing, heh" She snatches the device out of the top drawer. Moving her legs she turns the chair to the right to pull him even closer, the armrest bumps roughly into the desk. Jinx plops her legs on top of his kicking her feet under the other armrest. The kingpin throughout this doesn't seem bothered, used to his daughter's theatrics. 

"You mustn't spy on me when I'm in a meeting" Silco narrows his eye at her, no actual malice in his expression. He positions the cigar away, so she doesn't smell it when he gently places it in the ashtray, not snubbing it out.

"Wasn't spying — just watching Ms. Righty" Jinx chuckles at her own morbid nickname, and drapes her forearm on Silcos head, as she leans on the chair. The device occasionally tapped against his temple. The blue-haired girl whines about being bored and how Sevika won't let her on jobs. Calling his right-hand an ogre that isn't cool or fun–but is, however, currently green as Jinx had shot her with paintballs. The reason why Sevika was fuming in his office not too long ago. Silco listens, nodding his head along to her rambles in a tired fatherly way. In his right hand he fidgets with the lighter. The glint reflecting off the window light brings the small thing to Jinx's attention. Abruptly stopping in the middle of her rant, watercolor eyes flickering at the silver most importantly at the poorly written name on the front of it.

"Watch'ya got there?" She hitches her leg up on the arm of the chair and rests her tilting head on her knee, unblinking eyes stare at the item in his hand. Silco unclenches the lighter and grips it with his fingers slowly handing it to the curious baby blue. She quickly picks the thing out of his grasp after dropping the device on the table with a low clank. She brings the lighter closer to her face, so she can fix on the smudged words, muttering under her breath "is that a 'a' or an 'b' or maybe a-?" she would've gone through the entire alphabet if Silco had not said her name to pull her out of her thoughts.

"What does this say, can you tell me?" Frantic, she moves the light far away from her face, dramatically turning her head to the patient kingpin, his hands hanging loosely between his thighs humming in a low tune, debating on entertaining her offbeat curiosity.

"Aww' c'mon I'm dying of boredom here!" Jinx flails around her spot before falling onto her back with her arms spread out on the desk, her head is to the left looking at the metal rectangle with a pout. Twirling it with her pink and blue nails. Silco sighs, looking at his suddenly sad daughter–he knows she's just playing him, he caves anyways. Not without teaching about bartering, when a certain stinging sensation occurs. The nerves of his left eye spread out to his scarred side, eating away at him.

"Administer my medicine, then I'll think about it" Jinx pouts, but hands him the lighter anyway. Grabbing the device that was left on the table. "Finnee-" Grumbling, she moves forward so she's close to his face and places the contraption over his eye. She waits, eyes flickering from the button on top to his bad eye. When her gaze finally looks at the good eye, she presses the button. Instantly, he shoots forward, straining in his seat as Jinx still holds onto his jaw. He tightens his grip on the light. The dose of shimmer elopes his eye–the red widening before shrinking back to an orange. The purple substance fighting away at the toxins left behind, a single shimmer tear runs down his scarred cheek. 

"Done! Now, tell me!" Jinx haphazardly drops the medical device on the desk, again. Pulling up her legs on the arm, so she can rest her head on knees, and dig her colorful nails into her muted maroon pants. She puts most of her body weight on the side of the chair, making it dip only slightly. Waiting for her father to catch his breath and follow up on his end of the bargain. Slicking his salt and pepper hair back, he leans into the chair. Adjusting his sitting and wiping away the tear before answering her.

"It reads Lady." 

"Why does it say that and why do you have something that says that and why is it so badly written?-" He sighs, still rubbing at the now disappeared shimmer. Jinx's questioning doesn't throw him off, his eyes narrow in amusement. "Will it ease your curious need about my youth if I told you it was from an old friend?" Jinx gives him a weird look.

"I thought you said we shouldn't hold onto the past and blah blah blah" Jinx begins to flap her hand in a talking motion. He grabs her wrist, making her look him in the eye. His face was serious.

"We shouldn't hold onto the past and let it consume us." He says sternly, letting her go when she begrudgingly nods. Jinx notices a fondness lit in his eye, as he then gestures to the lighter in his hand. The flame, as quickly as it appeared, dims away.

"That is more or less something nostalgic, a keepsake out of appreciation" Jinx looks at him then the lighter, then back at him. "For who?" Jinx asks. Silco smirks.

"An old friend"

"UGHHH" She dramatically flops down again, crossing her arms. Jinx begins to spin Silco, moving her legs accordingly, in an attempt at a punishment for making vague remarks. Silco lets her for only a moment, stopping her when he's fully faced in front of her by taking the leg off the armrest and letting it drop to the floor next to the other. Silco hums in thought.

"It was...from a past love of mine" From her sitting position, Jinx snaps her head up. Her attention gained back. She's not perturbed by this new information, her curiosity only grows. "Hehehe, you fancied someone?" She giggles, hunching over. Her hands either side of her thighs gripping the edge of the desk and kicking her hanging feet.

"Mhm, I did..." As memories of the past flood his mind, he forcefully wrestles himself from saying ‘I do’ . The past should linger in the past, and in the palm of his hand like a burdensome weight. Despite this, his thumb still circles around the lighter. In response, Jinx visibly slouched, her frown growing more pronounced.

"What happened?" Jinx knows now that this friend is no longer here, someone who was once close to her father–she began thinking. Her gaze flicks restless between Silco’s eyes, her hands fidgeting as they cling together. Her thumb incessantly rubs against her palm, creating a raw spot on her skin. Sensing the tension, Silco quietly places his hand on her knee, tenderly tracing comforting lines with his fingertips to ease her away from the rhythmic rubbing and her own reminiscing. 

He knows Jinx would ask non-stop about this subject, as if she were still the 12 year old that he took in years ago. Even if he did indulge Jinx in her possible endless quest of nagging him til’ he complies. He would have no idea where to begin, he’s sure that his late-companion would tell it differently, albeit dramatically. Jinx has learned through his lectures of betrayal, perhaps one on loyalty might have the same effect. 

"What happened to most Zaunites during the revolutionary years-" Silco lifts his head smoothly, his gaze hardening with growing anger. Behind the pride he feels for his expanding nation, he holds a knife to the throat of the ‘Nation of Progress’ Silco’s thoughts travel back to his last moment with her, realizing the irony that lies within the nickname of Piltover. With a cool deliberateness, Sico carefully considers his next words as he looks at his daughter. Who is seated with uncharacteristic patience. 

The cigar in the tray burns, forgotten. "-Perishing with no name under the cold gold-plated boot of Piltover"

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

When you wake up you're alone, it's just you and the fire. The disappointment you feel disturbs you. You should be relieved to be alone, you should feel safer now that the Orc isn't near you.

Orcs are brutal warlords, everyone knows this. They can't be trusted. You glower at the fire and manage to shuffle a little closer to the hearth. The idea of just leaving before the Orc can come back floats in your mind but it quickly dissipates when you try to sit up. Your limbs betray you, your arms shake and falter under your weight, as if you're a pathetic waif and not a self-sufficient woman of the woods.

You slump back to the floor and bundle the thick wool blanket tighter around your still naked frame. Surely your clothes are dry by now. You take on the burdensome task of looking around the living room for your clothes but freeze when you see the big green figure standing in the connected kitchen. His back is facing you as he moves around, opening cabinets and draws with an unnerving quietness. How could you not have heard him? The realization paralyses you, have your senses dulled that much from the hypothermia?

As if he could sense your fear, he turns around and locks eyes with you. His dark eyes make your heartbeat jolt and you turn over to avoid looking at them or him. You look around again for your clothes and finally spot them on a wooden drying rack next to the hearth. You try and scooch your body towards it but you can only really wriggle on the floor. You hear him stepping closer and the fear rises with every step, you try and reach out for your clothes but he gets to them before you.

If you had energy you would yell something vulgar but your anger quickly settles into confusion when the massive man sits behind you and gently brings you into a seated position, supporting your back against his chest. You go even more limp as he slowly brings your hands through the long sleeves of your tunic and pulls the garment over your head with some difficulty on your part because of the strenuous action on your sore muscles.

He buttons up the shirt and you want to slap his hands away but you can't, your fingers are far too numb to be doing any fine motor functions like that anyway. He then does the same with your pants, gently pulling them into each leg. The softness that he treats you with is upsetting, like he looks down on you. You can feel his breaths on your ear and you can feel how he tenses when you wince at a particularly painful movement. It's all so humiliating.

When he's done, he lets your head slump onto the pillow again. He put a pillow on the floor for you? How have you only noticed that now? He walks off into his kitchen again and leaves you to stare shamefully into the fire. If you tried to leave, even if you could make it out the door, you'd probably just freeze to death or be saved again by this stranger and be even more humiliated than you are now.

The orc comes back with a steaming mug and plate. He helps you sit up and positions you up against his chest again. You absolutely hate how easily you relax into his warmth. He holds the mug up for you to take and you hesitantly reach out and curl your fingers around the warm ceramic, holding it to your chest and assessing the contents.

It smells earthy and sweet. You take a tiny sip and your taste buds sing. It tastes like honey and a woody spice you can't place. You down the whole cup in no time, almost spilling as your arms struggle with the exertion of holding it up. You gulp down the last of the thick, hot liquid and sigh in relief. The orc behind you lets out a very irritating, amused huff and takes the mug from you to replace it with the plate. It's filled with hot steaming buns, it smells divine and you pick one up only to drop it back on the plate when it burns your fingers.

The hot food nips at the sensitive skin on your fingertips painfully. The digits are still cold and numb, not cooperating with what you want them to do. You try again but quickly drop the hot bun onto the plate once more. The orc sets the plate into your lap and carefully manoeuvres you so that you sit across his crossed legs, like sitting bridal style. He picks up a hot bun and holds it to your mouth, after a moment of hesitation you finally give up even more of your dignity and bite into the delicious smelling treat. You barely stop yourself from moaning at the taste.

You make the mistake of looking up at his face, you haven't actually gotten a good look at his face until now and you almost choke on your bun when you do. He looks nothing like the depictions of orcs you've seen and read, they're supposed to be ugly and scary beasts who pillage and kill for fun. Looking at him, you can't help the uncertainty that trickles into everything you know about orcs. Concern is written all over his orcish features, just like his cautious movements.

His tusks have little carvings on them, shallow indents in the ivory so beautiful and intricate it's difficult to imagine orc hands carving them. You realize he's also staring at you and you wonder if he's thinking similar things about your human features. You have no idea how orcs perceive humans but if it's anything like how humans perceive orcs it can't be very good.

A sudden guilt comes over you and you have to look away from the orc. You stare at your lap, where you sit comfortably in his hold and accept another hot bun he holds out for you. You can feel his hand hesitate on your back, he wants to comfort you but he's...scared?

If you're honest you're scared too, you can't even remember how long it's been since you just talked to another person, let alone touched someone. With a full belly and a warm face, you drift off once again against this stranger's chest wondering if it's been just as long for him.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆

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[hopelesslygaysstuff]

October 18 - Angry Sex

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda sees you at Kamar-Taj, taking what's hers.

content warnings: fingering, cunnilingus, choking

word count: 2.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

You groan, your body aching and weak. The taste of dust lingers in the air, coating your tongue with each breath you take. You can hear soft footsteps crunching, and lower your forehead back onto the ground. 

The footsteps stop, inches away from you. A strong hand tangles with your head, wrenching your head up. 

Green eyes, the same ones you fell in love with. The same green eyes you’d grown to hate. They hold the same cold look in them that you remember so well. 

“Wanda,” you spit, your voice weak and raspy. It hurts to talk, but you refuse to show it. It won’t do you any good to show weakness. 

She smiles, a dark look on her face as she observes you. You can see a hint of malice behind her eyes, her headpiece glowing slightly as fire burns behind her. 

“You destroyed my home,” you say, your tone biting. 

“And you were foolish enough to stand against me,” Wanda responds, her voice soft. You don’t mistake her tone for weakness, sensing the power behind her words. 

You just scoff, not denying her words. It was the truth, and you knew better than anyone how incredibly naive it was to stand against the Scarlet Witch. Deep inside, you felt a tendril of hurt rise within you at the cold, detached look on her face. 

Wanda’s eyebrows raise, and you instantly curse yourself. Of course, you’d forgotten that she could read minds. The sneaky witch. She always managed to use that against you.

“I’m starting to… realize something,” she begins, speaking her thoughts out loud. You’re powerless to stop it, your arms weak as your fingers scrabble in the dirt for purchase. Her grip tightens in your hair as you squirm. “I came here for America, for her power, but now…” 

She trails off, her gaze sharpening as she looks at you. She speaks, her tone cold. “I hate you for leaving me.”

You let out a weak chuckle, your eyes closing in pain as her fingers tighten harshly. Looking back up, you twist your head until you meet her eyes. “I hate you for always choosing power over me.”

Anger washes over Wanda’s perfect features, and you feel a flicker of fear as her magic reacts. It spins around her violently, but surprisingly, doesn’t touch you. You try to read her eyes, like you used to, but find her expression closed off and… different. 

Maybe it’s been too long. Maybe you don’t truly know her anymore. 

A flash of hurt appears in her gaze, and you close your eyes briefly. Right, you’d forgotten that she could read minds. Again. 

“Are you going to kill me, then?” 

Wanda’s face remains stony, sensing the sincerity in your question. She feels rage, sadness, and… longing? 

Her jaw clenches, her eyes cold as she looks down at you. “No,” she says, her voice low. “I’m going to get closure.”

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, her hand grabs you, her eyes glowing red. You blink in surprise, her fingers digging into your arm painfully as scarlet magic swirls around you, confusing your senses and warping your reality. It swirls between you and Wanda, your vision blurring as you focus on breathing, her painful grip on your arm grounding you slightly as her magic collides with you. 

You land on a hard stone floor, your elbow cracking painfully as you awkwardly twist. The first thing you register is Wanda’s figure, striding away from you. The second thing is the aching, bitter chill that seeps past your robes and into your bones. 

Turning your head, you see a frozen wasteland beneath you. Scrambling back from the ledge, you feel your heart race as you realize that you’re high up in a tower somewhere, with no apparent means of escape. 

Flexing your fingers, you realize that Wanda has taken your sling ring, your ability to perform spells greatly diminished without it. You close your eyes for a moment, sighing as you steel yourself. 

“Wanda,” you call out, standing slowly as you cradle your elbow. 

You find her further into the tower, past a giant statue of herself and through a small door. You can’t help but admire the tower as you descend further, following the scarlet wisps of magic that seem to lead you. She has her back turned towards you, her fingers tracing the spine of a book you recognize. 

“The darkhold,” you spit. “Of course.”

Her blackened fingers halt their movements, her head twisting as she looks at you. A scarlet glow fades from her eyes, her expression cold as she turns to fully face you. 

“The darkhold…”

“I know,” you sigh, sinking into the couch provided. It looks like you’re in a library, the tomes duty but the room is well lit. “It’s the only way you can find your children, I’ve heard it a thousand times, Wanda.”

With steady footsteps, she makes her way towards you, eyes blazing. “That book is the only chance I have to reunite my family.”

“That’s not true,” you retorted, watching her approach with wary eyes. 

“You don’t know that,” Wanda hisses, her face contorted in anger. There’s something else in her expression, but you can’t quite place it. She reaches the couch, her hand reaching out and twisting the collar of your robes. 

“An ancient, known evil artifact is not going to bring your children back, Wanda,” you say, ignoring her closeness. The last thing you ended right now was to get flustered. “It’s a painful, dangerous path that not many return from.”

Wanda leans in, her eyes wide and wild. It sets you on edge, and you quickly rise and shove her away. She just chuckles, her scarlet magic swirling around her fingertips as she advances on you. 

“You foolish, naive little sorcerer,” she hisses, her eyes darkening as you slowly inch backward. 

“I’m the foolish one? You’re the one who just wiped out most of Kamar-Taj and made yourself public enemy number one,” you hiss, feeling your back press against the bookshelf. 

“Aww,” Wanda coos, “It almost sounds like you care.”

She steps closer, and you let your hands reach behind you for…. anything really. You find nothing but dusty, old books. 

Wanda’s eyes are triumphant as she steps into your space, one of her hands twisting with the collar of your robes as the other firmly presses your hip into the bookshelf. Your elbow grazes something hard, and you wince in pain, your breaths shaky as you watch her. 

“If you think I care about you, then you-” 

You’re cut off as Wanda leans in, her lips pressing against yours and slotting perfectly against your mouth. Losing focus, you let your words die as your lips remember the shape of hers. 

Fuck. Her lips feel amazing, her tongue swiping over yours as you feel her teeth bite down on your bottom lip, a groan escaping your treacherous throat. Her hand moves to press against your neck, her fingers digging in. The hand on your hip squeezes, and you suppress a whine at the arousal that floods you. 

Her body is pressed flush against you, her thigh slipping between yours as you feel your body heating up. You put your hands up, intending to push her away, but find them tangling with her hair instead. 

“Fuck you,” the words escape quickly, your face angry as Wanda pulls away slightly. 

“Oh, I intend to,” she whispers, leaning in. Your hands tighten in her hair, and she moans into your ear. “Fast, and rough… just the way you like it.”

You shudder at her words, your reaction causing Wanda to smile against your cheek. She wastes no time, dipping her head and harshly sucking hickeys into your neck while you squirm beneath her. Your fingers are harshly pulling at her hair, simultaneously pushing her away and holding her against you. 

It’s like you can’t make up your mind, your chest heaving as you begin to rut your hips against her thigh, your emotions swirling. 

You hate Wanda Maximoff. But she feels so… fucking… good against you with her hot tongue, insistent lips, and long fingers squeezing you in all the right places. 

“How dare you leave me,” she mutters, her voice low as she nips and sucks down your neck, pulling your robes to the side to leave bruises on your collarbones. You feel your robes slide off, her hands grabbing the fabric and roughly pulling it off you. 

The sharp point of her headpiece digs into your neck as she sucks at your skin, and you breathe deeply. Her vanilla scent fills your nose, and you hate the way your hips buck harder in response. Your fingers are tangled with her soft, auburn hair, and you stroke it gently for a moment before pulling harshly.

“Don’t hate me for protecting myself,” you snarl, pushing her slightly. 

Wanda’s green eyes fill with anger, desire swirling in her irises as she pushes you roughly into the bookshelf, pinning your hips with her own. She reaches up to grab your throat, her fingers flexing as she watches your face contort while she cuts off your air supply. 

“Do not talk back to me, you ungrateful little brat,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. She leans in, her tongue dragging over your jaw and cheek as you struggle weakly against her. “Don’t forget who has all the power here.”

She lets you go, watching as you slump back against the bookshelf. Your legs give out, and you drop to your knees while you pant and catch your breath. 

“Ah,” she smirks, tilting your chin up with one finger. “This is a familiar sight.”

You narrow your eyes, glancing down her body. You can’t hide the desire you feel, even as your anger pumps hotly through your veins. As you take her in, you wonder if she tastes the same. 

“Why don’t you find out?” Wanda whispers, and you close your eyes as you remember (again) that she can read minds. 

Watching with restrained want, you feel your core grow hot as she sheds her Scarlet Witch outfit, her magic whirling around and practically melting the fabric off her skin. She’s… beautiful. 

Wanda’s hand touches the top of your head, grabbing your hair and wrenching your head back to force your eyes up. “Show me if that mouth of yours is still talented, or if you’ve wasted your gift,” she says, her eyes dark. “Open your mouth.”

You obey, feeling your body weakening with every minute. It's no use to fight now, you’ll lose in seconds. Besides… you weren’t going to lie and say you weren’t enjoying this. 

A glob of saliva lands on your tongue, and you swallow at Wanda’s command, shuddering as you feel your headspace become fuzzier. 

Wanda’s nude form stands before you, her stance strong and her body somehow looking more perfect than the last time you saw her. You can see her glistening folds, and your tongue rubs along your bottom lip as you look up at her. 

Desperation swirls in your irises, your anger slowly fading as she presses herself against your face. 

“Lick,” she commands, her voice soft as her hand moves to grab your hair. 

You obey, your tongue flattening as she gazes coldly down at you. You feel your anger rising again at the look in her eyes, so you wrap your lips around her clit and suck. 

It’s harsh, her clit throbbing in your mouth as she loses her composure and moans, her other hand slamming into the bookshelf to support her trembling legs. It spurs you on, your tongue swirling around her clit as you apply strong suction with your lips. 

“Fuck,” she groans, her accent slipping out.

You want to see her crumble. You want to see her composure break as she cums from your mouth. You want… you want her to finally let you past the walls she’s built up around her, the same ones she’s started building during your relationship. 

Bringing your hands up, you thrust two fingers in her wet heat, curling them as she moans loudly, her head thrown back as books topple down around you. You can sense her losing control, her orgasm imminent. 

Looking up, you watch her neck muscles strain with need, her fingers gripping your hair painfully as she rocks her hips against you. 

Moaning against her, you watch as she comes undone, her orgasm washing over her. Wanda moans, Sakovian curses streaming from her lips as she shudders, her clit throbbing between your lips. You watch, sadistic glee filling you as tears roll down her face at the unrelenting pressure of your lips and tongue against her. 

“Wait,” she moans, her hips still bucking against your face. Her fingers grip you tightly, holding your face against her, trying to draw out the pleasure coursing through her. 

Smirking, you continue to suck, your tongue moving quickly as you watch her quiver, her expression open and wanting. Another, smaller orgasm rips through her, the moans sounding out turning into soft whimpers as she rides out the last bits of pleasure on your lips. 

Eventually, she tears herself away, her chest heaving as she looks at you with lidded eyes. She twists away, taking a moment to compose herself as you pant and sag against the bookshelf. 

“Glad to see you haven’t changed in some ways,” you say. 

Wanda turns to you, lifting your chin up with her fingers and gripping your jaw painfully. Her eyes are dark, her pupils blown as she searches your face, glancing down at your swollen, glistening lips. She smirks, and you shudder at the dark look on her face. 

“Your turn.”

[yourstrqly]

✰ LET ME ANSWER, L. HAMILTON

[ preview ] the possessiveness comes to the light when your ex won't stop calling you during sex

[ tw ] smut, sir kink, description of a female body, answering the phone during sex, piv, riding, possessiveness

. minors do not interact .

lewis raises his eyebrows. four times, for the fourth time your phone screen light up on the nightstand, the name 'ex' showing, causing you to reach out, hands that claw on his strong back letting go, to decline the incoming call. it irritates him but the disturbance won't stop him from pushing inside your pussy again.

"give me the phone, darling", is all lewis says, shortly pulling out to sit himself against the headboard.

he looks ridiculously hot like this, tattoos glistening under the sweaty film on his skin, a single braid having found its way from the ponytail. there's a smirk on his face as he pumps his length and you want nothing more than for him to say what you should do now.

And then he does. "Ride me."

You hand him the phone and grab the base his cock to hold it in place, so you can easily slip the length inside.

A loud wail escapes your throat when his heavy cock scrapes up your inner walls, and you slowly start to ride him. he slides a hand under your ass, forcing you to bounce faster in his lap. your back arches, leaning against his chest and your hot breath fawns on his neck, where you bit softly into it. his throbbing dick stretches you out, leaving a burn when he reaches the depth of your wet hole.

You don't notice lewis pressing the green button, accepting the face call.

"hi baby, look I—who the fuck are you and where's my girl?", the guy on the other side asks, voice gruff and laced with anger. you try to keep quiet, but lewis has different plans, bending his knees to fuck himself roughly in your spongy walls that make lewd, squealing sounds. the trill of humiliating your ex turns you on; you thighten around your boyfriend's fat cock, feeling an orgasm incoming. nails dig into his shoulders, your vision is blurry and you moan, head thrown back with the mouth agape.

"tell him darling, who's making you feel this good?", lewis grunts, seeing your creamy pussy leaving a white ring around the base of his cock.

"you, sir", you whine, "you feel so good."

needily you rock your hips in his lap, ignoring the fire in your legs; his thick tip gazes the g-spot over and over again, causing you to choke out mewls and cries of pleasure — you nearly have forgotten your ex. "who the fuck do you think you are, huh?"

"i'm the boyfriend", lewis bits out. "You hear that?" You let out a high pitch cry, legs trembling as you cream his cock and drench his balls and tights. "that's the sound of my girl coming around my dick. every single day."

limp in his arms, you rest your head on his shoulder to make room for him to mark you up; you feel warm at his possessiveness, taken care of and loved. lewis' pillow lips nibble on your throat while he chases his high, chanting curses before he pulls out, throwing you on your back and spill on your pudgy stomach. you reach for the white liquid, skoping some on your fingertips before licking them clean, sucking gently the bitter taste of him, making lewis groan. "my dirty little girl, hm?", he whispers, the naughty smirk he still wears changing into proud one.

"for you, i'm everything, sir."

having not forgotten the face time call, you grab the phone to face your ex, who looks straight out of a comic with his harden gaze and red-from-anger cheeks. with mischief on your mind you angle the phone and press an open mouthed kiss on his lips, all tongue and teeth. it's messy like that and you love it.

breaking apart, the screen is black.

"didn't know you could act like this, lew", you grin happily. the man only laughed in response as he got up to get you a cloth to clean you and himself; he knows that you're turned on by this side of him, and maybe, just maybe, he'd do it again, even though the thought of someone else hearing your sweet moans make him jealous. wordlessly, he puts on sportify, the voices of temptation singing his girl, and he goes down on you, ever so softly whipping your pussy.

humming from inbetween your legs, lewis states: "you're made for me, darling."

"I know", you reply, slowly drifting to the lands of dreams.

rina speaks • ₊° ✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ . . [ 🪐 ] based on this requests! hope I did it justice x

[risuola]

TOO MUCH — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Lately, it felt like not a second pass by without some new curse appearing somewhere in Japan and both you and Satoru had your hands full of work for few weeks, but when he comes back home, exhausted to the bone, his composure snaps and he unloads his frustration on you.

cw: angst, verbal abuse, hurt/little comfort, mentions of blood and hurt, reader is injured, mental exhaustion — 2,5k words

Too much. Too much of everything that piled up on Satoru's shoulders, weighing him down so heavily that he almost couldn't breathe. It felt like the world was on fire, curses crawling out of every shithole in Japan, most of them first or special grade, spreading nothing but death and chaos. So many people killed, so much blood and pain he had witnessed in the last few weeks, it drowned him in exhaustion and helplessness. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, and yet he felt so helpless in the current situation. He traveled from town to town, fighting these terrors, but the lives that had been taken away, he couldn't bring back, and he used to think that he was immune to it already. Turns out, one can never be immune enough.

You had your hands full with work as well, but you stayed in Tokyo. The situation drained your energy too, the cascading waves of sadness and sorrow made you feel like you couldn't think straight, but you pushed through. You felt so weak, but had to be strong, everyone had to be. All of your sorcerer friends were just as engaged in the fight as you were, just as tired and distressed, but the show must go on, as they say.

You and Gojo weren't officially a couple, though everyone knew you were together. You were friends, yes, the kind of friends who kiss and have sex. The kind of friends that use pet-names and fall asleep while cuddling naked. Shit, you lived together for a few months, you know everything about him and he knows just as much about you. And you were happy, sharing every moment. He always said that you bring him so much comfort, that he feels like he can be openly himself when he's with you and be accepted for it. Nothing could ever bring you more joy than the man you love feeling comfortable with you.

That being said, it wasn't the best time for your relationship slash situationship. He was more out of the house than in it, and you were just sleeping there, barely. It's been going on for a few weeks already, and it's just now it’s beginning to finally calm down. Few weeks of constant fighting for everyone involved in the jujutsu world, but it started to slow down. So you knew that Satoru would finally return home.

It's when you showered and put on your pajamas that you heard the keys twisting in the lock and the doors opening. Putting on a smile, you rushed to welcome Gojo home, but the moment you saw him, you knew he's extremely exhausted.

Satoru entered the house already annoyed by the conversation he had with Gakuganji a few moments before. That old fart had the audacity to nag him about his methods while he himself was sitting in his cave sipping green tea, not caring one bit that the world was drowning in curses and blood. He threw the keys on the shelf, kicked off his shoes and took off the blindfold, then looked at you, all clean and comfortable in your pajamas. He scoffed quietly.

He felt like his own body was falling apart, everything hurt, his head was pounding, his eyes were burning. Even though he was actively healing himself, the side effects of everything were getting to him. A few weeks of nonstop fighting, of domains, of reds, blues, and purples, and so much physical combat had left him hanging on the last thread of his composure. The usual mask of cheerful carelessness long gone.

Suddenly he wished he could enter the empty house, throw away his clothes, collapse on the bed dirty and just fall asleep, but he couldn't. You were there. And there was never a time in the past when he wouldn't be absolutely overjoyed to come home to you. Even when tired, he wanted nothing more than your arms around him. But not right now.

"Satoru, hey," you greeted him, keeping your voice soft and on the quiet side. You knew him so well, you could see how fatigued he was and frankly, you couldn't blame him. Being the strongest had its downsides, one of which was being very much in demand, and sadly, no one could take his place. "You're exhausted, huh?"

"Look at you, so damn perceptive," he snapped harshly, his eyes cold and empty as he looked down at you. He walked past you to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Are you hungry? I can make you someth-“

"No, just shut up, you cannot make me fucking anything," once again, his tone was cold as he snarled at you. It was the first time so much cyanide spilled out of his mouth and he just barely opened it. At first you tried to understand it. Things had been really draining lately and you knew he was angry because he was tired, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Alright," you sighed, deciding it's best not to get deeper into the conversation when he's so argumentative. "Do as you wish, get some rest, Satoru."

"You know, why instead of telling me what the hell to do, you just don't leave my house, huh?", Shut up Gojo, he screamed at himself subconsciously. "Why are you even here anyway?" Shut. Up. " All comfy when I'm constantly on the job?"

"I know you're tired, Satoru, but I've been on missions too. I'm tired too," you looked at him in defeat, unable to keep the smiley mask on. There was so much wrong in this situation, so much anger being thrown at you for no reason whatsoever, and you had every right in the world to be just as angry as he was, but you just chose not to. You wanted to welcome him home with warmth, comfort him, and keep him up even if you felt down. You wanted to soothe his aching body when yours hurt just as much. Or worse. You were badly injured during the last few battles, but Shoko had her hands so full, you told her you could wait, and you hid all those wounds from Gojo's eyes so as not to worry him.

"'Yeah, your little missions,'" he bit, and your brows furrowed at the sound of his words.

"What does that even mean?" you asked, slowly feeling the heat of anger coursing through your veins. "I'm first gra-"

"I don't care what you are. You're still nothing to me. I deal with real shit, not those..."

You slapped him. Or at least you tried, your hand stopping just short of his face, and it surprised you to realize his limitless was still on, even though he was home already. He was still in fight-or-flight mode, still feeling threatened enough to keep his defensive techniques activated.

"Just what do you think you're fucking doing?" he growled, taking your wrist into his grip, the squeeze shooting shockwaves of pain through your nervous system. "Did my words hurt you? Did the truth hurt you so badly that you thought you could actually hit me?", his tone had a taunting undertone, and when you looked into his blue eyes, you saw nothing but cold. "Funny little thing."

"Let go, Satoru."

"Oh, I will. And when I do, you'll get your useless ass out of here. I'm not your boyfriend, we just fuck, we're not in a goddamn relationship for you to be here all the time. I need my space."

Gojo hated every word that fell out of his mouth, but now he couldn't take them back or erase them, and he didn't exactly know how to act now that he had said them. Immediately, he let his limitless inactivate, hoping you'd want to slap him again. Shit, he'd even accept a kick in the balls, but you remained silent, just looking at him. He could tell by the way your eyes glistened in the sharp artificial light of his kitchen that there were tears threatening to come out, but you didn't cry. Your jaw clenched for a moment and you lowered your hand.

"Right," you exhaled deeply, feeling the hurt burn your heart and soul. The smoke of sadness already flowing through your veins, your cells, your mind. "You're right, we're not. Here," you performed a theatrical swing of your arm, displaying the interiors to him, "your fucking space. I'll let myself out."

"Y/n..." he tried, but you were already in the room, changing from your pj's to sweatpants. He stayed in the kitchen, hoping you'd just jump into bed and maybe cry about it all, and he'd just come back later and comfort you when he wasn't mad anymore, but it didn't go that way.

Once he saw you again, you were heading towards the door.

"Y/n stay, don't be silly, stop," he tried to grab you, but you slapped his hands away.

"What, does the almighty, fucking honored one wish to add something to his oh-so-wonderful speech?"

"No, I'm sorry, stay," he took your hand forcefully, pulling you into his chest, but you fought back, not wanting anything to do with him right now. He had said too much. You knew it was all driven by his exhaustion, but it was far too much.

"No, Gojo, I don't want to stay here. I'm more than pleased to leave you in your space. There's no damn reason for you to share your precious air with such a useless nothing."

"No, no, please," he begged, his anger slowly being overtaken by panic. The sound of his last name felt cold and unfamiliar as it rolled off your tongue. "I'm sorry, please stay. I didn't mean it. Fuck, I didn't mean any of it."

"Please, take your hands off me," you told him more quietly. You were tired and now emotionally drained as well. All you wanted from this evening was to cuddle up with him to sleep. To bask in his warmth, knowing he's safe and home, to feel his skin against yours, to breathe him in. But no.

"No, I won't," he lowered his head and buried his face in your neck. "Please, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it, I'm just so tired. I feel dead, there has been so much fighting and pain and suffering and death all around me these past few weeks. I'm sorry, y/n," his voice faded to whisper as he rambled against your pulse.

"Gojo..."

"I don't think you're useless or nothing. Fuck, what have I done" he was spiraling slowly into a panic attack. You could feel his heartbeat getting hectic, his breathing uneven, and his grip on you so tight it hurt. "I am nothing without you. Please stay."

"Gojo."

"I love you," he whispered, his tone breathless, and at first you thought you had heard him wrong. He had never told you that. Not even once. "I love you so fucking much, please. Slap me, kick me, punch me in the dick, I don't care. Just don't leave me. I'm so sorry."

"Satoru, please, it hurts..."

"Hurts?", he froze. What hurts? Did he hurt you? The thought frightened him, not only did he insult you for no damn reason and now he caused you pain? As if burned, he let go of you completely, raising his hands as if he wanted to keep them in sight so you knew he wouldn't hurt you anymore. "I'm sorry."

"I've been fighting for these weeks, too. I'm tired too. I would never compare myself to you, but I gave it my all, too," you exhaled deeply. "And I know you're exhausted, Satoru. So please go to bed and get some sleep. I'll just go home."

"Here is your home, with me."

"Here?", you briefly looked around. It was a place you loved because it was filled with him. It was where your heart wanted to be when you felt safest and happiest, but now... "Suddenly I feel like an intruder here. I feel like I shouldn't be here."

"No, please don't say that. Listen, y/n, love," he dropped to his knees, took your hands in his and kissed the tops of them gently and tenderly. "Please, stay with me. I'm an idiot. But I love you. And I need you here, I need you in my life. I want you by my side."

"So, what do you want us to be? You said we're just fucking. God, I thought we were at least friends, if not a couple, but..."

"I want us to be everything. I want you to be my friend, my partner, my lover, my wife and my entire world."

You sighed. Deep and slow, pushing the air out of your lungs, letting your whole body deflate as you took his hands and pulled him up.

"Go take a shower and come to bed. You need to sleep it off. I need to rest too."

Obeying, Satoru rushed to the bathroom and you made sure to lock the doors, turn off the lights and took the time to change back into your pajamas. Sitting on the bed, you finally felt the tears running down your face. They brought you some relief and you let them flow freely, desperate to get it out of you before Gojo came back. It pained you how wrong the evening went and you wondered if there was anything you did to cause it, but no. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve it. And you should leave him there alone, just as he wished for. Then why were you still here?

"Please don't cry," his long arms wrapped around you from behind, enveloping you in his warmth. The light sweet scent of his body wash pleasantly filled your airways and it's out of habit that you leaned into him. "Will you ever forgive me?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. Slowly, he laid you down on the pillows and took his usual place beside you.

"I will," you sighed, already feeling the discomfort. "But please, let's change sides."

Satoru didn't understand at first, but he did what you asked anyway. When he saw you exhale in relief as you turned to the other side, his brain clicked. Moving his hands in the most delicate way possible, he lifted your shirt a little, revealing the many layers of bandages, already tinged with red that was seeping through them slowly.

"God, you're wounded. That's what was hurting you when I held you... I had no idea why you didn't tel-, ah, because I was being an asshole, right," he sighed.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to tell you anyway. I'm fine, just Shoko had her hands full, so I told her I'd wait a day or two. It's just a scratch, really," you told him, fixing your shirt. "Please, let's get some sleep, okay? We'll talk about it all later."

"I love you," he whispered, pulling you to his chest and planting a kiss on the top of your head. It was only now that he could feel his body relax, with you right next to him, your heartbeat syncing with his own, and all of your loving aura filling his body. And he realized that the words he never had the balls to say out loud to you now felt natural, rolling off his tongue. "I love you so much."

"You idiot," you sighed, closing your eyes and slowly melting into his form. "I love you too."

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

For the jace and baela scene, reader could be a Tyrell or dornish? I saw that you liked them. I want her to be light and sweet and compassionate, but able to hold jace’s character.

When I saw this scene in the leaks, I had to re-write it...and add the cuteness the show did not

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Jacaerys had not been present when Rhaenyra's great plan turned into a carnage. His hatred for the dragonseeds was so strong you fear he would have taken a small pleasure watching them burn. 

A shiver ran down your back at the images. 

You thought it was cruel of the Queen to block the doors when Vermithor blazed fire on the dragonseeds who tried to get inside. But you understood Rhaenyra’s decision. There were other dragons on the island. Wild ones. These people all had a drop of Valyrian blood in them. They could claim one of the wild dragons...and turn on her — as Jacaerys feared. 

By eliminating them, it lessened the chances of someone claiming a wild dragon and using it against her.

After a bearded man named Hugh finally claimed Vermithor, you went looking for your betrothed. He was not outside with Vermax, nor in his chambers. 

Noticing the frown on your brows and your pacing in the corridors, a guard informed you that he saw the prince heading to the library hours ago. You thanked him, and found Jacaerys sitting at a table with a hoard of books around him. He must have come here when he saw the dragonseeds arriving on Dragonstone. 

From your angle, you could see a pout on his lips as he rested his head on his fist. His back was to you, so he didn’t see you come in. 

‘’It does not befit a prince to pout.’’ Your tone was teasing and light, contrasting to his sulking.

‘’I’m not pouting,’’ Jacaerys denied, not moving. 

You took the stack of books from the chair next to his and set it on the table so you could sit on the chair. ‘’What would you call it, then?’’ You raised a brow and poked his pushed out lips.

It usually put his pouting to an end, but his face stayed icy. ‘’I’m reading,’’ he said, turning the page of the book before him. 

‘’While your mother waits?’’ 

He ignored your question, still upset and bitter about the bastard dragonseeds.

A part of you understood Rhaenyra's desire for wanting riders for the two unclaimed dragons. She never thought it would be possible, but Adam of Hull proved to her that the Valyrian blood in bastards was strong enough to claim Seasmoke. Having more dragons on her side will benefit her against the Greens and Vhagar.

But another was aching for Jacaerys. He was made fun of all his childhood for his non-Valyrian features, and these bastards were praised for succeeding in claiming a dragon. 

‘’You’re angry,’’ you stated, rubbing his back in an attempt to sooth him. 

You’ve been comforting him a lot lately, but nothing you knew seemed to work today. 

Jacaerys finally turned to look at you, his eyes hard from his anger. ‘’Aren’t you?’’ 

You released a breath. ‘’I don’t see what good it would do.’’

‘’They are insults to us. To what makes us Targaryen. If any common lout can ride a dragon, then—’’ 

‘’That does not make you common!’’ 

In the year and half you had known Jacaerys, it was striking to you that he had nothing of a common-born. He was raised as royalty, and educated like a prince — an heir. He was well-behaved, silver tongued, and the son of Queen Rhaenyra. He carried her royal blood. 

He glanced at you again, then turned away to stare at the table. ‘’You know what I am…’’ 

‘’I don’t care,’’ you said truly. 

In Dorne, bastards were not looked down upon the way they are in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. But they did not inherit from their parents the same as their legitimate children. They were acknowledged, cared after, but never allowed to claim a crown or title that had not been given to them. 

‘’You are the crown prince,’’ you continued, ‘’the son of the rightful Queen, and here you are sulking because you believe that if not for the dragon, or the trappings of your station, that you are nothing.’’ You took Jacaerys’ hand in yours, chuckling lightly. ‘’Do you believe you are the first noble heir who was not sired by his noble father? Such is the way of the world, Jace, and in resenting it, you only diminish yourself.’’

Jacaerys leaned his head back on the chair, still pouting. ‘’Easy enough to say. I’ve heard the whispers the whole of my life.’’ You could hear the deep rooted trauma and scars in his voice. 

‘’Then prove to them that you are worthy. Get up and take your place by your mother’s side. You and she had your differences lately, but she’ll never replace you by one of them. No one can replace a mother's first son.’’ 

He was silent for a few moments, staring at the ceiling of the dark library, and took in your words. No one can replace a mother's first son. She had him when she herself was a child. There was no one she loved more than him. 

Jacaerys turned to face you, his eyes softening. Your reassurances made him see reason. He was still upset, but he found comfort in your words. 

He gripped your hand, and pulled you close. Closeness was his way of finding comfort. When you were settled upon his lap, his hands went to your hips, holding you against him. 

Even then, you noticed he was still pouting. You thought the gesture was utterly cute, but you wouldn’t tell him that. 

You gently tilted his head to look at you and leaned down to kiss him. ‘’No more pouting.’’

—

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[entitled-fangirl]

I won’t burn you.

Jace Velaryon x Targaryen!reader

SMUT

Summary: After the Battle at Rooks Rest, the reader is upset at Dragonstone. Her betrothed comforts her.

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, heavy makeout, talks of death

Masterlist

…………………………..

Jace's eyes didn't leave her body.

Y/n Targaryen stood among the small council table of Queen Rhaenyra. A green at birth, Alicent's second daughter and youngest child, she now stood next to the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Across the table, Rhaenyra’s heir and the girl's betrothed, Jace.

The two had been betrothed to make amends between the two houses during Luke's petition of Driftmark.

And when Rhaenyra decided to take her children home and return later to King's Landing, she had proposed taking Y/n with them so she may get to know Jace more. Though hesitant at first, Alicent was persuaded to agree by Viserys.

Now, Y/n remained loyal to Jace through the betrayal of her brothers.

Rhaenyra admired the girl's bravery throughout the ordeal.

Now, months later, Y/n stood at the table, utterly silent and motionless, save for the steady stream of tears that ran down her face at the news of the Battle of Rook's Rest.

Her brother injured beyond repair. Rhaenys dead. Sunfyre gone. Meleys paraded around King's Landing like a war prize.

It was the first time she had cried at Dragonstone.

Jace stood on the other side of the table, watching in pain as she weeped in silence.

The council was speaking, he was sure of it, but he couldn't tell what. Nor did he quite care.

He had offered to fight that battle.

In anyone world, Vermax may have been the war prize paraded.

He wanted to help. He did. It seemed he never knew how to help.

The moment Rhaenyra called an end to the meeting, Jace rounded the table to his betrothed. He took her face in his hands. His eyes darted across her face rapidly before his voice came out softly, "Please stop this."

Y/n's eyes finally looked up at him with her teary gaze, and Jace felt breath leave his body.

"My love, please," Jace tried again, not caring for the others in the room.

Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, "Why must it all end in fire?"

He wasn't sure what to say to that. "It's… it's in our blood."

She pulled herself from his grip, wiping at the tears herself. "My brother did not even wish to be king, and now he lies in a bed, half-dead. And for what? The feud between our mothers??"

"Watch yourself, my love." He warned, "Do not say the wrong thing just because you are upset."

She pushed his chest lightly, "You don't understand!"

His face morphed into one of anger, "I don't understand? Your brothers live. Where is mine? Slain by one of yours! I DO understand. More than you know!"

She shook her head as fresh tears warmed her face, "Please do not shout at me."

Jace scoffed lightly and crossed his arms, "Do not be unreasonable."

"I wish I was not who I am."

She began to rush out of the hall.

Jace opened his mouth to call out to her, but nothing came out.

…

Y/n had spent hours in her chambers with the door locked. No servants or guards were to bother her.

Her weeping could be heard throughout Dragonstone, making the Prince's gut tear itself in two.

But only when his betrothed's servant came to him to tell him of Y/n’s refusal of food did he do anything.

…

A knock sounded at the door.

Y/n sniffled and her soft voice called out, "Leave me."

"It's Jace."

"I said leave me."

"No."

She turned to look at the door. "Leave."

"Not until we speak."

She cursed lightly for his Velayron stubbornness.

"I won't come in until you say the words."

She finally gave in. "Fine. Come in."

Jace slowly opened the door, a tray of food in his hand. He closed the door behind him before his eyes settled on her frame.

Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from the tears, a few still escaping down her cheek as she sat on the floor in front of her bed.

He stood awkwardly, not sure what to do.

Finally, her meek voice spoke up, "Forgive me."

His head tilted, "W…what?"

"Forgive me." She sniffled, "I said awful things to you. You know the pain of loss more personally than I ever shall."

"That's not true," he said as he stepped towards her, setting the tray on a table. "You lost your father only months ago."

"He was your grandsire."

"Still."

She continued, "And you've lost Luke, Princess Rhaenys, your father Laenor, your-" She stopped herself. "Your mother's… guard."

Jace looked down at the floor. "Yes, but I… it is different with me."

"I don't see how."

When Jace finally looked back to her, unshed tears swam in his eyes. "I don't know."

She sniffled, "Please just say you'll forgive me."

He knelt down next to her, looking deep into her eyes. "You know I will."

She reached up, brushing his unruly curls from his face before connecting her lips with his.

Jace's body wracked with sobs as he pulled her into his lap. Her kisses became more passionate, intent on showing her feelings through them. His tongue darted out to her bottom lip, and he was quickly granted access to her mouth.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"You know I love you, Jace."

He stopped himself, pulling his lips from hers, "We should stop here."

She leaned forward, connecting their lips again, "I want you, Jace."

He shook his head, "We're not to marry until after this war. I won't sully you."

"I don't care. I need to feel you. Please."

He nodded, his hands pulling her hips closer and reconnecting their lips.

Her hand moved to his hair, pulling lightly.

"Onto the bed," he murmured.

She quickly left his lap, standing and beginning to pull at her dress.

He smiled as he wiped his tears and stood with her, "Let me."

He stood behind her, his lips leaving open mouth kisses against her neck as his fingers unbuttoned the small ones down her back.

She let out a small moan, resting her head on his shoulder.

When the buttons were undone, he tugged her dress down, making it pool at her feet. Now only in her shift, she turned in his hold and kissed him again.

His hands moved to her hips, and he walked her into the bed, playfully pushing her onto it.

She let out a grunt as her back hits the covers, but she laughed lightly at his antics.

He made quick work of tugging off his clothes, leaving him in his small clothes. He then joined her on the bed.

As he crawled over her, she grabbed his face gently, "How do you do it?"

He sniffled from his past tears, "Do what?"

Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, "Suddenly I don't mind being consumed by fire as long as it is from you."

His lips pulled into a bright smile, "I won't burn you.”

She pulled him to her again in a desperate kiss.

Jace's hands began to pull her shift up to her hips. He pulled away to look at her, "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Please, I have to hear it. Please."

She smiled, "I want you, Jace. As much as you'll give me."

He pushed her legs up by her thighs, "I'll give you anything you want." He then made agonizingly slow movements as his body began to move lower and lower down hers. She waited with bated breath.

Jace had never pleasured a woman before. He was rather terrified of failing. But he was intend on trying.

His face lowered between her thighs. He felt breath leave him at the sight that laid before him.

He slowly lowered himself the rest of the way, licking a long stripe up her slit.

She let out a gasp from deep inside her.

He looked up with a hesitantly, "Does that feel good?"

Her hand trailed to his hair, "Please don't stop."

She could feel his smirk against her as he continued his motions.

It was experimental, continuing the things that made her gasp or when her grip on his hair tightened.

When his nose brushed her clit, her hips jerked back as a sinful moan left her mouth.

He reached up, holding her hips steady as he continued.

His tongue moved deep into her now, wanting to moan along with her.

"Jace…. Oh gods, Jace…."

He pulled away and brought himself up to her face again, kissing her deeply. She let out a small whine at the taste of herself on his tongue.

He grinned, "Not like it?"

She let out a calming breath, "Just feels strange."

"Want to stop?" He asked with a tilted head.

She immediately shook hers, "No. No, please don't."

He smiled, "Pretty girl."

Their lips connected again in a heated makeup.

She let out a small gasp when his fingers began to toy between her thighs, and he took the opportunity of her open mouth , letting his tongue explore her.

All-consumed by Jace, she gave in completely, her eyes closed and her lips slowing against him.

When his fingers slowly entered her, her entire body froze.

"This alright?" He whispered when he noticed her stiffness.

She gave a whimper but nodded her head.

"Jace…"

"You're so beautiful."

His fingers began to pump very slowly, his pants tenting at the feeling of his fingers in her.

She pushed herself up to kiss him but his fingers curled and her open mouth paused inches from his own.

He couldn't help the smirk that came to his lips. "You like that?"

She breathed out heavily, her eyes meeting his. "You… You know I… I love you."

"I love you."

"Burn me, Jace."

He kissed her jaw lightly, "I'll never mar your pretty skin."

…

They returned the next day to the council meeting in new spirits. Daemon's eyes moved between the two with a knowing look.

He knows the look of a man that's pussy whipped.

Perhaps he could get Rhaenyra to move the wedding closer.

……………………………

[maxtermind]

requesting an f1 fic inspired by the song “reckless driving” by lizzie mcalpine ft ben kessler? 🙏🙏 (any driver & i adore your work)

never felt this way with no one

★ : feat :: oscar piastri x reader ★ : genre :: flufff, mature ★ : word count :: 1k+ ★ : a/n :: i love lizzy so much, this was so fun to write

you were driving while a slow song was playing on the radio and as soon as there was a red light, you stopped and smiled before turning your head to look at—

oscar held your face in his hands before slamming his lips against yours. you eyes widened before you closed them and kissed him back.

he tasted sweet like the dessert you guys got before leaving the restaurant.

he deepened the kiss as his hand slipped from your face to the back of your head. it was too consuming but good.

as you got lost in mingled breaths and soft lips, the light turned green and a loud horn from behind had you stumbling backwards.

oscar cleared his throat as you started the car again. refusing to face you because his face was tinted and his heartbeat was so loud he could hear it in his ears.

what he missed out on was your own cheeks that were burning as your mouth stayed in an upright position. hard to stop smiling because this— him. it was exactly what you you were expecting from today through all the nervous getting ready for the date.

"i'm sorry..." he started before you shook your head.

"i'm glad you did, don't apologise." you murmured trying to breathe and get rid of your smile.

"i wouldn't have... i mean i wanted to but—"

you stumbled over your words but finally looked at him as oscar's hand squeezed your hand that was closest to him.

"i wanted to do it more." he admitted. "i've been thinking about it all night. i just... i wasn't sure if you'd want me to."

you chuckled as you shuffled to get comfortable in your seat, your eyes on the road, feeling a little braver now.

"oscar, i've been hoping you'd kiss me since you picked me up."

he laughed, the sound light and full of relief. "really? i've been so nervous. i kept trying to find the right moment."

you turned onto a quieter street, feeling the tension from earlier melting away. fuck, where were you even driving to? one kiss and the man had turned you into a mess

"i guess the red light was the perfect moment."

oscar nodded, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "yeah, it was."

you glanced at him to see why he trailed off and were satisfied to see that he was already looking at you— at your lips and your skin felt like it was on fire.

you knew what he wanted because you wanted the same— more.

oscar sighed as you pulled into a parking lot, putting the car in park before turning to face him fully. your insides burning with the desire to feel his skin again.

"well, we're not driving anymore." you whispered, not knowing where this recklessness was coming from.

oscar grinned and shook his head as he leaned in close once again. "no, we're not."

he kissed you again, this time slower, more tender. you wanted to be careful, not wanting to kill the flame before it was even lit but as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, you melted into him, your hands threading through his hair.

and you decided that just this once, you’ll give in and let him take the lead even if his hands are off of the lead.

the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent. your breaths mingled, the car feeling both too small and too intimate. but you guys were too far gone now when he pulled you over onto his lap.

oscar's hand slid under your shirt, his touch feather-light against your skin as you gripped his thigh. you gasped softly when he rubbed circles on your waist and kissed down your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath. "oscar," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

he looked into your eyes, his own dark with desire. "god you’re driving me insane," he admitted, his voice low and husky.

you nodded, suddenly you brain too foggy to reply coherently, feeling the same burning need. "i want you too."

his hands continued roaming over your body, exploring, caressing. your own hands were busy, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against yours. you managed to get it open, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles.

oscar's lips found your collarbone, kissing, nibbling. you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you realized that he was leaving a mark. the heat between you was almost unbearable.

but then, as you both tried to maneuver in the cramped space, you couldn't help but laugh. the steering wheel, the gear shift, everything was in the way.

"i'm too jelly, i can't drive," you admitted, breathless and laughing.

oscar grinned, his own laughter joining yours. "you know i can drive," he said, a teasing glint in his eye.

you cracked a joke, unable to resist. "would i be worried about your driving skills off the track?"

"i think you'll be safe with me." he laughed, the sound rich and full. “won’t let anything happen to you baby.”

you leaned in for one more kiss, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of him. when you finally pulled back, you were both smiling.

oscar took the keys from you, and moved to the driving seat, still feeling the lingering heat of his touch on your skin.

you didn’t know how this happened, but you were glad it did. that it went this far. feeling like a teenager when you noticed that oscar couldn’t keep his eyes on the road.

“eyes on the road,” you joked, your breath hitching suddenly when he leaned over to squeeze your thigh in reply.

you sneaked your hand towards his vacant one and intertwined your fingers, blushing furiously when he pulled the joined hands towards his mouth to leave a kiss.

"want to go back to my place?" he said shyly, expecting you to turn him down.

but you felt a warmth spread through you at his question, the simplicity of it making your heart swell. "yes, i would love that," you whispered, your voice soft and full of affection.

(grid masterlist \ masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[julietsf1]

Chef's Kiss... but Maybe Not the Cooking - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: Franco might not be the best chef, but that doesn't ruin the night (1.2k words)

Warnings: None :) wholesome vibes

AN: reminder to check your smoke alarm batteries!! kisses <3

__________________

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” I called out, eyeing Franco with a mix of amusement and mild concern as he confidently moved around the small kitchen. His apron—bright red and definitely way too small—barely covered his front, leaving the rest of him looking like he’d outgrown it by several sizes.

Franco turned to me with a grin that oozed confidence, waving me off like he had it all under control. “Help? Please, I’ve got this. You’re in for the best dinner of your life, mi amor.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. His green eyes were sparkling with energy, despite the ridiculous apron that was comically snug around his waist. His fluffy brown hair, still slightly damp from his shower, bounced with every exaggerated movement he made as he whisked something in a bowl.

“I’m serious!” he continued, pointing the wooden spoon in my direction, like he was daring me to doubt him. “This pasta is going to blow your mind. My abuela used to make it for us, and I swear, the whole family would fight over it.”

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him in full-on ‘Franco Chef Mode,’ which mostly consisted of him yapping enthusiastically and throwing ingredients into the pan with dramatic flair. “Sounds amazing,” I teased. “You sure your abuela didn’t mention anything about using a bigger apron?”

He glanced down at his too-small apron and smirked. “I think it looks great,” he quipped with a wink, “Makes me look extra muscular.” With that, he turned back to the stove, tossing onions into the pan like a pro. Well, a very confident, slightly chaotic pro.

“So, where was I?” Franco rambled on, stirring the onions with a flourish. “Ah, sí. My abuela always had a secret ingredient for this dish—made it the best in all of Argentina.”

“Let me guess,” I said, already knowing what was coming. “Love?”

“Exactly!” He spun around, pointing the spoon at me again like he’d just revealed the greatest culinary secret of all time. “You’re catching on. It’s the love that makes it special.”

I chuckled, shaking my head as I watched him. He was talking a mile a minute, bouncing between stories about his family and random facts about the pasta, his enthusiasm filling every corner of the kitchen.

“Oh! And one time I tried making this while camping with my cousins,” he continued, stirring the pan with far too much confidence. “We had no pans, no stove, nothing! So we made this big firepit ourselves, and I swear, we nearly set the tent on fire. But the pasta? Still amazing. Not to brag, but it was probably the best meal ever made on a camping trip.”

I laughed, unable to help myself. “Really? Best camping meal ever, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a nod, his voice filled with pride. “I think my cousins still talk about it to this day. Of course, they might have been a bit crazy from hunger after the hike and the whole nearly-burning-the-tent-down incident, but I’m pretty sure it was my cooking skills.”

“Uh-huh,” I teased, my eyes flicking to the stove, noticing the onions beginning to smoke. “Are you sure we’re not about to have a repeat of the tent fire here?”

Franco waved me off without even looking. “No way, mi amor. I’ve got this under control. Trust me, once I add the garlic and—wait, did I add the garlic yet? No, no, we’re good. Anyway, as I was saying, the key to any great dish is improvisation. You have to feel the ingredients, let them tell you what they need. You can’t follow a recipe too strictly, you know?”

“Uh-huh…” I tried to hide my smile, but the smell of something burning was unmistakable now.

“So, this one time in Argentina—”

“Franco!” I finally cut in, pointing toward the stove. “The onions!”

His eyes widened in shock. “Mierda!” He lunged for the stove, but it was too late. The onions were charred beyond recognition. With a dramatic sigh, he grabbed the pan, lifting it up to inspect the damage. “Okay, so maybe... I overestimated the heat a bit.”

I laughed, covering my mouth with my hand. “A bit?”

Franco turned to me with a sheepish grin, still holding the smoking pan. “Hey, it’s all part of the process, right? Even the greatest chefs burn something every now and then.” He set the pan down with a shrug. “You know, I think this is fate telling us we should be eating takeout instead.”

“Oh, is that what it’s telling us?” I teased, stepping closer to peer into the burnt remains of his ‘famous’ recipe. “Your abuela’s going to be so proud.”

Franco groaned dramatically, setting the pan down with a defeated sigh. “Okay, so maybe my abuela wouldn’t be proud of this particular attempt.” He looked at me with that same sheepish grin, charming as ever despite the burnt onions. “But next time, I’ll definitely get it right.”

I raised an eyebrow, giving the mess on the stove a pointed glance. “Next time? Are you sure you’re up for it?”

He chuckled, pulling me closer by the waist, his hands warm against my skin. “I’m always up for a challenge, mi amor. Besides, I make up for it in other ways.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine in a soft, teasing kiss that left me smiling.

“Is that so?” I teased, tugging playfully on the string of his too-small apron. “Because right now, all I see is a confident chef... with no dinner.”

Franco smirked, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Good thing I’m great at improvising, then. How about this: I’ll make it up to you with pizza—takeout, of course. No burnt onions, I promise.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re really going for the easy option, huh?”

“Hey,” he said, leaning back to look at me, his grin widening. “Sometimes the best plan is knowing when to call it quits.” He pulled out his phone, already scrolling through the takeout options. “So, what’ll it be? Pizza? Sushi? Anything you want, I’ve got you covered.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I rested my head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. “Pizza sounds perfect.”

He laughed, wrapping his arm around me and kissing the top of my head. “Deal. But I’ll still win you over with my cooking skills one day. You’ll see.”

“Mm, we’ll see about that,” I teased, grinning as I pulled him in for another kiss—this one deeper, slower. His hand slid up my back, pulling me closer until there was no space between us, the warmth of his touch sending a flutter through my chest.

When we finally pulled apart, I smiled up at him, pretending to be unimpressed. “Okay, so maybe you’re better at this than cooking.”

Franco smirked, his confidence back in full force. “See? I told you I’m quite talented at some things.”

We settled onto the couch, Franco’s arm wrapped around me as he ordered the food. I snuggled into him, enjoying the warmth of his body against mine.

“You know,” I said after a moment, glancing up at him, “I think I’m kind of glad you burned the onions.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Glad? Really?”

I grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. Because honestly? I much prefer cuddling up with you here on the couch.”

Franco laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he kissed the top of my head. “Well, in that case, I might have to burn dinner more often.”

[serendipitylily]

Screwin’ Around

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Summary:: Daryl finally gets tired of your teasing (inspired by my favorite season 3 carol/daryl moment)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, p in v, no use of y/n, not proofread

word count: 2.1k

The group had been running all of the harsh winter after a herd of walkers had come and destroyed the Greene’s family farm in a fiery horror. Weeks of running and hiding, trying their best to survive. Everyone was exhausted and scared, running on fumes. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping them going. Everyone except for Daryl Dixon. He seemed to be in his element out here, as if he was born to be surviving like this. 

Daryl usually scouted ahead on his motorcycle, checking for any trouble they might run into. He would return to the group with food for the night, and you quickly became accustomed to the chalky taste of fire charred armadillo. 

You noticed how well Daryl seemed to thrive, and decided to stick close to him. He seemed indifferent about you, not taking the time to spare you a look while you followed him around.

The days went on as you shadowed his every move, learning about how he could survive so well. Daryl slowly became accustomed to your presence, despite how annoying he found you. He started to teach you some skills like how to track and skin animals. “If you spent as much time cleaning yourself like you do that crossbow you might smell better” You had teased him one evening. Just like every other time you said something to him, he would simply scowl and grumble. 

The two of you continued to stick together, or as Daryl would say you were “following him like a lost puppy.” That was until the group had stumbled upon their salvation, a prison. Of course, it was overrun by the undead. You all worked together to clear it, finally having a safe place for the first time in weeks. 

The group was celebrating, all gathered around a large fire pit and chatting. You decided to sleep in one of the guard offices, wanting a roof over your head. Feeling generous, you invited Daryl to join you, “Come on Dixon, even you could use a break. I’ve got an extra sleeping bag with your name on it.” Daryl looked at you with annoyance before he begrudgingly accepted. 

You creaked open the door and walked into the small guard room. The place hadn’t been touched in months and it was a shocking difference from the places you had slept before. You laid out the tattered bedrolls on the ground, making sure to leave ample space between the two. 

Daryl threw his bag and crossbow down in the corner of the room, you watched how his muscles flexed as he did so. You settled down into your sleeping bag, and kicked your muddy boots off to the side. 

The room was cloaked in darkness, the only light a faint flickering in through the window from the distant campfire. The silence was heavy, except the soft rustle of your movement as you settled in. 

Your body had given in to the exhaustion as your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing slowed. It didn’t last long however, you found yourself struggling to stay asleep. 

It was the middle of the night by now, frustrated from your inability to fall asleep you sit up with your back against the cold wall. Your gaze turns to the side as you hear Daryl stirring. The fire outside was burning low now, and you could just barely make out his silhouette as he sat up as well. 

“Can’t sleep?” You questioned, your voice low and soft. He nods and grunts, his eyes glancing over at you. “Me either. It’s too quiet” you admitted to him. “Feels too… normal.” 

“Normal” Daryl scoffed at the word. “Ain’t nothin’ normal ‘bout the world anymore.” You nodded in agreement, nothing could ever truly make you feel normal or safe again. 

As the two of you sat in silence, you couldn’t help but study the man you had grown close to over the past weeks. He could feel your eyes burning into his skin as you stared at the imprint of his muscles under his sleeve. 

“Pretty romantic don’t you think?” You said to him, leaning forward slightly. “Wanna screw around?” A small smirk on your lips as you teased him. You knew that he would probably just brush you off or tell you to shut up. 

To your shock, he answered; “Oh yeah?” His voice was low and husky. You could feel your face heat up at his remark, not prepared for him to actually reply. 

“Uh well-“ you tried to respond, but your brain had stopped functioning. Daryl moved over to where you sat and leaned in close to you. His eyes locked onto yours, his presence becoming overwhelming. 

His lips moved down next to your face, “What, lost your nerve girl?” He murmured into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Your lips parted as you attempted to say something, anything. The only sound that managed to leave your lips was a small whimper. 

“I seen the way you been lookin’ at me,” Daryl moved his large and calloused hand to cradle the side of your neck while his thumb stroked your cheek. You closed your eyes tightly, wondering if this was really happening. 

His voice was a low grumble, “You ain’t gotta say nothin’” you could feel your heart pounding as he spoke. “No point in pretendin’ anymore.” You swallowed hard, your throat dry. The way he was looking down on you made you shrink under his gaze. His hand tightened slightly on your neck, gently bringing you back to the reality of his touch against your skin. “You sure you want this?” He whispered against your skin. 

“Yes,” you said back, you could feel your face growing red with anticipation. Daryl pulled back, a small smirk on his lips as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He tugged it up and over your head in a swift movement. He paused for a moment as his eyes moved to study your exposed skin with a hunger that made you shiver. 

Daryl moved down quickly, capturing your lips with his. Your eyes fluttered shut and both of your bodies pressed together, you slung your arms around his neck to pull him in. You could hear ringing in your ears as his tongue slipped against your bottom lip, you parted them slightly to allow him access. His large hands roamed your body, stroking and grabbing at your flesh. You inhaled his scent, the mix of musk, leather and smoke mingling in your nostrils. 

His mouth moved down to your jawline, peppering hot kisses against your skin. You groaned loudly in response, your body arching and begging for more. Daryl’s hands moved lower to the hem of your jeans, sending electricity through your body. 

He pushed your back flush against the cold wall, the contrast between the chill and the heat of your bodies together heightened your senses. You felt his lips move down your throat, the stubble of his beard scratching against your skin as his mouth went to your navel. Daryl’s fingers moved to the button’s on your jeans and quickly undid them, promptly tugging your jeans off. 

The cold air hit your legs as Daryl tossed your jeans aside. He ran his hands up your thighs, his calloused and rough hands gliding over your skin. Your breaths were soft and ragged, you could see a hunger in Daryl’s eyes that made your core ache. 

His lips met yours again, kissing you rough and urgently. His large hands found your waist and pressed your harder against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. Once again his lips traveled down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin while leaving marks you knew would last for days. 

“You still with me girl?” Daryl pulled back slightly, whispering into your skin. All you could manage was a nod, too overwhelmed to make a coherent sentence. He smirked at you, his hand snaking down to your cotton panties, teasing the edge of them with his fingers. He slipped his hand underneath the fabric, his finger’s finding your slick heat. You let out a guttural moan and felt your body tense as he explored your folds. “So wet for me” he said, a smirk on his lips. 

All you could do was nod frantically as he found your bundle of nerves. He set an excruciatingly slow pace, stroking and teasing you. Your hips bucked against his touch, begging for more. Daryl pressed two fingers firmly against your bud and began to circle it rhythmically, occasionally dipping back into your folds. You threw your head back and stabled yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

Daryl suddenly withdrew his hand, making your whimper in frustration. Before you could say anything, he hooked his fingers around the side of your panties and pulled them off in one fluid motion. “Ain’t done with you yet.” He growled. 

He pushed himself between your legs, you could feel his hard bulge through the rough material of his jeans as he grinded against your sensitive heat. Your hands moved to the button’s of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin on yours. He helped you and shrugged the fabric off of him, exposing his hard muscles underneath. Your fingers traced his chest, feeling how his body tensed under your touch. 

Daryl undid his belt, looking down at you as it hit the floor with a clang. He pushed his jeans down, exposing his throbbing cock. You moaned as you saw his hand move to stroke the girthy length, the tip glistened with pre-cum. He moved to position himself between your legs and rubbed the tip along your wet folds with a groan. 

“This what you want?” He questioned, his eyes scanning yours. You nodded again, your body tensing with anticipation. 

“Use your words girl” Daryl commanded you, his voice hard. 

“Yes please” you whimpered, your voice heavy with need. That was all he needed before filling you up with a slow thrust of his hips.You could feel his body tensing with the effort it was taking him not to start fucking you wildly.

“Fuck” He hissed as he completely sheathed himself inside you. He began to move, rocking his hips back and forth. Your arms reached out to his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh, his cock stretching and filling you. Daryl’s hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he thrust into you. He starts slowly, allowing your walls to mold around the shape and size of his cock. 

His dark hair falls over his face as he towers over you, pinning your body with his muscular one. “Daryl-” you whimpered, barely able to form more than one word as he continued to thrust into you.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice a low growl in your ear.

“Daryl,” you gasped out, your voice breaking as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. He rewarded you quickly by driving himself even deeper into you. His cock easily slid in and out of your slick, leaving you gripping his shoulders for support, your nails biting into his skin.

Every thrust made your body shudder, the knot in your stomach tightening with each roll of his hips. "That's it," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he kept his relentless pace. "Just like that." He groaned your name as your hips bucked up to meet his movements, loving the friction between your bodies. 

"Daryl-" You whimpered once again, feeling the pleasure building up within you. He cursed, pounding into you with a newfound intensity. His rough, calloused hands rubbed against you as he fucked you up against the wall.

"Soon," Daryl warned you as he leaned in to nip at your neck. You could feel your release building, your core tightening painfully. 

You let out a deep moan, your body shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm waved over you. Your walls clenched and throbbed around his hard cock. Seeing you unravel underneath him sent a shock through him, his hips snapping hard against your skin. His cock twitched inside you as he reached his finish. Your hips bucked against his, his body shuddering as he came deep inside you. His hot seed spilled deep inside you. His body was trembling against yours, every muscle flexing as he came down from his orgasm. 

Daryl pulled out of you, his seed dripping from your folds onto the floor as he collapsed beside you, breathing heavily. You closed your eyes tightly, your breathing ragged as you tried to catch your breath. Neither of you spoke for a moment, both of your bodies relaxing from the intense coupling. 

Daryl moved to lay next to you, his calloused hand found yours, intertwining your fingers together with surprising gentleness. "Rest," he ordered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through your chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut, falling into a peaceful sleep with Daryl next to you.

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to meet your creature, tag your friends to spread their influence, and look under the cut to see what meeting your creature is like!

The dragon: You see him first, like a shadow moving faster than your eye was meant to see, something golden and radiant flying above you. Though it takes hours you slowly track him down, across streets and highways, and into the darkest of the woods. Then you finally see his radiant body, golden scales covering his entire form, with heads like massive snakes, with eyes like sapphires. Massive wings like a falcon's spread as you see him resting alone and he takes notice of you. You know that he could destroy you so very easily if he wanted to, but he doesn't, he just looks at you. And you reach your hands out to touch his head, and he lets you as he bows down. You can feel something change within you, there is fire in your veins, and it doesn't seem to burn at all.

The dark queen: You see them, sitting in the same cafe as you, admiring the city street as they drink from a cop of an unknown liquid. Their human form is tall, yet almost starved looking, beautiful in the way that the night sky if beautiful. They come up to you, and ask why you're hear, ask about the state of humanity, ask if you like the world the way it was, ask what you would change if you only had the power to. They seem so alien, yet they smile. After a few moments they hand you a small cup of their blood for you to drink, and for some reason you know how serious such a thing is, yet how intimate and almost wholesome it now seems. You take a sip, and feel your humanity fade away, feel that there's no going back. You can see for a moment their true form, their mouth filled with fangs and opened wide, and their eyes black and crying blood, yet it doesn't scare you at all.

The Faerie: You wander, past where you should have wandered, past where humans, where mortals, are meant to be. You see the trees around you have creepily human faces upon their trunks. And then you hear xir voice echoing in the night, laughing, knowing that it's too late for you, that you are at xir mercy. Then you see xem, changing form, first a man in regency era dress shining in the moonlight, then a cloaked ghost with endless rows of teeth, then a beast with the combined parts of countless animals. But xe notices something about you, something different, something that lacks the arrogance many other humans have. Xe shows you xir true form, a massive creature similar to a mantis or a dragonfly, with a shining forest green exoskeleton and wings like stain glass. Xe knows that there's no permitting you to be human after coming close to xem, but you are quite interesting, and there are some very interesting things xe can turn you into.

Bodyless entity: You've seen them, on the sidewalk, on the train, standing outside of your apartment. They're almost normal, almost, but they all share the same quirks, all share the same manner of speaking, young or old, of any sex, of any race, they all have the trains of one mind, one person. And they're beginning to notice you back. Eventually they confront you, explaining themselves. You think that they might try to consume you too, but they explain that beings like them have to keep their number of bodies relatively small for their own safety, if they consumed too many humans the rest of humanity would destroy them. And they talk to you and tell you of the place in the shadows their mind came from, the worlds beyond physical space, both of darkness and of enlightenment. And they look at you, as if you remind them of someone long ago. They give you a card if you wish to contact them again and remind you that they can touch your mind in ways beyond mere possession.

Mushroom network: You've been tracking it for days. It's bigger, and then bigger, and then bigger than you ever expected. It covers the ground below you, sleeping yet awake, unknowing yet knowing. It emerges in its living temples, popping up above the ground. Eventually come to its place, a place where the trees are made grey by its consumption, where the animals lay as stoney dead corpses, and red tendrils and white mushrooms cover the earth. You can feel it reaching up to you, weather you want it to or not, and experimenting on you, seeing exactly how your genome tastes. And you can feel its tendrils penetrating your skin, and the uncanny euphoria that comes with it, as you become part of a much larger network.

Alien: You walk into their temple, when the night is dark, and the white pillars around you seem almost otherworldly in the artificial light, the space quiet and empty unlike the city around it. And you see them, silvery, almost angelic, their form entirely inhuman yet unquestionably physical. You bow to them, and they look at you, mournful perhaps. You know what they are, know what they truly are. And you think they know that you know. They talk to you, softly, gently, as if to hide the threat that they pose to you. They tell you how they ended up here, their banishment, how they fell from the stars, from the planet and plane that they originally came from. They wanted to do good in this world, but the wished to rule just as much. They don't seem like they're truly a monster, and they seem to respect that you've been able to get this close to them. And they give you a choice, you can discard your humanity, become like them, let them strip away your flesh and become machine. Or you can die. They have no qualms about removing a threat to their power. You know what choice you'll make.

Angel: First you hear them, in a lonely subway satiation, where only you and them stand. They sing, an old song, in a long-forgotten tongue, a mourning song, quiet and weeping. When you get a good look at them, they look forlorn, their body doll like, delicate and jointed, with the slightest hints at cracks in their skin, their golden eyes the only part of that pretty face that's able to move, their massive wings the only part of their body that looks alive at all. Most people would be scared but you come closer, you put out a hand to them, and pet their hair, and tell them it's ok. They reach out to hug you and you let them, their body is cold, but you help make them warm. As you hold them their song grows kinder yet kinder, and you can feel some power from within them begin to enter your body.

Eldrich horror: You can feel it sometimes. In your dreams. Never in flesh do you see it, but you see it. Someone weeping below the sea, someone yearning. They're waiting for you. They want to be free. Want to be free as every creature wants to be free. They're in pain. But you talk to them. It's all you can do. They take on many different forms, sometimes humanoid, sometimes alien, sometimes metaphorical. They've seen your life too, your pain, your sorrows. They know that you can't free them, but perhaps they can do something to help you, perhaps turn you into something that can have the freedom deprived from you.

Demon: You see her sometimes, walking through the most crowded parts of the city you live in. She wears all black, all over her body, a hood over her head, a gas mask over her face, leather and cloth and rubber covering her. You never see her skin, if she has skin for you to see. She looks like she could kill you. She looks like she doesn't want to. And one day, you wave to her, and shyly she disappears. The next day she appears to you again, but this time standing still. You're surprised to see despite her ghostly nature she's shorter than you. She tells you in a mechanical voice that she's supposed to hurt people, supposed to find people to kill for her masters. She was built as a weapon, built as a victimizer for humanity. She doesn't want to hurt, but she doesn't have a choice. You try to calm her down, to talk to her for a while about other things. When she's ready to leave you mention she can stay with you if she ever needs to. The next night you find her in your bed.

Guardian: It writhes above you, a massive creature, similar to a scorpion combined with a centipede. Its face is strangely human though. It tells you that you can stay in the complex as long as you want, but if you try to steal anything it will have to punish you. You stay, you don't try to steal anything, you just read books. Books upon books in its endless halls, an infinite maze of knowledge. Eventually it comes to you, it tells you you've been there longer than any human has been in a long time. It asks if you're ok. You tell it that you don't really want to go back to the place that you came from right now. It asks you if you'd like to join it, even just for a little while, even if you can still go back to earth if you need to. You nod your head as the creature quietly looks at you, neither of you fully being able to read the others' emotion.

Spirit of lust: You see them standing there, wild eyed and half human, not caring if they're too obviously magical for your world. They're both human and animal, both male and female, both angel and devil. They just are. Everyone else admires them, their beautiful muscular form, perfectly sculpted, with griffon's wings and stag's antlers, and cat's eyes and a dragon's tail. But you step forward, talk to them, let them touch you, let their changing from wrap around you as they raise you high above the dance for. They kiss your head, and slowly that kiss becomes a scar, and that scar a melody. When you touch them back you realize you're not of this world anymore, you're something transcendent, something like what they are.

The emptiness: You've been walking through this place for so long. It's just a white void. You know that you can leave but you don't. White, nothingness, it's all you see for so long. Why do you want to be here? What are you trying to find here? You don't care anymore. You lie down, and the whiteness consumes you, and you become part of it, and you feel what it is to be with the void...

[resu-w-ana]

Merlin noticed it soon after the magic ban was lifted.

Every time someone used magic around Arthur, the king flinched.

Really, Merlin wasn't expecting Arthur to embrace all magic users with love and trust. He really shouldn't do something stupid like that.

He wasn't sure if Arthur knew about his own reaction or not. It hurt nonetheless.

Constant paranoia and perspective to be burned alive took the best of his desire to show people his magical talents. But the freedom was intoxicating, and whatever Arthur was afraid of magic or not, he would never took it's freedom again.

He had enough work as newly appointed Court Sorcerer to not let his magic idle. The knight and Gwen were here to enjoy pretty tricks too.

So Merlin reduced his magic around the king to doing only necessary things.

Making Arthur comfortable were more important than Merlin's desire to enjoy the beauty of magic with his king.

But the problem accrued from where he least expected.

«Why won't you use magic?»

«I- Ehm, It's possible to do without magic just as easy.»

«I saw you moving dinner plate because you were to lazy to stretch yesterday.»

«I thought I was alone! How do you even know that? Were you spying on me?»

«Oh, come on, Merlin. As if you are that interesting. Doors were open, I was just passing by.»

Even if doors were open, Arthur couldn't accidentally catch him, considering the fact, that there was only one way to Merlin's tower.

Arthur's weird explanation aside, the crisis was averted.

Or so Merlin thought. Because Arthur hadn't stopped.

Every time Merlin did something remotely hard by his hand, Arthur asked the same question: «why won't you use magic?»

Now Merlin was the one running out of weird explanations.

He had no desire to explain his reasoning to Arthur, nor asking Arthur for something he clearly wasn't comfortable with.

Merlin even paid attention to king behaviour around magic more precisely, in case it had changed. But no, the flinching was still there.

Contradicting his own reaction, Arthur cornered him with more determination them ever before.

«So tell me, why knights have no idea about yours so called "proper use of magic".»

«Well... They do know very little about proper use of anything. Especially Gwaine.»

«Yeah, Gwaine, who's apple your turned from green to red because he wished for another variety.»

«I-, Merlin started, as Arthur continued:

«Or should I mention fire figures you do for Leon constantly? The story about Lance's and Gwen's dinner table? Gaius' flying potions?"

Merlin felt guilt creeping onto him.

«Do I need to continue? Because I'm cer–»

«No! No! I got your point!»

«So?»

«So...»

«Explain yourself.»

When Merlin still hesitated, Arthur decided to use lethal weapon: «you promised no more secrets.»

Merlin deflated. «It's not a secret.»

«Then tell me.»

«I've noticed you've tensed whatever magic was around. Decided to spare you the trouble.»

«Oh.»

Suddenly, Arthur wasn't angry anymore. He looked sad and... Guilty?

«It's okay» and «I'm sorry» they said at the same time, than stared at each other.

«You have nothing to be sorry for!» Merlin argued.

«It's not nothing and it's not okay!» Arthur replied.

«That's why I didn't want to tell you! Now you feel like you're doing something wrong or not enough or whatever!»

«Well, that's because I do!»

«No, you're not!»

Arthur sighed. «Look, Merlin... You're not wrong, magic does make me nervous. For all my life, every time someone used it, it was with intention to hurt me.»

He stopped, thinking about his next words. «You are an exception. Yours feel safe.»

«Safe?»

«I don't know how to describe it. It feels warm and... safe. I like it. And I like watching you do magic, too.»

«Oh.»

«Yeah.»

«I'm sorry.»

Arthur smiled. «You can repent your crimes by stopping hiding your magic from me,» he said in playfully serious tone.

Merlin smirked. «Of corse, sire. What would you like to watch now?»