#very gentle. very tender 💕

[halfaasleep]

from Songs | half•alive

[screampied]

if requests are open, can we see nanami x breeding kink? i know he would be the perfect daddy 💕

❤︎ ໋𓈒 husband nanami finding out he has a breeding kink.

warnings. fem! reader, mating press, breeding kink, praise, soft dom nanami, mdni.

breeding.

he wouldn’t even know he had such a kink until afterwards, finishing inside of you for about the third time with hot puffs of air running from his lips.

his eyes, dark brown pools that intently stared into yours, he’s in utter love with you and only you. your current position was supine—your legs would be perfectly sprawled and spread for him. mating press, such a deep and thorough angle. so deep to where you were practically seeing stars.

“… you drive me crazy, you know that?” he’d huff out lowly between rough breaths. you stare at him with glossy eyes, a hand softly clinging onto his wrist. he was always so gentle, deep yet precise strokes to make you feel every inch. such eyebrows of his curl up and furrow as he intakes a single sharp breath, the feeling of such thick ropes spewing inside your walls makes him groan. “always s—so good at milking me.”

sloppy hips thwack and drill into you, and that’s when he leans right up close to you—you’re met with lust filled fawn eyes and a needy smile.

“ah. eyes up here, wanna see that pretty face,” and his tempo was so unhinged. you glance up at him and he mutters off a soft, “hi my love,” and you could have just melted right there. nanami lightly presses a hand against your tummy, a thumb swiftly tracing near the exact spot where he was reaching you inside. so full, you moan before he leans in to kiss you, yet instead, he conceals his own whine into the crook of your neck. “this—tummy would look so pretty if it was nice ‘n round for me like last time.”

the very corners of your lips tugs, it outlines into a sweet pout before you whimper, “make me fuller then, kento,” you’d heave out. he was jackhammering such merciless yet tenderly passionate thrusts into your cunt, effortlessly smacking back against you. “wanna f-feel fuller.”

you had the white bed sheets bawl into the palms of your hands. everything felt so warm, his hips just continued to rotate and jerk and jerk and jerk. it was hypnotic, he knew just where to prod the head of his cock right against you.

you’re nearly drooling. just imagining such lengthy ropes of his pump you full. you wanted it, no—you needed it. desperately, you were practically being fucked into the mattress—the mattress in question creaked and sang in such harmony it was hard not to ignore its sounds.

the entire feeling, you were clamping down on him so tight that his jaw tenses. a simple sight like that was oh so sexy in the slightest, nanami lightly bites down on his lip. a cute flushed expression slowly painting over his face once he catches you still staring. he was chasing his own breath, giving you slow yet perfect full vivacious thrusts.

“k-kento,” you’d moan with a slight gasp, he brings a hand to slide your arms all the way up. it’s almost teasing, the way he makes you hold your hands high, a soft simper rests against his lips the entire time. your legs quaver, feeling how easy it was for him to stretch you out. his touch, it was blisteringly hot, blisteringly tender.

he made sure to delicately trace his fingers all over your skin. he wouldn’t dare miss a spot. not with a body as perfect as yours. that’s what he saw in his eyes anyway. “so—so goooood, don’t s-stop baby.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he huffs out, and his voice was so raspy and rich. a subtle coarse of baritone hidden underneath his deep tone. you peer up at him and he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “if my princess wants to feel more full, i’ll do just that. give her anything she wants.”

you whimper, feeling him hit such a sensitive angle, he hit it just right too.

the crown of his dick made its way through every crevice of your walls. he reached in spots that you didn’t think he’d reach — not at all, you failed to hide your moans by this point and he thought you sounded so cute. knowing he was the one to make you sound like this, feel this way, it made him happy. that’s all he wanted, your pleasure was his pleasure.

every. single. spot.

whilst your toes curled, you feel your back start to seemingly arch on its own before even more sweetened whimpers fly past your sheeny lips. “give m-me,” you started to speak. he raises a brow marginally, brushing a thumb against your lower lip before feeling himself about to bottom out. at that point, he was fully inside, you felt it and you only mewled out a candied, “give me another baby kento. please.”

“oh,” he softly murmurs, and his tongue playfully licks against your neck—a sweet lap, he savored your taste before teasingly starting to nibble.

“gonna give you triplets this time,” and he brings a hand down your chest, then towards your stomach, real slow. you moan once he gingerly lifts up your leg before giving your ankle a kiss. “this what you want, sweetheart? more of this? more of … me?”

“yes,” you pout, feeling your cunt just swallowing his hefty shack, his base smacks back and forth against you to where you’re almost giddy. you felt like you were on cloud nine, nanami’s strokes, his thrusts hell, his enticing rhythm had you nearly speechless. you let off a soft meek once the shivering cold metal of his watch band slithers against your skin.

the more he touched you, the more close you became to making yet another mess on him. of course, like the good husband he was, nanami would happily clean you up.

“y-yes, kento,” you repeat in a honeyed voice, by this point, your legs were well wrapped around his waist. fully having him in a secure lock, not ever thinking to let go, you couldn’t nor did you want to. he drove into your gummy walls so good that you let off the sugared most melodic moans right up against his earlobe. “want…..another baby.”

“i know you do,” he hushes, bringing a chaste kiss towards your collarbone. you swallow a thick imaginary lump that grew into your throat. only tiny squeaks would come out — you moaned, tightening your legs hold around him before you started to picture such fanciful things.

fanciful things like nanami pouring yet another a thick load into you, and as you’re deep in thought he’s doing just that. a gasp gets caught in his lips before he leans up close to you. his broad chest presses up against you before he groans. out of all the notorious enemies he’s had to fight, he was simply no match for your pussy. its grip had him being the one with his eyes nearly rolling back.

“f-fuck,” and you felt yourself throb, making direct eye contact with him. it was rare, yet hearing nanami swear was so infrequent.

it was the way he swore, spewing out such filthy words underneath his breath. long ruffled strands of messy hair nearly occluding his view of vision. he reaches to move some of his hair away from his face, just so he could get a good glimpse of you—a good glimpse of his wife.

“look at me,” he says in a soft tone, he was buried so deep within you, you saw how his muscles tensed and his jaw tightened. he made his hips come to a halt completely before he leans in to gift you with another kiss. “mwah,” he smooches near your jawline, “mwah,” near your chin, and a final kiss near your lips.

your heart, it fluttered.

nanami felt warm all over his body, as well as the sheer warmth that coated him from being inside you. “i—i love you,” you’d whine, feeling such massive velvet ropes of cum going all inside of you. he merely lets off a purr at the way the back of your heel skims down his back. “so much.”

“i love you,” he returns it. his mouth briefly opens, and he was about to say ‘more’ but he pauses. nanami’s weight was still hovering over you before he brings a same big hand down towards your tummy. “now, we wait. you’re such a good mommy for me, sweetheart.”

[shizuturnspages]

Hi i just found your writing and I adore it! I especially like "too young to love" series even if I'm an adult lol

I don't know if you're taking requests so feel free to ignore it if you don't feel comfortable~ How would yanderes react if reader decided on her own to date them once they're of age? I imagine darling asked them to wait because they like them a lot and doesn't want their crush to be treated badly for dating a minor. Of course it's your choice to write your favourites! I hope you have a nice day!

Hi!! Thank you so much for your sweet words—I’m so glad you’re enjoying the Too Young to Love series, and no worries at all, you're totally welcome to request more even as an adult! 💕

Too Patient to Love

Synopsis: You asked them to wait. Not because you didn’t care, but because you did—and you didn’t want your feelings to be twisted, disrespected, or questioned by the world around you. Now that you’re finally of age, you make the choice for yourself. And for once, the ones who had spent so long clinging to the edge of obsession must come to terms with what it means when love is freely given—when you are the one who reaches out. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Wanderer, Zhongli x Legal Reader

Diluc – The Reluctant Guardian

Diluc had spent years keeping his distance, convinced that any affection for you was too dangerous for someone as young as you were. He saw you as a bright, shining star, too pure to be tainted by his darkness. But now that you were of age, the moment you stepped into his office, his heart skipped a beat. He was still trying to make sense of the overwhelming emotions swirling inside him.

When you told him, in your calm, confident way, that you wanted to date him now—because you were ready, because you wanted to make it known—his world shifted. His protective instincts were still there, yet now there was a deep longing in his gaze, something possessive that he had never allowed himself to feel before.

"Diluc… I like you a lot, and I want to be with you. I don’t want to wait anymore. You’re not a burden to me, and I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel this way about you." You spoke with undeniable maturity in your voice, and the way you looked at him, with such sincerity, nearly broke him.

"I've always liked you," you said, your voice steady but gentle. "But I had to ask you to wait. Because I know people would look at you in a suspicious manner if you dated a minor. But I'm ready now. I'm ready to be with you."

The words hit him like a storm—he hadn’t prepared for this, not truly. All those years spent guarding you, watching you, had left him with an overwhelming sense of possessiveness. But hearing you speak of it so calmly… it made him hesitate.

He was silent for a long time, his gaze flickering with a storm of emotions. Finally, he stepped closer, his hand trembling as he gently cupped your face. His voice was hoarse. "I've waited too long for this… but I could never… never let anyone take you from me now. Not after everything."

The words were possessive, but laced with a tenderness only you would understand. His need for you had always been there, buried deep. He would never let you go.

Kaeya – The Charming Enigma

Kaeya’s grin was always just a little too knowing, too smooth, too composed. He’d watched you grow, and had indulged in the moments of jealousy when your gaze wandered toward others. He never said anything, of course—he was too suave, too skilled in playing the game of patience. But when you finally came to him, asking for his affection in return, that very same grin took on a different meaning.

"So, you’ve finally made up your mind, hm?" His voice was playful, teasing, but the underlying tension in his shoulders betrayed just how intense the situation was for him.

"I’ve always liked you," you said softly, "but I wanted to wait... for you, for me. I don’t want anyone else. You’re the one I want to be with now."

Kaeya leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. "You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that," he whispered. "But now that you’ve made the decision, well… I suppose there’s no turning back, is there?"

His eyes darkened, that familiar, mischievous spark taking on a new intensity. "You’re mine now. No one else can have you. And trust me," he smirked, "there’s no way you’ll regret it."

His love, possessive as it was, always carried an air of danger. But now, with your consent, it was all-consuming.

Xiao – The Reluctant Protector

Xiao had always been distant, protective in his own silent way. He rarely let anyone get too close, and when you were younger, he kept his distance to avoid giving in to the desire to keep you by his side forever. He had seen countless people come and go, and the thought of you leaving him—being taken from him—had haunted him, especially in your younger years.

His existence was bound by duty, by the need to protect, to sacrifice for the greater good. He’d always kept his distance, always made sure to avoid the intimacy he craved. But when you told him, with such determination, that you were of age and ready to make this bond with him, it sent a shock through him. His stoic, emotionless mask cracked for just a moment.

"Xiao… I’ve waited, I really have. But I’m ready. I want to be with you now, and I want you to see me as your equal. I want to share my life with you." Your voice was steady, but your eyes held a depth of emotion that he couldn’t ignore.

His piercing gaze softened for a fraction of a second, but the stillness in his eyes was enough to tell you just how much he was struggling with the idea. “You shouldn’t want me. You don’t understand what it means to be with someone like me.”

You shook your head. “I’ve always understood. I’m not afraid. I want you.”

Xiao’s breath caught in his throat. His heart, which he had buried so deeply under years of isolation, ached with the weight of your words. “I will not be able to protect you from the pain of being with me. I will not be able to keep you from the darkness that follows me.”

You stepped closer, touching his cheek softly. “I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”

And that was all it took. Xiao pulled you into him with a force that could have knocked the wind out of you. His lips found yours in a desperate kiss, as if to remind you that he would never let go again.

The world would never take you from him. Not even the karma that follows him.

Wanderer – The Lost Soul

The Wanderer had always been a bit unpredictable, to say the least. With his complicated history, it was impossible to know what he truly wanted—especially when it came to you. But after so much time together, after so many small moments shared in silence, the longing that had been growing inside him could no longer be ignored.

When you came to him, your words soft but firm, telling him you were of age and wanted to finally be with him, his eyes widened. He stood still for a moment, as if frozen by the weight of your declaration.

“I know you’ve waited. I’ve waited too. I’m ready now,” you said, voice steady, but your eyes gave away the emotions you’d been hiding for years. “I want to be with you. Not as a child. But as an equal.”

Wanderer’s eyes glinted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his lips curled into a smile—one that was too dark, too twisted for comfort. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, do you?”

You held your ground. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”

His laugh was cold, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “You’ve been foolish to wait for me, to choose me. But now that you have…” His voice lowered, almost to a whisper. “I’ll make sure you never regret this.”

His love for you, once hidden beneath layers of bitterness and pain, now fully enveloped you. You had claimed him, and he would never let you go.

Zhongli – The Stoic Guardian

Zhongli had always been patient, always so composed. He treated you with such care, as if you were a delicate treasure, too precious to be harmed. Yet when you finally approached him, telling him you were ready to take that step, to finally be with him as an equal, something inside him cracked.

"Zhongli… I’ve waited. I want this. I want you," you said, your voice soft but firm.

He blinked, his usually calm expression faltering for just a moment. "My dear… are you sure?" His voice was a whisper, his gaze searching your face as if trying to discern whether this was a fleeting decision.

You nodded, your hand reaching out to touch his. "I’ve thought about this for a long time. I’m ready. I want to be with you."

Zhongli exhaled softly, his thumb gently stroking your hand. "Then… I shall be yours. I have waited for this moment, but know this," he added, his voice taking on a deeper, more possessive tone, "I will protect you, cherish you, and love you in ways you’ve never known. You are mine now, and I will never let anyone take you away."

His love was patient, but it was also unyielding, and now that you had chosen him, he would move heaven and earth to ensure that no one could ever come between you.

[limblessbody]

I need Stan, Kyle, and Kenny with a breeding kink HCS like I need them carnally bro only if you want to tho!

𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫, 𝔨𝔶𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔫𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

first request! thanks for asking 💕

smut/lemon 🖤 | MDNI | all characters aged up (18) | fem! reader | heacannons

stan marsh

when it comes to stan, he’s kinkier when he’s drunk. but when he’s not under the influence and wants genuine sex, he’s less kinky.

but something that stays with him either way is the lust to cum inside of his s/o, who in this case, is female.

stan likes the risk of it. the risk that you might wind up pregnant. the idea that you’d be carrying HIS baby for nine months in your stomach.

he probably suggests it while dirty talking you in bed as well.

‘fuck.. what you gonna do if i put a baby in your belly, huh?’

‘you’d look good with a swollen stomach.. you want me to give you my babies?’

‘don’t worry. none of that cum will be leaving your pussy. i’ll make sure of it.’

he gets wilder when he’s drunk, and probably cums a lot faster too.

stan has a high stamina, so he can go on for quite a while without stopping, making sure he cums in you atleast 3 to even 4 times.

obviously, he’ll only risk it if you want to risk it, but still.

he’s the kind of guy to stay in you, thrust a bit more to ensure it all went in, pull out and then use his fingers to push the leaking fluid back inside as well.

he wouldn’t even want to taste it. just push it aaaaall back in.

definitely calls you a cumslut when he feels like being mean.

kyle brovfloski

kyle is very different. he wouldn’t just get into sex without telling you about his kink beforehand, while someone like stan would ask you before he’s about to cum.

kyle is more rational. he has condoms in case you say no, but still hopes for a yes.

it’s a very well known fact that kyle is jewish, and jewish families tend to be very large due to them being taught and raised to believe that they need to populate the earth with more jewish people.

even if you aren’t jewish yourself, he still has that mindset where sex technically is for reproduction…

so, although he’s a lot more gentle than stan, he gets just as worked up.

kyle isn’t a mean person in bed, however. he’ll more so praise you for being so perfect and making him want to cum inside.

‘fuck… a-aah— i.. i want to cum s-so fucking deep inside you, Y/N..’

‘you.. y-you’re sure, right? t-that you’re okay with this?’

‘oh.. oh my—… spread your legs wider.. i want you to show me you’re okay with this.’

he’s a whimpering boy ☺️

he honestly starts to fuck like an animal when he’s close, so you’ll know when he’s about to cum.

unlike stan, he won’t push the sticky fluid back inside of you. kyle enjoys watching it leak out of your tender hole after he just pounded it.

probably because kyle is a lot smarter than stan and happens to know that pushing it back in wouldn’t do anything to help impregnate you anyways…

kyle definitely imagines your pregnant body while you fuck. how you’d have to explain it to your parents…

he’s quite dirty in his mind.

kenny mccormick

kenny is likely the dirtiest of them all.

he doesn’t own any condoms so if you want to fuck him he’s going to rawdog it anyways.

it’s not really a question even— if you agree to fuck him, you also agree to the 50/50 chance of being pregnant afterwards.

he enjoys holding you down tightly (probably by your neck) while pounding into you.

he also probably mumbles in your ear about it the whole time as well.

‘gonna be a good cumwhore and take all of it for me?’

‘you know you want it.. you’re a dirty little minx aren’t you? you want to wind up pregnant from me..’

‘shit— stay still. or we’ll have another round and i’ll increase your fucking risk.’

he probably presses down on your rib cage if he’s not holding you by your neck to choke you.

hes the kind of guy to definitely be into overstimulation, so get ready for an all nighter.

he’s also probably into dacryphillia (the fetish for crying).

he likes when you cry from overstimulation. sometimes, he’ll have you on his lap, bouncing on him as he guides you and you cry, having had enough, but he’ll make you make him cum inside you again.

‘you can take it.. just keep moving.’

if your body gives up, he’ll turn you around on his lap and hold up your legs (full nelson position) and just fuck you like that until his balls are basically milked from you.

[taegularities]

from sparks to fire to ashes to a breeze… 👑

candles & flames: breeze 🤍

dropping Sunday, May 4th, around 6-7pm EST. editing, so if it takes longer, i'll postpone by a day or two!

it's going to be around 25k long, but y'all know me – might end up with more, but let's see :D we're 2 scenes in (from around 8) and already at 5k-ish. around 20k long!!! take your time reading it, but please don't forget to give it lots of love once you're done. since we're saying goodbye to them, it'd mean the world <3

this has been on the schedule for so long!! thank you for missing and loving them!! once it drops, and even before then, please hype it up a lot – life has been insane lately and there is a ton to do; so i'd love and need to know that the effort i'm putting into c&f is really worth it and that you guys are around.

if i feel like you aren't, i'll probably shift my focus off again and might have to keep the story stored in my brain bc it's a lot of work, y'all already know :') but i am hopeful you'll come through. 🥺 and i hope the wait's worth it, as always.

this is the last (bonus) chapter <3 see you then 🤍

teaser under the cut! 💕 let's talk about it :]

–

Jungkook plumps down on the carpet, knees pulled in and arms around them. He tilts his head with a tender smile, chest rising before he asks, “Did you have time to think about it? Going home?”

You remember a time not too long ago when you’d sit here like this, too; despite the couch in the back, you’d play with the twins and Hana right here, on this warm carpet, and Jungkook would join after work. You’d place your head on his shoulder and whisper-converse with him.

Sometimes, you’d fall asleep and wake up in his arms, in your bed, with the children secured in theirs. You never needed proof for how gentle Jungkook handles you — but if he could carry you into your room like a feather without disturbing a moment of your sleep, you were at utter peace, right?

He did that to you. He still does; his presence calms you, though it stirs your heart, too.

You want to put your head on his chest again, slumber there. Instead, you nod and say, “I did, yes.”

“And?”

“Hana wants to go.”

His eyes move to the side, down to the floor, then back to you as he tries again, “And what about you?”

You shrug a little. “Can I really refuse my daughter’s wish?”

He moves closer; a very small distance, but noticeable to you. His eyes are intense as he emphasises, “What’s your wish, love?”

Yours? You have a lot of wishes.

Whispered upon falling stars and eyelashes. You can’t utter most of them now, though, can you? But maybe you should. Maybe, rather than the universe, it could be him granting you what you desire.

He can read your thoughts anyway. Because he encourages, “You can share your mind with me. I’m your husband, baby.”

You nod; let something in you break and break until your fingers move, up to one of his knees. He immediately puts a palm onto your digits, holds onto you as you say, “You are.”

“Only yours.”

You inhale deeply. The tears are less these days, but never truly gone. You blink before they can reemerge, quickly adding, “I will go if you want to go. Your wish is my wish.”

“It is?”

“Of course. I am yours, too.”

A rosy colour dusts his cheeks, as if he’s falling in love anew. But his gaze betrays him; still sad when he wonders, “Then… Can I say something very kitschy?”

You feel yourself melt just a little. A hint of a smile graces your face. “Always.”

“My wish is… that I want you back.” He drops his head the moment your heart sinks, too. Even from here, you see the damp waterline. “I want you to be mine the way you were. I wish to give you the same joy I used to. I just…” His voice shakes. “I need my girl back so badly.”

And then, another whisper, stuck in a loop, “I miss you.”

You nod again, tell him, “I know.” Because if you said anything more, you’d cry. You know you would.

He looks up at you, the rims of his eyes red, big eyes trapping the tears in. He sniffles; closes his lids, as if preparing for something. And then asks—

“Do you still love me?”

Do you?

Does he truly need to ask?

His presence still calms you, though it stirs your heart, too.

–

we'll be back <3

[ratatoastwrites]

Do you have any aftercare fics? I love your writing

My Spencer Reid aftercare HCs <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader (can be read as gn!afab!reader)

a/n: sorry for the long wait anon 😭 i’m really not great at writing aftercare, so these are just my hcs 🧚‍♀️ but i hope you’ll like it 💕

cw: mentioned sex, mentioned sub! and dom!Spencer (he’s a switch in my mind teehee), bruising after intimacy (hickeys, teeth marks, general bruising) but it’s all consensual, cleaning up together, Spencer is a Sweetheart Angel Darling, this is mostly just fluff <3, also I edited this in my economic politics class, so if there are any spelling mistakes or anything, i’m sorry 😭

suggestive content, 18+ MDNI

he’s clingy after sex

i’m talking cuddling, head on chest, legs tangled

there’s barely any room between you two, barely any surface of your skin that isn’t touching

only for, like, half an hour at most, though, before he makes you get up, reminding you to pee

he’s definitely the type that reminds you to pee after sex, even if you’re tired

this man won’t take any chances of you getting a UTI, or anything like that

likes to clean up together after sex

it could be taking a shower together, but baths are much preferred for him

sometimes when you’re both too tired, he’ll make do with a wet towel

but i think that he wouldn’t want you to do all the work, even if he was the more submissive one between you two

he does like getting taken care of, he likes it when you help him clean up in the shower

but if you just want to clean him up and then take care of yourself, he won’t have it

he also gets sleepy after sex pretty often

with how demanding his job is, sometimes he only has energy for one round and then a quick clean up, and then he’s out quicker than lightning

when he gets more dominant, sometimes he’ll get carried away and leave marks and bruises on your skin, in the heat of the moment

he always makes sure to take extra good care of you after that

he massages your sore legs or hips, presses featherlight kisses to the love bites, or teeth marks on your skin

his touch is tender and gentle as his fingers ghost over the bruises in the shape of his fingers on your skin

he has a certain look in his eyes after nights like that, a mixture of guilt and satisfaction –like he’s pleased that you’ve been marked and branded as his, but he doesn’t like the fact that it means you getting bruises

you always reassure him that it’s fine and that you liked it, which seems to placate him, at least for a while

sometimes, on his rare days off, he’ll take the time to properly worship your body, going multiple rounds during the day

he always makes sure that you get enough hydration and nutrition during the breaks between rounds, makes sure to check in on you every step of the way

he’s also big on pillow talk

he’ll ask about your day, and he’ll share what he can about his, mixing in fun facts and statistics when he thinks they’re relevant

this man will talk until he’s out cold –sometimes even after that, soft, unintelligible mumbles leaving his lips in his sleep

he’ll also continue clinging to you during the night, like you’re his only anchor to this mortal realm

all in all: Spencer is a very clingy lover, especially after being intimate with you. He’d also rather die than to slack off on taking care of you. He’s the biggest sweetheart ever, and you can’t believe how you ever got this lucky. <3

[cozm1xxx]

Hi!! Could you pretty please write something for the Survior!Dallas x Caretaker!reader au?? Literally any fic with Dallas being babied heals me omg

Thank you in advance 💕

⟢ ꒰ ⋮ 「 Don't let them see you like this 」 ⸝⸝

Now playing ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| Candy, Alex G

warnings ~ implications of self harm, cursing, references to events of the book, death, dally being a bit of an ass...

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ a/n ~ me too anon, tbh we kinda need less dally smut/romance and more dally angst like HELLO? He has so much potential! Anyways, I hope you like this one <33 (also this came out WAY more angsty than I intended…)

w/c ~ 1,200+

──── ° ʚ ⌞ ♰ ⌝ ɞ °  ────

Dallas Tucker Winston.

Tough. Mean. Loud. Devilish. Handsome. Mischevious. Angry. Heartless. He makes fun of little kids. He steals. He picks fights with people for fun. He breaks promises. He treats people like vermin.

And yet, here he is, clinging to a broad like she’s his sole lifeline — that “broad” being you. 

It’s a truly odd sight, the self-proclaimed “toughest greaser in Tulsa” is cuddling up to you like a child would their mother. Ironic, really.

Just two months ago, his buddies — Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis — were being tracked down by the police for killing a boy. Now, Johnny’s in the hospital and in the custody of his Aunt and Ponyboy is back at school. A very, very different place than they were just a handful of weeks ago. 

That same week, Dally was shot. Well, there’s more to it than just that. He’d just witnessed someone who was his sole reason for life, Johnny Cade himself, die right before his very eyes. Or, at least, that’s what he and Pony believed.

The thought of it still breaks you.

He’d run out of the hospital in a flash and drew a gun on a cashier at some gas station, then was gunned down by police. 

Miraculously, he lived to tell the tale. 

He brags about it to his buddies at the Dingo, but you know the truth – about who he is underneath the smug, violent exterior.

The interaction going on between you two right at this very moment proves that. 

You’re lying in your bed, Dally’s arms wrapped tightly around your body, his head resting against your chest. Your hand plays with his blonde hair, his own calloused fingers tracing shapes on the bare skin of your waist. It’s peaceful, a rarity for a man like him.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear when he lets go. You look down at him, gaze as tender as your touches. Your voice is gentle as you speak. “You alright, Dal?” He tenses at the sound of your voice, before immediately relaxing. It’s clear he’s still in pain after it all. 

“M’fine, doll…”

Despite his words, you know he isn’t okay. He hasn’t been okay since the fire. He spends every night at your place, and even when he claims he won’t, he always ends up at your doorstep, tears pooling in his blue eyes. 

God, his eyes. They always say more than his mouth ever will. The emotions and thoughts he keeps repressed. 

“I don’t believe you.” You mumble. He does this all the time. You know he isn’t fine. It shows, in the way he doesn’t eat, how often he gets drunk, the way he comes to you crying. 

But, based on his response, he isn’t having it.

“God, doll, can’tcha jus’ lay off? I — agh — ain’t a fuckin’ baby…” He groans, rolling over. He slides out of bed, wincing due to the strain on his torn body. You sit up, watching as he flicks on his lighter and pulls out a cigarette. He always gets like this when you try getting him to open up.

Cold. Stoic. Resistant. It pisses you off.

“Why won’t you just talk to me, Dallas? That’s all I want—” As much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t help raising your voice at him. He’s being an ass.

“—for you to tell me what’s going on before you go out and get yourself shot again!”

The thought makes your stomach churn. He turns to look at you, his icy blue eyes full of anger, but also a vulnerability that hides below the surface.

“Damnit, why won’t you just shove off, man?!”

“Because I fucking love you!”

Your own words catch yourself off guard. Love him? Dallas Winston, you love him? You may be scared of the idea, but you know it’s true. You both do.

“D-Don’t—.... Don’t you fuckin’ say that shit.” His voice breaks as he speaks.

“Come on, Dallas! I get that you’re scared of gettin’ too attached, but for once in your stupid life, will you be reckless with me?!” Tears well up in your eyes. 

Dallas Winston is a reckless man – he steals, fights, yells at policemen – and yet, he refuses to be that reckless with his feelings. He refuses to believe that letting himself be loved will do him any good.

He just stares at you, for a while. Frozen. Eyes wide and cold. You know it sounds crazy, but you love him – god, you love him. He means the world to you. Despite everything, you find yourself loving him. And for him, that’s the scariest part.

He tries storming off, like he normally would. 

But before he can even reach the door, he’s doubling over; from pain or something else, you can’t tell. In moments, he’s on his knees. You immediately rush over him, heart pounding in your chest. Is he okay? Did he open one of his wounds? Did he burn himself?

It isn’t until you hear him sobbing that you pause. 

A rush of shock shoots down your spine. You walk over to his side, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“Dally…?”

His arms encircle your waist faster than they ever have.

“P-Please— Please… Please don’t leave me, doll…”

He presses his face into your stomach, hands trembling as they grip your night shirt like a vice. 

Please. A word Dallas Winston doesn’t use often or lightly. It’s enough to make you wrap your arms around him, fingers carding through messy blond hair. Featherlight kisses are pressed to the top of his head, manicured nails scratching at his scalp.

His arms tighten around your waist as he sobs into your stomach. If only the rest of the world could see him like this. Not as the mean, scary greaser he pretends to be, but the lonely little boy you know he is. 

Tender words of reassurance are murmured in his ear. His sobs soon calm down, replaced with soft little sniffles. The tight grip of his hands loosens, but doesn't fall. 

You stay like that for a while.

After what feels like forever, you manage to pull away. Your soft hands cup his jaw, fingers tracing the stubble that now riddles his face. 

“I could never leave you, Dally.” You whisper. Not for the world, not for yourself, but for him. 

He stares up at you, eyes glassy with tears, 

He lets you drag him into bed. He lets you dress his wounds. He lets you put pink and sparkly bandaids over the scars on his arms and bruises on his knuckles. He lets you do it all.

Because you never looked at him like the others do — with fear or disgust or pity — only sympathy. You never made him feel weak or like he wasn’t enough.

Even now, as he’s clinging to you like a baby koala does its mother, he doesn’t feel weak. He feels safe.

───〃♰

BONUS ~

“Hey, doll… don’t tell anyone about this, alright?” “You think I’m gonna pass up the opportunity to embarrass you, Winston?” “I might’ve been shot, but I could still– AGH!” "God– Dallas! You’re gonna rip ‘em open again, jesus!”

[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly ]

[misshoneyimhome]

What's up buttercups 💕

Lucky number thirteen is here—and it’s time for our Ice King, the Golden boy, to really prove what he's made of. If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to bring Auston Matthews home to meet your mother… well, this is my (very shameless) take on that fantasy 🙈 Not saying I’ve imagined this scene for years… but also, not not saying that 😉

As always, I hope you enjoy every messy, steamy, awkward moment. Happy reading, babes—and sending you all the love ❤️

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, 18+ smut: semi-public dry-touching, oral sex (m receiving), orgasm denial/edging, slight sub/dom-act, fingering, unprotected vag sexual intercourse (no cum inside), oral sex (m receiving), cum swallowing

Word count: 6.8k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ; Chapter eight ; Chapter nine; Chapter ten; Chapter eleven ; Chapter twelve

Some who might have interest: @hockeybabe87 @tonyspep @thesecretestblogever @delayed-delusions @kurlyteuvo

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter thirteen - A king can move one space at the time…*

::

“Dearest Toronto Readers,

The game continues. Last night, the Queen did not surrender. She rose—flushed, glorious, and kissed by fire—and the King, ever unpredictable, played a move no one saw coming. But if chess has taught us anything, it’s this: each piece has a purpose. And some, when pushed to their limit, become more dangerous than ever.

So, what now?

They’ve shared the battlefield. They’ve blurred the lines. And if last night’s performance was any indication, the Ice King is no longer playing to protect the crown—he’s playing to win her.

And yet, every kingdom has its knights.

Did anyone even recognise Lorentz or Knies on the ice? Each move made by our Queen and King is being watched—studied—by the court they keep.

But at what cost?

We move one space at a time, dear readers. And sometimes, the most powerful move is the one you don’t see coming.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

—

You woke up alone.

The November rain was steady against the windows, soft and relentless, painting streaks across the glass like the sky couldn’t make up its mind about being gentle or cruel. The light was grey and muted, seeping into the room in thin, silvery layers. Almost romantic if it weren’t so dull. If your chest didn’t feel like it had been pinned in place by something, you couldn’t quite name.

Auston was gone.

The sheets were still tangled around your legs, warm from where your bodies had been. You shifted slightly, the dull ache between your thighs blooming back to life with the movement. It was the kind of soreness that lingered, clinging to your skin like memory—tender hips, stiff neck, the faintest tremble in your limbs that told the full story of how he’d handled you. The inside of your elbows bore light pressure marks—imprints of where he’d held you down. You didn’t mind.

There was no trace of sunlight—only the soft hum of rain and the distant creak of old pipes in the walls. But the scent still lingered, curling around you like a second duvet. Auston. That familiar blend of cedar, fresh air, and the heat of skin against skin. Faint traces of your perfume, too. And the salt-sweet aftermath of everything he’d done to you. With you.

Your hand reached blindly for the other side of the bed, finding nothing but cool fabric and the ghost of his weight in the mattress.

He hadn’t even asked to stay.

And you’d let him.

There had been no cuddling. No whispered promises or tangled limbs. Just his presence, steady and firm beside you until sometime in the early hours. You remembered waking once—briefly—to the sensation of his back to you, the soft sound of his breath steady and slow. He hadn’t touched you. Just existed beside you. And somehow… that had been enough.

But now? Now he was gone, and you were left with your thoughts and the echo of last night.

You reached for your phone, half-buried in the tangle of covers, your fingers fumbling over the charger cord. The screen lit up immediately, a single message waiting for you:

Auston: See you later, boss. Just tell me when and where.

You stared at it for a long moment, your lips twitching in a quiet, disbelieving smile. It was classic him—short, cocky, a little smug—but it landed like a stone in your chest. Not because it hurt. But because it felt… certain. Like a promise.

He was still in this.

Whatever this was.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, rereading it once. Twice. Then again, like the words might shift or reveal something deeper if you looked hard enough. But they didn’t change.

And yet, they grounded you.

You sank back against the pillows, head tipping to the side, breathing in the scent of him one more time. Your skin still tingled in places—especially the ones he’d marked with his mouth, his teeth, his hands.

Last night had cracked you open.

Not just physically—though that had certainly been part of it. But emotionally. Viscerally.

You hadn’t expected to want what he gave you. You didn’t think you’d enjoy being touched like that, commanded like that. But God, the way he had looked at you—like you were made to be ruined by him, the way he’d coaxed every cry and curse out of you like it was a melody he’d memorised—he made you melt.

And the worst part?

You wanted more.

You wanted him to push further. Take more. Say the things he said with that voice that went dark and low just before he lost control. You wanted to know what else he could unlock inside you.

You weren’t scared of it anymore. You were curious.

Your phone buzzed again—this time with a message from your mother—and the real world came crashing back like a wave.

Right. Tonight.

You swung your legs out of bed, feet touching the cool floor, and tried to find your centre. To stay in control. But the second your eyes caught the soft pink bruises at your inner thigh as you passed the mirror, your stomach fluttered again.

He hadn’t just fucked you. He’d changed something in you.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, tying your robe around your waist with a sharp tug. “No spiralling. Just… dinner.”

Dinner with your family.

Dinner with Auston.

The sheer absurdity of it made you want to laugh. Or hide. Or crawl back into bed and pretend you didn’t just spend the night giving Auston Matthews control of your body in ways you never thought possible.

But you didn’t do any of those things.

You headed to the shower. Let the steam clear your head or try to. You washed him off your skin but not from your thoughts.

And you tried—really, truly tried—not to overthink.

It wouldn’t be easy. Not for you. And certainly not for him.

Meeting your family never was.

You’d grown up in a house where expectations were tucked beneath the placemats and poured into the wine glasses. Where your mother loved you loudly but judged you louder. Where your siblings always knew the right thing to say, and you were still learning how to speak without apology.

So, bringing Auston into that? Even fake Auston?

It felt like standing in front of a firing squad.

You towelled off and stared into the mirror again, this time really looking. At your still-slightly-swollen lips. At the faint love bite near your collarbone. At your eyes—wide, uncertain, and yet… excited?

You sighed.

“Get it together,” you muttered, reaching for your moisturiser. “It’s just one dinner. With your fake boyfriend. Who gave you two or three orgasms last night. No big deal.”

Totally normal.

Completely fine.

You weren’t spiralling at all.

But the nervous flutter in your chest? It didn’t lie.

Something had changed. And tonight, you’d find out just how much.

_

Auston had gone home to walk Felix. He needed the fresh air—the quiet grounding of early morning rain against concrete, the leash loose in his hand, the familiar click of claws on pavement. But more than anything, he just needed to breathe.

Your apartment still clung to him. Your scent. Your skin. The sounds you made. The softness in your voice when you said his name like it meant something real.

He hadn’t meant to stay last night. He really hadn’t. But after everything—after the game, the hallway, the car park—walking away had felt impossible. So he hadn’t. He’d stayed. Watched the curve of your back rise and fall with each breath beside him, his own heart hammering beneath ribs that had never felt so breakable.

No cuddling. No tangled limbs or whispered promises. Just presence. And yet it had felt louder than anything else.

Auston adjusted his grip on the leash as Felix paused to sniff at a streetlamp, tail wagging.

He’d crossed boundaries with you. Pushed you to your limits. And he’d loved every second of it. The way you melted beneath him, the way you begged without shame, the way your body gave in and gave back like it had always belonged to him. He’d learned something about you last night. Something about himself, too.

And he wanted more.

Not just more of your body—though fuck, that haunted him—but more of you. The you who teased and challenged and met him toe to toe. The you who looked at him like he wasn’t just the Ice King, but a man worth melting for.

His phone buzzed. A message lit up from a number he sort of recognised - Brunette #4 (or maybe it was #3, he didn’t really know):

“Hope you’ll be happy with her. Jk. You’re a dick. Hate u!”

Auston snorted under his breath. Swiped it away without replying. He didn’t care. Not anymore. Not about girls who knew his schedule better than they knew his laugh. Not about pretty distractions with perfect lips and no substance.

He pulled up your last message instead.

You: Dinner’s at 6. I’ll send the address. Be on time.

He smirked. His thumb hovered briefly before he typed:

Auston: Yes boss. I’ll be there. Game face on.

_

Back at your place, your nerves were fraying at the edges like the hem of a dress you hadn’t had time to mend. You sat cross-legged in front of your vanity, trying not to look like you were about to implode, while Jess hovered behind you like a glam squad with a grudge.

“Jess,” you snapped, batting her hand away as she reached for your face again, “if you touch my eyebrows one more time—”

“Oh my god, calm down,” Jess groaned, rolling her eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “I’m not carving them off with a butter knife. I’m literally brushing them. You act like I’m trying to steal your identity.”

“I’m meeting my mum,” you hissed, eyes wide in the mirror. “With Auston. For dinner. Do you have any idea how deeply not okay I am?”

Jess’s face softened, just slightly. “Okay, yeah. That’s fair. But, babe—look at you. You’re gorgeous. Like scary, don’t-make-eye-contact-on-the-subway gorgeous. She’s gonna take one look at you two and assume he’s already picked out a ring.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to show how those words made your stomach twist. “Sure. Because nothing screams eternal love like emotionally repressed NHL captains and dinner with overbearing mothers.”

Jess gave you a look. “You joke, but seriously? What you said he said last night? To that girl - If that’s not real, then I need to see my therapist again.”

You froze. Just a little. Just enough for her to notice.

She plopped down beside you on the bed, lipstick in hand, legs crossed like she had all the time in the world. “Like, do we need to start brainstorming engagement hashtags? Because #MapleMatrimony kinda slaps.”

You laughed—too loud, too sharp. “Please stop. I can’t breathe in this blouse, let alone process a fictional wedding.”

Jess just grinned, unbothered. “I’m only half-joking. He looks at you like he’d move mountains. Or at least miss a morning skate, which for him? Basically the same thing.”

You didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, you focused on your eyeliner, smudging it just enough to look like you weren’t trying too hard. “He’s just good at playing the part,” you said, voice breezy. “We’ve had to… navigate a lot lately.”

Jess leaned in, peering at you. “Yeah, and most guys don’t navigate their way into your bed and your family dinner in the same weekend. Just saying.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and whacked her with it. She yelped, laughing.

“Okay, okay!” she said through giggles. “Fine, I’ll shut up. But I’m not blind, and neither is your mum. And I swear, if he pulls the whole ‘let me help with the dishes’ move after dinner? I’m starting a Pinterest board.”

You shook your head, but the smile tugging at your lips was reluctant. “You’re impossible.”

Jess shrugged. “And you’re in denial.”

There was a pause. Then, casually, she added, “Oh—and guess who asked about you again?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Ryan,” she sing-songed. “Mr. ‘Just One Date’ is now Mr. ‘Persistent Since Wednesday.’ He’s clearly not over it.”

You groaned, tossing the pillow at her again. “Don’t start.”

Jess caught it this time. “What? You’ve got options, babe. Even if one of them is currently playing doting boyfriend and giving your mum grandkid fever.”

You stared down at your phone. Fingers hovering. Thinking.

“I should text him what wine she likes,” you muttered.

Jess grinned, satisfied. “Oh yeah. Nothing to see here at all.”

You didn’t respond.

Because the truth? You weren’t sure where the performance ended anymore either.

_

“Our Queen has left the palace gates. Destination? Home turf. But family dinners are rarely just that, especially when love—or the illusion of it—is on the menu.

Tonight, the Ice King faces a far more dangerous opponent than any rival team: the Queen’s mother. A woman known to wield passive-aggression with the skill of a seasoned general. And while our King might be fluent in post-game interviews and press charm, is he ready for the battlefield of Sunday roasts and sibling shade?

One wrong answer and the royal illusion could come crashing down. - The Benchwarmer”

_

The drive to your mother’s house—just over an hour outside of Toronto—felt longer than usual, even with the November dusk softening the edges of the highway in moody streaks of grey and fading gold. The rain had stopped earlier, but the clouds still hung low, like they were waiting for an excuse to open up again.

Auston was behind the wheel, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other lazily tapping against the gearshift to the rhythm of a song you barely heard. He looked frustratingly relaxed, like he was driving to a pre-game skate and not straight into the lion’s den of your family dinner.

You, on the other hand, were wound so tight your fingers had gone numb from fidgeting with the seam of your skirt.

It wasn’t Auston you were nervous about.

It was everything else.

Your mother wasn’t cruel. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t throw tantrums or make scenes. But she could disarm a person with a single look, a question phrased too politely to be anything but loaded. Her wine glass was her weapon, her smile the misdirection. And Auston—cocky, confident Auston—wouldn’t see it coming until he was already bleeding out on the dining room floor.

You could practically hear her now:

“And what exactly is your long-term plan?” “Do you think professional hockey is a real career?” “What does a man with no stability offer my daughter?”

All delivered with silk-gloved precision while she passed the roasted vegetables and offered seconds like it was all completely civil.

Your older brothers weren’t much better. Two walking LinkedIn profiles with perfectly pressed collars and curated families, ready to pounce under the guise of protectiveness. They’d test Auston’s patience, push his buttons, try to make him squirm just enough to feel like they’d done their big-brotherly duty.

And the twins? Seventeen and already halfway viral on TikTok. They’d either flirt shamelessly or roast him within an inch of his life—maybe both. If they weren’t already drafting a group chat called Matthews Watch 2025, you’d be shocked.

You exhaled sharply and glanced over.

Auston was focused on the road, one hand casually adjusting the volume. His jaw was relaxed, his leg bouncing lightly to the beat. If he was nervous, he sure as hell didn’t show it.

“You good?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended.

He glanced your way and smirked. “Game face on.”

You let out a humourless laugh, nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. “This isn’t a game.”

Auston shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Isn’t it?”

You didn’t respond. You just turned your face back toward the window, watching as the city slipped away behind you and suburbia crept closer with every mile. Your heart pounded louder than the bass in the car, every street sign a countdown.

Tonight, you weren’t just pretending to be Auston’s girlfriend.

You were pretending that you could handle the weight of all this. The chaos. The closeness. The quiet questions clawing their way up your throat.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure if this was still about pretending anymore.

You pulled into the driveway a few minutes before six. The sun was already beginning to dip behind the neighbour’s maple trees, casting long shadows across the familiar brick path that led to the front door. Auston shifted beside you in the driver's seat, gaze fixed on the modest two-storey house that had been home for most of your life. It wasn’t extravagant, not like some of the places he knew, but it was warm, lived-in—paint slightly chipped around the doorframe, wind chimes clinking lazily near the porch light.

“This it?” he asked, a touch of amusement in his voice.

“This is it,” you replied, inhaling deeply. “The arena of maternal judgment.”

He smirked, one brow rising. “Can’t wait.”

Inside, it was everything you remembered—faintly scented with lemon polish and lavender, the hum of an old dishwasher in the background, the faint creak of floorboards under soft slippers. Your mother appeared in the hallway almost instantly, all smiles and carefully curated cheer.

“Auston, welcome,” she said with a tone that could only be described as formal hospitality laced with subtle suspicion. She extended her hand—her grip was firm, brief.

“Thank you, Mrs—”

“Oh, none of that. Call me Janice,” she interrupted. “We’re not so formal here.”

You exchanged a look with Auston. Oh yes, she was in performance mode.

The introductions followed in rapid succession. Your eldest brother, Daniel, shook Auston’s hand with a nod that barely concealed his “I’m watching you” energy. His wife, Samira, was sweet, if a little wide-eyed. Your second brother, Thomas, had his baby on one hip and didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he muttered, “So this is the guy,” before disappearing into the living room.

The twins—Chloe and Claire—barely looked up from their phones, though Chloe offered a distracted, “We’ve seen you on TikTok,” and Claire added with a smirk, “We liked you better without the moustache. Makes you look like a creep.”

Auston took it all in stride, unbothered and smiling just enough. He gave each person just the right amount of charm, nodded at the right moments, and even asked about the dog that no longer lived there.

Your mother ushered you both down the hallway like a tour guide, pointing out where the new wallpaper had gone up, how the fireplace had finally been repaired. And then, just before dinner, she opened the door to your old bedroom.

“This used to be hers,” she said with a fond glance at you. “Now it’s where the kids keep all their toys. Can’t let any space go to waste.”

You blinked at the bright foam alphabet tiles covering your once carefully curated posters and polaroids. Auston stepped inside, smiling faintly at the worn-out Beatrix Potter books and abandoned LEGO sets.

“So this is where the magic happened?” he teased under his breath, glancing at you.

“Don’t,” you warned, shooting him a look—but your lips twitched.

Your mother appeared behind you with a perfectly timed glass of white wine. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said. “Now don’t drink it all at once.”

You accepted the glass gratefully, only for her to add with a slightly raised brow, “Though I do hope it’s not a nightly habit now that you’re dating a professional athlete.”

You didn’t answer. Just took a very long sip.

Auston bit back a grin.

Game on.

_

Dinner had started surprisingly well. Your brothers, of course, couldn’t resist giving Auston a hard time—sarcastic questions about his “hobby” turned career, jabs about his skating, jokes about his salary. But Auston, to your complete lack of surprise, took it all in stride. He handled them with the same cool detachment he gave reporters in scrums—smiling when appropriate, firing off one-liners that made even your stiffest sibling crack a grin.

And somehow, you were right there with him.

Trading barbs. Meeting teasing with sass. You weren’t just surviving the family dinner—tonight, you were thriving in it. For once, you felt calm, composed. Powerful, even. Like something about Auston’s presence grounded you, amplified you.

Or maybe it was the wine.

Or the fact that you still hadn’t fully shaken the memory of him last night—his mouth, his hands, the way he’d made you feel like the only woman in the world.

Your skin buzzed with that memory as you passed the potatoes and laughed at something Thomas said. But then—then—you felt it.

Auston’s hand.

Low and steady, it landed gently on your thigh beneath the table. His pinky brushed against the hem of your skirt. Innocent enough. Until it wasn’t.

His fingertips dragged upward, slow and deliberate, until they slipped under the fabric entirely. He didn’t go far—just grazed the edge of your inner thigh, barely there, before retreating and starting again. Lazy circles. Featherlight teasing.

Your fork paused mid-air. You didn’t even blink.

You pressed your legs together instinctively, but it only made it worse. Or better. You weren’t sure.

So you retaliated.

You mimicked his motions, letting your hand drop onto his knee under the table, soft and casual. His thigh was warm beneath your touch. Solid. You traced light patterns there, fingertips dancing higher and higher, until you reached the seam of his trousers. You gave the inside of his leg a slight squeeze.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t miss a beat as he answered Daniel’s question about locker room politics.

But you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The tight clench of his jaw.

Oh, so this was how he wanted to play it.

His hand moved again, bolder this time, sliding further up your thigh. Your breath hitched when his fingers pressed against the heat between your legs—just for a second. Just enough to remind you that he could ruin you with a single move. Then he pulled back like nothing had happened.

“Tell me, Auston,” your mother chimed in from across the table, setting her wine glass down with a faint clink. “Do you ever think about what comes after hockey? I mean, it’s not exactly… a sustainable lifestyle, is it?”

You rolled your eyes. Here we go.

Auston didn’t even blink. “That’s fair. I’ve started thinking about long-term investments, actually. Property. Some charity initiatives, too.”

“Oh?” your mother pressed, eyebrows raised. “And how do you plan to balance that with… family?”

And that’s when you did it.

Your palm slid slowly over his crotch under the table. He was slowly hardening beneath your touch.

You kept your expression neutral as you sipped your wine.

Auston coughed once. Covered it as a laugh. “I guess it comes down to good support systems. And priorities.”

You watched your mother nod, unimpressed. Your brothers had already lost interest and launched into some story about a neighbour’s divorce.

You turned toward Auston slightly, lips barely parted, voice just low enough to vibrate beneath the buzz of conversation. “You’re doing great.”

His eyes slid to yours. Dangerous. Hungry.

“You’re playing with fire, boss,” he murmured, leaning in like he was adjusting his chair. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You smiled sweetly, brushing your hand just a little firmer across him, enough to draw a subtle breath from his lips.

“Maybe I want to finish it,” you whispered back. Then, after a pause, “Maybe I want to finish you… with my mouth.”

He exhaled slowly. Closed his eyes for half a second.

You felt him swell fully against your hand. Felt the tension in his thigh. The deliberate stillness in his posture.

And you—well, you sat there like nothing was happening at all.

Just a woman. At dinner. With her mother and siblings.

And the man whose self-control you were absolutely annihilating under a perfectly ironed tablecloth.

The opportunity came when your eldest brother launched into his third monologue of the evening—something about a new executive title, a cross-border investment, or his firm’s sixth-figure quarterly bonus. You didn’t really catch the details. You just saw Auston’s gaze flick to yours, jaw tight, pulse visible in his neck, and you knew. It was time.

You leaned toward your mother with a polite excuse, murmuring something about needing the bathroom. And Auston followed less than a minute later, slipping away while the table erupted into a discussion about mortgage rates.

The hallway was narrow. Quiet. You led him toward the guest bathroom at the back of the house—furthest from the dining room, furthest from voices. And you barely managed to click the door shut before Auston’s mouth crashed into yours.

It was heat. Desperation. Tongues tangled. Teeth clashed. His hands found your hips and pushed you against the wall with a groan that vibrated through your spine.

“You think you can get away with that?” he rasped against your mouth. “Touching me like that while your mum talked about fatherhood?”

You didn’t answer. You just dropped to your knees instead.

And oh, the look on his face—shock melting into pure, ravenous hunger—burned itself into your memory.

You reached for his belt with shaking hands, unfastening it with a confidence you rarely felt. The second you freed him from the constraints of his trousers, he was already hard—So thick, flushed, desperate, it made your mouth water.

You wanted to taste him so badly. To show him you could unravel him just like he could you. 

You took him in, slow at first, your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling in a soft, maddening tease. His groan cracked in his throat. One hand slapped to the door behind you. The other found your hair, fingers tightening just enough to remind you he wasn’t in the mood for slow and sweet.

You stroked him with one hand while your mouth worked the rest—hollowing your cheeks, flattening your tongue, bobbing your head in an unrelenting rhythm that had his knees locking.

“Fuck—” he hissed, biting down on the inside of his fist.

You glanced up at him through your lashes. He was flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as he stared down at you with something that looked dangerously close to reverence.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

But you did. For just a second. Just to drag your tongue along the underside of his cock and blow softly against the tip. The way he twitched in your hand made you smirk.

He groaned—louder this time—and you had to reach up with your free hand, press a finger to his lips.

“Shhh,” you whispered, licking a drop of precome off your bottom lip. “You want your ‘future mother-in-law’ to hear?”

“Jesus,” he growled, his hips bucking forward.

You took him deeper this time. All the way down. Gagged around him. Drooled messily down your chin as your throat tightened and your fingers dug into the meat of his thighs.

Auston’s head tipped back. His fingers fisted in your hair, dragging you closer, harder, until you could barely breathe. You didn’t care. You wanted to ruin him. You wanted him undone and breathless and at your mercy.

He was close. You could feel it in the tremble of his thighs. The twitch of his cock against your tongue. The broken sounds falling from his lips.

And then—

“Dessert, anyone?” your mother’s voice called out faintly from the kitchen.

You froze.

Auston’s breath hitched.

And then you pulled back. Slowly and gently. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“What the fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth. His hand was still braced against the door. His cock, swollen and red, was still slick with your spit. His jaw was clenched like he could crack a tooth.

You stood, adjusted your skirt with a wicked smirk, and leaned in close to whisper against his jaw, ”what? Dessert’s ready.”

And just like that you left him to himself. Hard and needy. Completely blue balled. 

You walked back into the dining room like you hadn’t just left Auston Matthews on the verge of orgasm in your childhood bathroom. Sat back in your chair, reached for your wine, and smiled at your sisters like nothing had happened at all.

But Auston?

He sat beside you moments later, composed only in appearance. His eyes were dark. His body was still wound tight with frustration. And you could feel the fury in the way he leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he murmured.

You sipped your wine. “Promises, promises.”

His hand slid beneath the table again, but this time it wasn’t playful.

It was a warning.

_

The silence in the car was thick.

Not the kind that begged to be broken, but the kind that said more than any words could. Auston hadn’t spoken since the moment your mother waved goodbye from the porch, a slice of pie in one hand and suspicion still stitched into her parting smile. You hadn’t expected warmth from her—not really—but the tension she brought to the table had taken its toll.

Still, it hadn’t been your mother’s scrutiny that turned Auston cold. You knew exactly what it was. The tease. The touch. The look on his face when your mother had called from the kitchen just before he could unravel completely in your mouth.

He was furious. You could feel it in every rigid turn of the steering wheel, every calculated blink in your direction that never quite landed. And you… well, you couldn’t decide if you were sorry or smug.

The highway stretched out in a blur of taillights and twilight. You sat with your hands folded neatly in your lap, trying not to squirm under the weight of his silence. Until, without warning, Auston took a sharp exit—one you didn’t recognise.

“Aus?” you said, voice hesitant.

He didn’t answer. Just kept driving—off the main road, down a gravel path that led to nowhere in particular. Trees lined the edge of the clearing, the sky above now dipped in deep navy, only the dashboard casting a faint glow between you.

The car slowed to a stop, and you turned to him, your heart already in your throat. “Where are we—?”

“I’m not done with you,” he said.

His voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous in the way it coiled around your spine.

“I had to sit through dinner with your entire family,” he continued, still not looking at you. “Had to smile while your mum called me irresponsible, while your brothers grilled me about my future, and your sisters tried to trip me up with questions like it was a game.”

You swallowed hard. “You handled it like a pro.”

His jaw ticked. “I always do.”

And then he turned to you, finally—his gaze like a live wire sparking against your skin.

“But what I can’t handle,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “is being left hanging with a hard-on the size of my ego and a mother asking me if I want whipped cream on my pie.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed.

His hand was on your jaw in an instant. Firm. Possessive. “You think that’s funny?”

“No,” you whispered, biting your lip.

“Because you’ve been playing games all night, boss. But I don’t think you really understand what it means to play with fire.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Until he said, “Back seat. Now.”

And something inside you snapped like a live wire—sharp, electric, alive. Not fear. Not hesitation. Just… heat. Thrumming low in your belly, rising like a tide you had no desire to stop.

Because the version of you that might’ve once laughed nervously, who would’ve deflected or joked her way out of something this intense? She was gone. Left behind somewhere between last night’s hallway, this morning’s sheets, and the exact moment Auston’s fingers slid up your thigh under your mother’s dinner table. In her place was someone braver. Bolder. Someone who wanted to see what happened when you let yourself burn.

You climbed over the centre console without a word, heart hammering, breath shallow. The seat was cool against the backs of your thighs, the leather creaking softly as you adjusted yourself, skirt riding high. Your legs spread, just slightly, as if inviting him. Daring him.

The passenger door clicked shut behind him, followed by the low sound of the lock sliding into place.

And then he was on you.

No warning. No sweet nothings. Just heat and hands and hunger.

Auston’s body crowded you instantly, the weight of him pressing you into the leather as if he needed to stake a claim. His mouth brushed the line of your jaw, not quite a kiss—more a threat, soft and searing. One hand palmed your hip, dragging your skirt higher until the cool air kissed the backs of your thighs. The other pressed to the seat beside your head, anchoring him above you, his breath skating across your lips.

“You don’t get to start something like that,” he growled, low and sharp, “and not finish it.”

You met his eyes—dark, wild, furious with want—and whispered, “Then finish it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth crashed to yours, and it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was possession, full and messy and open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that swallowed sound and left nothing untouched. His tongue slid against yours with practiced intent, tasting you, claiming you.

Auston didn’t undress you, not fully. He didn’t need to. His fingers worked with fast, controlled precision—skirt pushed up, blouse tugged open at the buttons, bra shifted just enough for him to palm your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple like it was instinct.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound.

Every move he made was calculated. Every shift of his hips, every scrape of his fingers—deliberate and punishing. He had something to prove, and your body was the battleground.

You barely noticed your legs spreading wider to accommodate the press of his knee. All you could focus on was the press of his fingers between your thighs, dragging through your folds like he already knew exactly how wet you were. How ready. And he groaned when he found you—low and primal, the kind of sound that made your spine arch and your hands fist in his jacket.

He teased you first, because of course he did. Auston was many things, but merciful was not one of them—not when you’d left him hard and needy and furious in your mother’s bathroom.

His fingers slid through you with maddening control. Circles. Pressure. Just enough to make your hips lift off the seat. Just enough to make your lips part around a silent plea.

“Already soaked,” he murmured against your throat, voice thick. “Knew you’d be like this.”

You whimpered. He chuckled, dark and dangerous, before slipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right—making your eyes slam shut and your walls clench.

“You gonna beg now, boss?” he whispered, dragging his mouth to your collarbone. “Or you still think you’re in charge?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your mouth had gone slack, your body arching into his like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. And when he pulled his fingers away—leaving you empty, aching—you almost sobbed.

He made you wait. Just long enough to drive you mad.

And then, finally, he undid his trousers with one hand, shoved them low enough to free himself, and lined up without ceremony—just the heat of him pressing at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your folds like a warning.

When he finally thrust inside, it was with one, deep, devastating stroke.

You cried out—high and sharp, the sound muffled by the crook of his shoulder as your body split around him.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft.

It was punishment. And it was perfect.

His pace was relentless. The windows fogged instantly, your moans caught in the thick, humid air, your fingers scrabbling against the car door, the seatbelt strap, his shoulders—anything to ground yourself. But he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He just took. Again and again, until your mind blurred and your muscles locked and you couldn’t remember a world that didn’t have him inside you.

“You like pushing me?” he rasped, snapping his hips forward so hard your breath caught. “This what you wanted?”

You could barely nod, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

But he felt it. The way your body clenched around him, the way your legs wrapped tighter, your cries becoming desperate now.

And he rewarded you.

One hand snaked between you, pressing to your clit with just the right pressure, and your vision went white.

You came with a shudder, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. But Auston didn’t stop. Not until your orgasm had rippled through every inch of your body. Not until you sagged beneath him, boneless and shaking.

Only then did he pull out.

And the way he looked at you—hair a mess, sweat at his temples, eyes blown wide with control and something almost… tender?

That was almost more intimate than anything else.

Almost.

Because he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

You were breathless, dazed, legs still wrapped loosely around his hips when he sat back, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

“Not done,” he said simply.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He reached down, tugging gently at your chin until you were sitting upright, your body still humming. His other hand slipped into your hair.

“On your knees,” he murmured. “And finish what you started.”

And so, you did.

With no hesitation. No shame. Just pure lust.

You took him into your mouth slowly, deliberately, eyes locked with his as you teased the sensitive tip with your tongue. The moment he moaned—low and broken, fingers tangling in your hair—you gave him more. Let him feel the shift from control to surrender, inch by inch, until there was nothing left between you but want.

You gagged as he hit the back of your throat, drool dripping and your lips slick with spit, your jaw aching from the stretch. But you didn’t stop. You focused—breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, working him with every ounce of skill you had.

And the sounds he made—deep, raw, shameless—only spurred you on. Each moan felt like a reward. Each choked whisper of your name a spark down your spine. You’d never known giving pleasure could feel like this. Like power. Like intimacy.

His thighs trembled beneath your hands, his body tightening as he fought the losing battle for composure. His grip in your hair was desperate.

And when he finally came, it was with your name torn from his lips and a full-body shudder that seemed to ripple all the way through his chest.

“Fuuuck….” 

Then silence returned, but it felt different now. Calmer and sated.

And slowly, Auston tucked himself back into his jeans and reached for your hand. “Back up front,” he said softly, a touch of humour finally returning to his voice. “Before we both end up sleeping in the parking lot.”

You couldn't help but laugh, breathless. “Not the worst night I’ve ever had.”

He smirked. “Yeah, me neither.”

_

“Dearest Toronto Readers,

There are games, and then there are matches. And make no mistake—what we witnessed tonight was no mere exhibition. It was war. It was seduction. It was strategy wrapped in silk sheets and served with a side of family dysfunction.

The Queen has led the King into her past—into the trenches of old bedrooms, relentless siblings, and mothers who wield judgement sharper than any hockey blade. But it was he who took the upper hand, responding not with charm alone, but with heat, with control, with a level of desire that could scorch through even the most carefully built walls.

And the Queen? She did not falter. She flirted with fire, then begged to be burned.

But readers… beware. Because the Ice King is melting, and if we’ve learned anything from the great chess masters of history, it’s this: when the most reserved piece begins to feel, the board is never the same.

One space at a time, remember?

But after tonight, we wonder—who’s really making the moves?

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

[aventurineswife]

OH sure!! If you'd like <3 but no pressure ! 💕 I just think the chat you made was very adorable but also funny KWDHJSJW ❤️ but if you write it, then make sure to tag me 👁️💕

Lean Down, Lift Up

Summary: In the quiet observation car of the Astral Express, you share an intimate moment with Sunday, encouraging him to set aside his reflective worries. As his ethereal presence softens in your touch, a simple kiss bridges the gap between his celestial grace and his humanity, reminding him of the solace found in love.

Tags: @vivisboutique, @iruiji, @timascorner, @flavishly, Sunday x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Tender Moments, Height Difference, Soft Sunday, Vulnerability, Introspection.

A/N: help why did Fallen Angel by Chris Grey started playing...🧍‍♀️ (Lmao listening to fantastic and got reminded of that one CaitVi(from Arcane) scene ahem... 🫣) enjoy btw! This man needs to get out of my head, he's living rent free here... 🤺

The Astral Express hummed gently beneath your feet, its steady rhythm lulling the silence between you and Sunday. The observation car was empty at this hour, the vast expanse of stars beyond the glass stretching into infinity. You glanced up at him, his ethereal presence lit by the soft glow of the cosmos. His halo shimmered faintly, golden light catching in his hair as he gazed at the stars, lost in thought.

Sunday’s tall frame cast a serene shadow, his wings folded neatly behind him. You smiled softly, appreciating the way his composed demeanor betrayed his subtle vulnerability. His eyes, so often reflective and distant, turned to meet yours. The navy pupils seemed to flicker like a calm sea under starlight.

“Is something on your mind?” he asked, his voice gentle, airy, and tinged with genuine curiosity.

You shook your head, stepping closer to him. “Not exactly. I just… thought you looked too serious.”

Sunday’s lips curved into a faint smile, though there was a hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s hard not to be, with so much to think about.”

“Well,” you said, tugging lightly on his gloved hand, “maybe you need a break from all that thinking.”

He arched an elegant brow but allowed you to pull him down slightly toward your level. “A break, you say? And how do you propose I take one?”

“Like this,” you whispered, leaning up on your toes. You placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips, the faint scent of sandalwood and starlight enveloping you as his wings twitched slightly in surprise. His halo flickered, golden light brightening briefly before stabilizing.

For a moment, Sunday froze, as if caught off guard. Then his hand rested gently on the back of your head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. When you pulled away, his eyes softened, and a flush of warmth crept across his usually composed face.

“You could’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, tinged with a rare, boyish shyness.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” you teased, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Besides, you’re so tall, I had to make you lean down first.”

Sunday chuckled—a low, melodic sound that you rarely heard. “You always manage to surprise me,” he admitted, his hand lingering on yours as he spoke. “Even after all this time.”

You felt your heart swell at the rare vulnerability he allowed himself to show. Sunday often seemed untouchable, an ethereal being burdened by the weight of his ideals. But in these quiet moments, he was just a man—one who loved and was loved in return.

“I’ll keep surprising you then,” you said softly, pressing your forehead to his. “As long as you promise to take more breaks like this.”

His wings fluttered faintly, a telltale sign of his amusement and affection. “I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Nope,” you replied, grinning up at him. “Not when you’re stuck with me.”

Sunday’s smile widened slightly, a flicker of peace crossing his features. “Then I’ll consider myself lucky,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet reverence that made your chest tighten.

The stars continued to stretch endlessly before you, but in that moment, the universe felt small—a little brighter, a little warmer, with Sunday by your side.

[anika-ann]

Thirst for Life (As It Is) - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, next-to-zero plot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 3,7k

Summary: You loved him for it; you hated it. You were still coming to terms with it, still learning to accept and believe that he damn-well meant it when he said he would always fight tooth and nail to come back to you.

You’d count your blessings; you celebrated his efforts by being the very home he was to you to him and if you could sooth his pain in any way you knew, as a physical therapist, as his lover, as a human being, you would.

A slice of life kind of fic, a moment of love life of Steve Rogers and his beloved.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, fingering, oral (F rec), allusions to penetrative sex, brief mention of canon typical injuries, briefest allusions to angst, FLUFF, dorks in love

A/N: Super belated entry for Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge hosted by @steviebbboi. Thank you for hosting and congrats again💕 I got inspired by the prompt Aw, does it feel good right here?🤭

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @saradika-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Lips pressing to heated skin; to entice, to sooth the burning.

Fingertips dancing over strained muscles. Body arching into the touch.

A silent blissful keen escaping.

A sinful whisper.

“Aww, is that the spot, love? Does it feel good right there?"

A blatant, wicked tease, rewarded by a breathless curse spilling from parted lips, a soundless complaint.

Unable to help yourself, you giggled, kissing the spot again, earning a grunt – a sound of protest and approval alike.

“Just you wait…” Steve muttered, annoyed and somewhat fond at once, groaning when you pressed with your fingers this time, feeling the tight knot right under his right shoulder blade as if growing thicker to rebel against your care. “And this isn’t funny.”

You licked your lips, biting back to fight another laugh and losing anyway.

“Come on, Steve… it’s a little funny.”

It was a little funny.

Steve Rogers, a mighty supersoldier, all muscle and broadness, filling the space of the large bed. A paragon of strength and justice, shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the world, his heart a shield for those who needed protection, his shield the heart of the Avengers. A seemingly fearless leader, a strategic mastermind, an excellent fighter; the embodiment of masculinity and power and righteousness and love.

All that and more – brought to its knees by a pulled muscle.

Of course, if it were up to Steve only, he would not even let this slow him down, not in the slightest, let alone bring him down his knees. Oh no.

It was your gentle offer; a soft touch of a hand, a sweet promise, a confession and a plea on your lips.  

“Let me help, love.”

A gaze of mutual affection exchanged; a kiss to his lips to seal the deal with tenderness you knew your might have to abandon if you wanted to help set his body right.

It was a little funny.

The huge hunk of supersoldier muscle, turned into a puddle of a man under your touch. You treated him with as much skill as you would any other client or a patient of yours, if perhaps with a little softer care and with considerably less professionalism.

Obviously, Steve was not your usual client or patient; Steve Rogers was infinitely much more to you. The love radiating from the depth of your heart turned tangible in his proximity; undeniably present in your touch, be it your hands or your lips trying to sooth the pain, be it you straddling his hips which seemed almost absurdly narrow in comparison of the enormity of his shoulders, be it your words of affection or gentle teasing.

Obviously, Steve was not your usual client or patient; most of those who came in specifically with a pulled muscle were there because they had been helping a friend moving furniture, overestimated themselves in a gym, or snapped their head to the side too fast.

Your boyfriend of almost one year, on the other hand, had pulled a muscle when lifting a goddamn car off of someone to whose rescue he had rushed to.

Pressing against the knot, gently but firmly enough to make Steve groan – a sound of complaint bleeding into one of gratitude as you gradually released the pressure – you allowed the piece of information about him having practically lifted a car wash over you again, the astonishment at absurdity and curiosity of life fresh as if it was something entirely new to you.

But it wasn’t. It most definitely wasn’t the first time you had been confronted with this part of who Steve was. It wasn’t the first time you were confronted with how much the serum had enhanced his strength and possibly stubbornness, with what he did for living and how, or with the insistent calling in his very soul to help and serve and be nothing but a profoundly good man. It was hardly the first time and yet you guessed it would never cease to amaze you.

His good heart and his kind soul. His brilliant mind and his incredible body. A man all strong and resilient, but not invincible, not unbreakable.

And perhaps that was where the laugh was coming from – the reason why you couldn’t quite help yourself but tease him, why you couldn’t quite stop giggling.

The relief.

Because Steve Rogers – one of the greatest heroes of your time and the past alike – coming back home with only a pulled muscle was nothing short of a miracle, and this was how your strained body and mind expressed the utter, overwhelming relief coursing your veins.

Because Steve came home. Home to you.

Another day, another save.

Another day he could have caught a knife to his gut or to his neck. Another day he could have caught a bullet an inch from his heart or straight through. Another day he could have been taken and tortured for information or for the twisted fun of hurting Captain America.

None of that had happened.

Instead, it was another day Steve came home to you in one piece. Even if tired and with a pulled muscle.

You’d count your blessings, over and over, more so since you knew how and why he had pulled that muscle; gold of heart and dumb of ass, he couldn’t have waited for someone to come help him, not when the man who had been pinned under a damn car was so clearly and understandably in pain.

Steve’s mind was a brilliant thing, coming up with impenetrable strategies, with a plan B for the plan B and with a plan C and D just in case, carefully predicting outcomes and calculating risks; sometimes he just got bad at math when calculating risks for himself when he couldn’t bear seeing others suffer.

You loved him for it; you hated it. You were still coming to terms with it, still learning to accept and believe that he damn-well meant it when he said he would always fight tooth and nail to come back to you.

You’d count your blessings; you celebrated his efforts by being the very home he was to you to him and if you could sooth his pain in any way you knew, as a physical therapist, as his lover, as a human being, you would.

And he’d let you, even if the first time you had met had certainly not been the case. Not with him having been dragged in, after having his knee busted in a fight, arguing that he did not need anyone’s help, because he was enhanced by the supersoldier serum and his body had always healed on its own. You wouldn’t have it; you had met all the unwilling patients and sceptics. So you took one glance at the man who had literally dragged him in – his best friend, Bucky Barnes, seemingly more exhausted by his attitude than by the fact he had been carrying a significant weight of the huge pile of muscle Steve Rogers was – and then took another look at the man behind the shield himself, before you listed all the muscles, tendons and bones that would have begged him to differ in reaction to such claim.

To this day, you were not quite sure whether it had been your knowledge or your ability to simply not have his attitude that had impressed him more, but later you would find out his attitude was more about him feeling like others needed your help more than him and less about him questioning your field or expertise. That had mattered to you; what mattered also was that Bucky was never going to let you or Steve live your so-called meet-cute down, claiming he knew right away Steve had fallen in love the very second.

So you’d count your blessing and you’d let yourself feel whatever came, and you’d let yourself be consumed by the love with gratitude and thirst for life as it was.

You let yourself laugh again even as Steve grumbled under you, muttering something about maybe deserving it. You appreciated the self-awareness. You appreciated him.

You smiled as you let your hands roam with purpose, warm touch mapping out his pains and still taking moments to caress and indulge in exploring his body, cherishing the beautiful view of the expanse of his back and the feel of his strength yielding to your care with endless trust.

“I feel a little less treated and little more objectified at this point,” he muttered, a smile evident in his voice even before your gaze flickered to his face, now turned to side as he rested his cheek on the back of his hand.

One corner of your lips rose higher, barely a flicker of shame in your chest. You’d never violate a patient or a client like that; but you’d also never miss a chance to feel closer to Steve, miss a chance to touch him, to cherish the contact and to make him feel loved.

“Is there a complaint you’d like to submit, sir?” you questioned, a wide smile setting on your lips as he hummed in disapproval.

Still, you finished the treatment with a last few strokes that were indeed more of a gentle closing than anything else, climbed off of him and pulled the blanket over his naked back to keep the muscles warm.    

He blinked his eyes open as you sat by his side on the bed, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

The second he reached out his hand to hold you, you clicked your tongue disapprovingly, making him huff but obediently stop his progress.

“You know the rules, Steve. Stay still for a bit, let the body process. I’ll bring you some fluids.”

He sighed, squinting at you with adorable defiance. “I do know… I don’t have like it. Maybe just a minor complaint then.”

You grinned, leaning closer to him on the pillow, feeling your heart tremble in thorough warmth as he observed you with sleepy intent and a look closest to adoration you had ever seen.

“What’s that, Captain Rogers?” you whispered conspiratorially.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

You relaxed into the mattress, shoulders slumping, heart a second from melting as the lightest and most delightful feeling spread through your veins, a rush so powerful it almost chased tears into your eyes.

To care and be cared for; to love and be loved, so utterly you had never believed it possible until you met Steve Rogers, most certainly the love of your life.

Reaching out, your fingertips lightly caressed his cheek, his eyelids slipping shut; you brushed over the arches of his brows, over the slope of his nose, over his lips – instantly pursing for a light kiss to your fingers – and caressed his scalp, only to meet his gaze again, so tender you felt something inside your soul shift and shudder in pure happiness.

“I know you will when I need it,” you assured him, bringing a ghost of a smile to his face. “And I’m pretty sure that’s the idea. That we’re supposed to be taking care of each other, love.”

A sparkle lit up his tired eyes, his smile turning positively goofy.

“I like that,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said, pressing another kiss to his forehead and climbing to your feet. “Now be a good patient and stay still for a bit, just like everyone else… no matter how special you are to me.”

“Mmm, if you say so… I love you.”

You fought the urge to lie next to him, reminding yourself that if you got him fluids now, you could lie with him and bask in his warmth later and with no interruptions.

“I love you too, Steve.”

By the time you got back, hands clean of the essential oil and full with a mug of tea and a tall glass of water, you found him fast asleep, still on his front, arms hugging his pillow.

Not bothering to fight off your smile this time, you set the mug on the nightstand, tucked the blanket higher to his chin and climbed up to the bed to sit and prop up on the headboard.

You reached for the engagement ring you had taken off for the massage first and put it back where it belonged, and only then for your half-read book, gaze once more flickering to man who had stolen your heart and would never give it back.

Attention divided, you read; but mainly you kept your future husband company, watching over his peaceful and more than deserved sleep.

Because that was what you were supposed to do; watch over each other, look out for one another, and take care of each other.

And in a few months, you’d promise to continue doing that with love for the rest of your lives, swearing so in front of your friends and families.

Lips pressing to heated skin; to entice, to sooth the burning.

Fingertips dancing over strained muscles. Body arching into the touch.

A silent blissful keen escaping.

A sinful whisper.

“Aww, is that the spot, love?” he teased, every syllable dripping off his lips rich and heady like honey, and even with your eyes fluttered shut, you could see his beautifully wicked smile, the spark in his eyes that shone dark, lit alive in a way that was reserved for you; and only for you. “Does it feel good right there?"

You recognized the echo of your own words, Steve’s voice coloured with sweet vindication. He knew exactly what he was doing and he revelled in it; you would protest and complained again if your lips remembered how to speak beyond Steve’s name and breathless pleas. You would protest if you truly wanted to and he would stop in an instant. You would protest if your hands were not literally tied.

Again, unlike your other patients, all Steve had needed was your skilled touch and a good rest. A few hours of sleep, Erskine’s serum working its magic and he had been good to go; perhaps not for another mission, not for a training session, but for repaying your service with love and adoration and desire.

Hugging your middle after waking up, resting his head over your thigh, he had sent a single glance up at you and you had very well forgotten what you had been reading.

He had kissed your palms in thank you, one and then the other, lingering with his gaze and his lips, and you had already been forgetting your own name.

He had pressed a kiss to your wrists, wrapping them in satin like a precious gift, smiling as he had to ruck up the sleeves of his very shirt you had chosen to wear to bed to do so.

He had ghosted his lips over your fingertips as he tied your wrists to the headboard, making sure you rested your hands, the most important asset for your work; conveniently putting your engagement ring on display for him to see at all times while doing so.

He had met your lips in a kiss so sultry you barely caught your breath, before they strayed over every inch of newly revealed skin as he unbuttoned the shirt, lingering in all his and your favourite places, hands roaming, caressing, holding, owning.

You arched against his mouth when he reached his prize, forearm draping over your middle, keeping you grounded as he lifted you towards the stars once, almost for the second time, until his fingers joined to show off his own talented touch and to bring you to the brink of madness.

“Did not quite catch that, sweetheart,” he muttered to the burning skin of your inner thigh, rendering you speechless with his tongue before you could catch your wits and answer. “I suppose I should try again…”

“Steve-“

“Right here, love… give me one more. Let me take care of you… you said you knew I would take care of you when you’d need it, didn’t you? Do you need it now, love?”

Steven Grant Rogers, you little shit- was the thought that flew through your head so fast you couldn’t hope to catch it let alone verbalize it. Not with how your head was beginning to spin when his lips, his hands, his wicked tongue and seemingly innocent filthy talk carried by his deep voice overwhelmed your senses and chased you higher and closer to your peak with every passing torturous second.

“Yes-“ was what actually spilled from your lips breathily, followed by a keen of please.

“Then be good and stay still.”

Steve’s dark mischievous gaze met yours, the erotic sight of him between your legs, wide shoulders barely fitting, with his palm sprawled to your belly and seemingly enjoying himself thoroughly was your undoing, along with things he did and you could not hope to put into words; not when your vision whited out with a cry of his name and wave of numbing bliss washing over you and pulling you under.

You were trying to catch your breath as he let you ride out your high, firm, wet languid kisses pressed to your thighs, your stomach, your breasts with just a graze of teeth to both increase your pleasure and to satisfy the man who loved to get lost in exploring your body and consuming you whole.

When his lips finally met yours again, you did not care you still hadn’t quite earned enough oxygen, whimpering against the demanding kiss as Steve’s fingers curled just to press at the spot again, while he casually rested his weight on his elbow, left hand interlacing his fingers with yours to feel the ring he had slipped on your finger just a few weeks ago.

“Love you so much, sweetheart. Love seeing you like this, so beautiful, so blissed out and so, so mine…” he whispered, voice hoarse as if he had been the one to crying out in ecstasy.

“I love you too, Steve.”

Instinctively moving to touch him, to keep him closer, you tugged at the soft fabric around your wrists, huffing in frustration when all you could do was squeeze Steve’s hand tighter.

“Hands, love?” you pleaded, arching your body against his, hovering too high for your taste even when your bare chest brushed his, your body drinking hungrily the heat which his own was radiating. “Want to touch you.”

“Anything for you, love.”

As thoroughly distracting as his lips were, pressing back to yours as he blindly loosened the knots, your hands sprang the moment you were free, sighing as the utter delight at holding onto your lover flooded every cell of your body, fingers raking through his hair, digging into his back to pull his closer to your embrace.

His lips eased the pressure, nose bumping yours, fingertips brushing your cheek tenderly, his smile as sweet as sinful, and when you blinked your eyes open, you couldn’t but bask in the blinding light of adoration shining in Steve’s blown pupils.

“You alright, sweetheart? Can you take more?”

The question nor the concern were new; yet they tasted as lovely as Steve’s smile when he leaned in to kiss you again.

You ran your hand down the lovely expanse of his back, pressing to meet his hardness, a wordless agreement.

“Yes, just… be careful.”

Steve’s lips parted from yours with a wet pop, genuine worry instantly overtaking his features, his weight easing from your body – almost making you regret what you were about to say when he’d inevitably ask-

“Are you hurting? Did I do anything-“

“I’m fine, Stevie…” you assured him, brushing a lose strand away from his forehead, smoothening the crease that formed there, your wildly pounding heart shivering from his tender care for you, his consideration, his willingness to walk away from chasing his own pleasure and just hold you should you wish so for whatever reason.

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, his frown only deepening with disapproval as he probably thought you were about to downplay whatever it was that bothered you, what he had done to hurt you or was causing you pain – like Mr. Hypocrite, your softest, biggest love.

“No need to worry, Steve. I just want you to be careful, you know… you might pull a muscle and need medical and fluids after.”

A beat of silence, bated breaths.

And then you were bursting out with laughter at Steve’s scandalized expression, the sound blending into a yelp as he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you to the air. He stood up in a whirlwind of a movement, spinning you until your back hit the wall, blow softened by his palm while his other moved under your bottom, fingers digging to your flesh, pinning you to the hard surface by his hips, his chest, and mainly by his lips crashing against yours, stealing the laughter from you very lungs, drinking your love from the very bottom of your heart.

He nipped at your bottom lip, hips bucking against yours, his voice a sultry promise you couldn’t wait for him to make good on; for all the teasing, you knew that indeed, your Steve would have caring for you at the forefront of his mind. You could feel his love undeniably present in his touch, be it his hands or his lips, be it his words of affection or the gentle, exhilarating threats:

“Oh just you wait, love… we’ll see who’ll need what after I’m done with you… I was so well-taken care of by my future wife, I think I want to start training for our wedding night. And sweetheart,” he whispered, warm breath brushing your ear, “I think it’s time we try to push our record to double digits.”

As a shudder ran down your spine like a livewire, your heart jumping to your throat with how your blissed-out mind scrambled to try to imagine that, you let your body sink into his, counted your blessing, and let yourself feel whatever was about to come.

You let yourself be consumed by love with gratitude and thirst for life as it was.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving feedback.

May November be kind to you💕

[burytheruby]

HIII CAN WE PLS HAVE P2 OF THE PRICE DAUGHTER AND SIMON STORY??? PLS 😣 THE WRITING IS GOOD AND THE STORY IS JUST *chefs kiss* 💋💋💋 I WANNA SEE THEM LATER ON IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😞😣🩷🩷💕

I N A P P R O P R I A T E I I

the answer is YES I CAN 🙈 thank you everyone for the support! I unfortunately have been crazy busy with the holidays, then my birthday (yay 20!), then back to uni 😭 but I did promise I would come back, and so there will be a tag list for whoever wants to be updated!

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

IN which Captain Price is your father, and he has accepted your feelings for his lieutenant.

OR: late night talks and confessions, your father would do anything to make you happy.

Part 1; you're in Part 2

MINORS Do NOT Interact.

Warnings: age gap, fem! reader, ooc, canon divergent, still learning british slang please bear with me. WC: 1657

English is my second language.

Captain Price had dreaded this day, he never thought he'd see a future where you would come to him and ask him for advice. advice on romance. all because of his lieutenant. damn him. you sat next to him on the couch, shifting awkwardly as you both stared straight ahead at the tv, a game playing in the background. your father's favorite team, you noticed, against the team Simon had mentioned liking himself. almost humorous, Price had noticed the clear tension since your birthday two weeks ago. he appreciated the fact that his lieutenant was being careful, neither acknowledging the very needed—talk, let's call it.

but of course, you were never one to dance around the subject.

"we need to talk," you said simultaneously, it would've been endearing if it weren't for the fact that the talk was not about what dinner would be tonight, or who you thought would win the game playing on the tv, not even about the professor you loathed and couldn't wait to leave her class.

you turned to face your father, fidgeting with the pendant hanging on your neck—the one Simon gave you, of course. your father really tried to not roll his eyes and scoff at the sight, he has definitely given you prettier jewelry—or at least that's what he thinks. you wouldn't tell him you grew out of the heart shaped jewelry; it would break his own heart. after a long, tension-filled moment of silence, you finally spoke, your voice breaking through. "I think 'm old enough to know, dad." you sighed, as if trying to let go of the tension in your body. "an' s'not like we're not conscious of how this may look." you admitted, looking away as you clenched your fists.

yeah, you guessed it would be weird if the man you knew for most of your life suddenly became your lover. age gaps were taboo, especially one such as yours. but who cared? Simon saw you as a petulant, spoiled child until last year—not like he would tell you that, he wouldn't stand listening to your huffs and scoffs of complaints (acting as if he isn't your biggest enabler). that's beside the point, anyway. right now, your focus was on your father, a pensive look on his features as he looked at you.

and then you felt a little guilty when you recognized the tiniest hint of his eyes glazing—just for a second, just enough to ignite concern in you. "m'not getting sent away, y'know." you tried to lift the mood, and he could only smile a little. you were just as awful as he was when it came to comfort, and that was okay. he placed a hand on top of yours, giving a gentle squeeze as his eyes went to your every feature– from the shape of your nose to the volume of your lashes, you were his perfect girl. he often joked he birthed you, something you hated the imagery of no matter how sickly sweet it was that you were his daughter.

"aye, I know." he said, giving a tender kiss to your temple in a moment of vulnerability. his lips lingered there, feeling his heart squeeze and tear at the fact that he knew he had to let go. it was just hard, from the little girl he'd take everywhere, to the woman you were now. your father knew there was no point in trying to change your mind–or your heart, you were dead set on what you wanted. curse his own self. his hand let go of yours, and he pulled away from you. the gears inside his head were turning, the slow but steady acceptance of the relationship between you and his lieutenant.

"he's been less ratty lately," he admitted, his attention turning back to the tv as the opposing team scored. he scoffed, it was as if the universe wanted to mock him. "never heard him make so many bloody awful jokes in just two weeks." Price couldn't help but smile, seeing the rest of the team so distraught–except for Soap, that instigator–was exhilarating to him.

“yeah? m’sure he got ‘em from ya.” you couldn’t contain the smile on your face, seeing as Simon’s team was winning by a landslide. Price cursed under his breath, the hissing sound of the now opened beer brought your attention back to him, the features of your father illuminated by the light of the tv. his eye bags that become more prominent after every mission, the smile lines barely concealed by his mustache connected to his beard. your father hummed in response, sipping on the awfully bitter beer that your father enjoyed. for a picky drinker, he sure enjoyed the most awful you've ever tried.

"princess," your eyes roamed back up to his face, leaning your head on his shoulder with a sigh. with a tiny hum, expressing your attention, he then spoke again. "don't tell him I told you, but Simon's taking a week off duty." your eyes widened at that, then grew to confusion. Simon? Taking a break? That was new. The thought made your heart flutter, smiling subconsciously as yet another cheer could be heard from the tv, but you couldn't find yourself caring enough to see who had scored.

Instead, you checked your phone as it vibrated, a text on the screen making you sit up with an even bigger grin.

"I'll be back by this weekend, let me take you out on a date."

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

"shite," you cursed under your breath. your room was a mess, with clothes sprawled all over your bed and the wardrobe. it was Thursday, just a day away from seeing him again, and not a piece of clothing convinced you enough for the date. too formal? too casual? too feminine? a dress, or maybe jeans? you sighed in frustration, your fingertips softly massaging your temples as you sat on the chair of your dressing table. it's not like Simon puts much effort into his own attire, but this is a date. where are you going, again?

realization dawned as you realized he did not, in fact, tell you what the date would be. you cursed again, getting up only to slump down in your bed. should I text him? you thought, only to discard the idea almost immediately. he was busy, he's a lieutenant dealing with death's doorstep in every mission, and my father, that's enough stress. at the end of the day, all you achieved was to reorganize your wardrobe, and to make dinner for you and your father—if he came home tonight.

waiting in the dining table, poking at your food until the light sound of the keys jiggling and the door opening made your head snap up, finding your father walking in with something inside his duffel bag. "princess, I've got ya a gift from Simon." he unzipped the bag, and inside was a box–a brand box, your favorite to be specific. you gave a quick thanks to your father as you skipped past him, straight to your bedroom to open the box.

"thank you, Simon." was the text you sent immediately upon seeing what the box contained—a dress, of your favorite style and a color that complimented you just right. Simon knew you too well, or maybe he noticed the small things that others usually would not, such as the neckline of the dress that would look best with the pendant—yeah, maybe he really kept that in mind, and having you show it off for everyone to see that you are not going to be available in the foreseeable future.

Friday morning came around too quickly, waking up in the comfort of your bed to a message from Simon stating he would be back by the evening for your date.

hair up, or down? natural or should you just go bald? your makeup trials seemed to go wrong each time, from too bold of a color for your features, to barely noticeable blush you tried to add. maybe low heels, and maybe a few other jewelries. your head spun from stress, and it wasn't until your heart began to beat a little too faster that you finally took a break. Relax. you scolded yourself, your own reflection looking back at you as this time you managed to make your eyeliner even on both sides.

it was almost ridiculous, you told yourself, to fret this badly over a date. this isn't just a date, is it? it's the man you claimed to your father you would marry way back then, when you were just a child and caught a glimpse of the man wearing those dad-glasses you quietly make fun of. glancing over at the wall, you cursed when the time was past noon and almost evening. you had to finish now.

in the end, you decided to go for something a little outside of what your usual is, but nonetheless you kept getting complimented by your father as you walked back and forth on the living room. "a doll" he called you, and called Simon a bastard under his breath just in case he fucks up tonight. he gave you a reassuring smile and hid in the kitchen when the door was knocked. with sweaty hands and a heartbeat way above the normal speed, you opened the door to Simon with a smile on your face.

"love," he breathed out, his deep eyes roaming up and down how gorgeous you looked—as always. his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his lips just grazing your lips with a smile. "gorgeous, lovely." he all but purred, making your skin tingle and your face grow hot. you smiled in response, just about to close the gap when you remembered that your father was right there, hidden but there.

Well, the make out could wait until the date.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

AUGHHH part two is finally here, everyone do a standing ovation

[strawberrypinky]

strawberry's fic recs - first half of 2025! 🍓✨

Nobody asked but I delivered—it's once again time for my favourite little tradition of sharing my fic recs and spreading some love and positivity!

With the first half of 2025 having drawn to a close, I'm sharing some of my favourite reads from this year (thus far!). It genuinely brings me so much joy to celebrate and uplift the incredible work of so many talented creators. I'm also terrible at commenting, so yeah this might be me trying to make up for the fact that I never comment, lol.

Anywho—without further ado, here are my fic recs for the first half of 2025:

I started playing DA: The Veilguard at the end of 2024, and having not played the previous games in the series, it took me a little while to warm up to the fandom, as there’s so much established lore that I simply wasn't familiar with. Even now, I still haven't played the earlier titles and only have a marginal grasp of the broader series. I also have my fair share of critiques about Veilguard itself, but, credit where it's due: The fandom has produced some absolutely phenomenal fanfiction that I’ve truly loved and deeply appreciated 💕

📚Full length fics:

Rookie [Viago de Riva & Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook] - @grad-writes 📖 The plot: "Rookie" follows the early life of Isadora "Rookie" de Riva, tracing her journey from a fledgling of House de Riva to the Hero of the Veilguard—navigating growing up, falling in love and coming into her own. 🍓's thoughts: I know this fic was already featured in my "Best of 2024" recs but I👏🏻am👏🏻FERAL👏🏻 for this fic. I love a good found family trope—it's quite possibly my favourite trope of all tropes—and "Rookie" does a spectacular job of bringing it all together. Beyond the incredible (but mildly dysfunctional) father/daughter relationship Rook and Viago share, her friendships with her fellow Crows already give you the most beautiful story long before she meets Lucanis or any of the Veilguard. I've said it before, but the writing is phenomenal; pitch-perfect pacing and just the right blend of detail, headcanons, and canon divergence. Whilst the romance takes some time to build, the wait is worth every second, and don't even get me started on the way Illario is redeemed in this fic. Between "Rookie" and "The Wigmaker Job", I have become a full-blown Illario apologist 💀😤 1000/10 – this is a masterpiece! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Note: This work is part of a series.

the divine right (circumstance never sent a fair foe) [Viago de Riva/Rook] - @rook-de-rivas 📖 The plot: Following the fall of the Evanuris, Ashara/Rook returns to Salle, only for the Crows to end up embroiled in a mysterious series of murders of Merchant Princes, Crows and Fulgeno II's bastards—all with silver ribbons affixed to their throats and a note with the words "By the will of the Maker, the One King of Antiva will rule, for this is the Divine Right of Kings". 🍓's thoughts: Viago/Rook can definitely be hit or miss for me, considering they are somewhat presented to have a more family-like bond in Veilguard (at least how *I* have interpreted it). HOWEVER, this is just masterful. The relationship between Ashara and Viago just...works. Whilst they are somewhat dysfunctional at times (though I expect nothing less from the Crows, lol), they are equal amounts tender and gentle and sensual. They compliment each other so well and their relationship as well as any interactions they've got with others feel very natural. Viago is also so pathetic sometimes istg it's just 🤌🏻 *chefs kiss* He does not want to have any feelings and is bombarded with all of them 💀 This story is such a fresh take on post-canon fics—the storyline is incredibly compelling, and I find myself genuinely looking forward to every single update. Incredibly well-written and engaging.

Note: This work is part of a series. Read the tags and proceed at your own discretion.

Amaretto Sour [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] - @farore05 📖 The plot: Distinguished neuroscience professor Emmrich Volkarin becomes unexpectedly entangled with one of his students—only for his estranged ex-wife and mother of his son to return from prison, threatening to upend the already fragile balance of their lives.

🍓's thoughts: I'm pretty sure "Amaretto Sour" is one of, if not the, most famous Emmrich fics—and for good reason. First of all, Human!Manfred is the best boy and deserves all the love, and second of all, Ivy and Emmrich are an adorable pairing. Yes, a student/professor dynamic would, under normal circumstances, be incredibly toxic, but we can ignore that for the sake of good fiction and these characters 😌 The overall plot, beyond the romance, feels both original and intriguing at all times. As the end approached, I genuinely felt as if I needed to hold my breath because the tension was palpable, and I was so invested in these characters getting their deserved happy ending.

I, Carrion [Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook] - @ttrevelyan 📖 The plot: An alternate take on the events of "Eight Little Talons", in which a recently returned-from-exile Rook meets Lucanis at a masquerade ball, where the two must work together to unmask the enemies hiding within their ranks. 🍓's thoughts: I came across this due to the incredible artwork from @rookanisstuff, and I pretty much fell in love at first read. I had read 8LT just shortly before, and this was a refreshing, hilarious and intriguing take on the plot. I love stories of Rook de Riva's and Lucanis meeting before Veilguard, but this one is definitely my favourite. The tension between them from the first meeting, building up over the course of the story as they work together, is simply delicious and ugh, I could eat this story. Absolutely magnificent 😤

Note: This work is part of a series and currently has an ongoing sequel (which is also incredible–hello???)

The Punishment of Fools [Lavellan/Solas, Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] - @scaryanneee 📖 The plot: While aiding the remnants of the Inquisition in their desperate struggle to stop the blighted Evanuris from unmaking Thedas, Mourn Watcher Athera Ingellvar uncovers she is the lost daughter of Inquisitor Siona Lavellan and the Dread Wolf himself, Fen’Harel. Thrust into an uneasy reunion at the edge of the world’s unraveling, Athera, Siona, and Solas must confront their own entangled legacies. 🍓's thoughts: This is definitely a read that would've been easier to understand if I had any knowledge of the previous Dragon Age games, but alas, this is still so absolutely spectacular that I was vibing through nonetheless, lol 😭 The complicated family dynamics, paired with the yearning between the Inquisitor and Solas make for a compelling story. Without spoiling the entire fic, I can only say the main twist concerning Athera was genuinely shocking (at least to me, lol), and I'm so scared of the outcome. I think seasoned fans who have played previous games would really enjoy this, as quite a few characters from Inquisition show up here, too (at least from what I understand 😅).

Note: This work is part of a series.

The Arrangement [Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook] - @hi-jinkx 📖 The plot: With their marriage arranged by Caterina, Lucanis and Rook find themselves caught between their own desires, the stirrings of something deeper, and the mounting pressure from both outside forces and inner turmoil. 🍓's thoughts: Mhm, I love reluctant love stories, especially when they stem from concepts like arranged marriages. Delish. Rook and Lucanis are understandably not really happy about the arrangement, but I love that they still respect each other as human beings. Rook taking care of Jacobus is just adorable (I love that this fandom has collectively decided Jacobus is Rook's son ok?) and I love how Rook and Lucanis steadily fall in love, even if they're a tad idiotic about the whole thing. Caterina is an absolute cunt, which is a concept I generally love bc f that b – even if I am massively intrigued by her, lol. The Venatori being the main antagonists makes so much sense, though I fear what's going to happen with the whole Lucanis/Spite situation and how it'll affect their marriage. Anywho. Loved reading this thus far!!

Steal my heart [Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook] - @frotees-corner 📖 The plot: Marchioness Caterina Dellamorte has declared it's time her grandsons marry. Her grandsons, however, have other plans. So does Rook—deemed a hopeless spinster at the age of twenty-six—whose parents have reluctantly agreed to give her one final season to secure a match. United by their mutual disinterest in marriage, Rook and Lucanis strike a deal: survive the season together, and avoid the parade of suitors and debutantes at all costs. 🍓's thoughts: YOU CAN PRY THE REGENCY AUs OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS 😤 Anyone who knows me knows my favourite historical period of all time is the Regency period, so it should be no surprise this fic is on my list. The YEARNING. The PINING. The peak idiot to lovers 😩 Ugh—obsessed. The storyline is somewhat comparable to Daphne and Simon in Bridgerton, except Rook is more of an Eloise rather than Daphne if that makes sense? In any case, it has a superb storyline, massive bonus points for it being a Regency AU and an overall sweet and wholesome love story. Neve being there for the tea and drama was hilarious (plus she and Bellara are just the best), and I loved Uncle Emmrich. The Illario plotline was adapted in a way that made it very fitting for the time period whilst losing none of the mystery and intrigue. 10/10, I loved every second!!

pathos [Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook]- @karinamay 📖 The plot: When her brother and longtime skating partner Viago is sidelined by injury, Rook believes her career is over—until he pushes her to keep going. Meanwhile, Lucanis is ready to quit after losing his partner, but his own coach/grandmother Caterina Dellamorte has other ideas. Thrown together by circumstance, Rook and Lucanis form a reluctant new pair in a high-stakes bid for gold.

🍓's thoughts: I'm usually not that into modern AU's (funny how several ended up on here, though, lol), but I do love figure skating and "pathos" was just exceptional. The begrudging alliance between Chiara and Lucanis moving into this tension-filled push-and-pull dynamic bleeds into every aspect of the story—from their relationship to their skating—and it works so well. The description of the skating itself was hauntingly vivid and beautiful and so emotionally laden that I actually had tears in my eyes at one point 🥹 The dynamics between other characters truly only added to the overall feeling, and I loved seeing Rook stand up to Caterina. "You don't get to break me like you broke your grandsons" haunts me to this day 😭

The sequel is still on my TBR, but I can only wholeheartedly recommend the first part!!

Note: This work is part of a series.

you're in my blood (like holy wine) [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] - @selkiemaid 📖 The plot: An alternate take on the quest "The Sacrifice of Souls", where Rook makes the ultimate sacrifice to defeat Hezenkoss—leaving a romanced Emmrich at a crossroads, forced to choose between embracing lichdom or finding a way to bring her back. 🍓's thoughts: I'm suing. I'm actually suing. This was pure angst start to finish but mate was it good. Rook being the one to sacrifice herself to defeat Hezenkoss? Diabolical 😭 The prose of this fic was sensational. I'm not even joking. I could practically feel everything Emmrich felt throughout the entire story as if they were my own emotions—vivid and complex and gutwrenching. I genuinely wish I could read this for the first time.

Note: This work is part of a series.

Crystal Desires & Crystal Fragements [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook/Lucanis Dellamorte] - by BabiesAteMyDingo 📖 The plot: Following a confrontation with a desire demon, Rook, Emmrich, and Lucanis (and Spite) try to navigate the end of the world whilst unearthing parts of themselves they thought long forgotten—and confront truths they never imagined. 🍓's thoughts: Phew, this one is a ride but mate is it worth it. As someone who wished they could've romanced Emmrich and Lucanis at the same time (don't judge me) this was a treat. This story genuinely has so many twists and turns that I was reeling by the end of some of it, but honestly every single thing just made this story more exceptional. The romance between Rook, Emmrich and Lucanis was equal amounts tender as it was sensual and I loved to see how devoted they all were to one another. Rook's backstory is insane and perhaps it's my lack of DA knowledge that had me shook with every reveal, but mate – The gasps I've gusped. Unreal.

📜 One shots & short stories:

From the Journal of Emmrich Volkarin [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] by @mediocremillie99 All Roads Lead to Halamshiral (9:50 Dragon) [No pairing, though mild Illario/Rook if you squint] by TheListener on AO3 Let Me Love You [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] @silshinobii Codex: Bond Theory [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] by @farore05 (I know this is technically crack but damn I love it and I won't apologise) Confession & Revelation [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] by @ximmortalis [TW: Non con] concrete feet [Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook] by dead_tulips on AO3 the bliss you give [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] by @devnmon A Study of Hands [Emmrich Volkarin/Rook] by @sorceresssundries SIX for gold [Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook] @grad-writes

Ahhhh, Baldur's Gate, my beloved 😌💕 I've been hooked on this game for over a year now, and at this point, I fear it'll have to be pried from my cold, dead hands. My love for the fandom, the characters, and the story runs deep. While I'll admit that some of my (admittedly limited) focus this year has "wandered" over to the DA:TV fandom, I've still come across some truly incredible Baldur’s Gate fics. This fandom will always have a place in my heart—no matter what. I'm sure my recs for BG3 will be a bit longer by the end of the year, because my TBR for that fandom is long.

📚 Full length fics:

goodnight, my love [Astarion x Tav] - by @goodgirlgonebard 📖 The plot: Luna, a high-elf wizard, flees the constraints of an arranged marriage and a controlling father when she is swept up by fate when a nautiloid descends upon Baldur’s Gate and abducts her. Now infected with a mind flayer tadpole, she stands at a crossroads: return home to rescue her father from a lifetime of debt, or embrace her long-awaited escape. Torn between duty and freedom, Luna’s path is further complicated by an unexpected and all-consuming bond with a certain pale vampire. 🍓's thoughts: Now, I will wholeheartedly admit that I haven't yet finished reading this story (Forgive me, Ambs), but GML still secures itself a spot on this list because I love it, ok? 😤 Luna had my heart within the first couple of seconds and I just want to give that girl a big hug, wrap her in a fluffy blanket and hand her a big cuppa. Her and Astarion are shaping up to be such an adorable pairing—I am unfortunately a sucker for "healing each other" and I fear this fic is doing a tremendous job at showing how to people can help each other through trauma. I'm so ready for exams to be over so I can catch up with the rest of GML, but istg it's incredible thus far!!

So long as it has meaning [Shadowheart x Tav] - by ohHOLYmoves 📖 The plot: Shadowheart harbours a deep resentment for their Selûnite leader, Izar—her unwavering kindness only fuelling her anger. And yet, despite herself, she finds an inexplicable pull toward her. As their journey to Baldur’s Gate unfolds and long-buried secrets come to light, the dynamic between them begins to shift. 🍓's thoughts: Honestly I am not even sure what to say about this fic because even after having finished it sometime in March I am still speechless?? I honestly didn't even know how to summarise this 💀 Selûnite Paladin Tav x Shadowheart is bound to be an incredible combo, given how hateful Shadowheart is towards Selûnites at the start of Baldur's Gate, but my God 😭 That lesbian enemies to lovers got me good and genuinely all I can say is read this. Smh someone put this fic in a museum 😭 "I can live with Shar, I cannot live without you." — JAIL 😭

The Sweet Invention of a Lover's Dream [Wyll x Tav] - by @heyitszev 📖 The plot: Father Thynerias, a devoted monk of the Preservers of the Ordered Way, had once been content when he was surrounded by his books, his duties, and guiding novices under his care, fully believing a life of structured knowledge was all he would ever need. That is, until the damned Nautiloid—and the famed Blade of Frontiers—shattered that certainty. 🍓's thoughts: ZEV YOU BASTARD COME HERE AND ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES 😤 "Maybe someone else, in some other time, lives the life I dream of having with you" - HOW DARE YOU?! 😤😭 The way Tav's faith and sense of divine purpose intertwined with his love story with Wyll was so refreshing and compelling. His internal religious conflict felt authentic, and the dynamic between him and Wyll—how they balanced each other's flaws while still holding one another accountable—made this one of the most memorable and beautifully layered romances I've read all year. Even if it was, for all intents and purposes, a slow burn. No notes at all—this was perfect.

Note: This work is part of a series.

The Arrangement [Astarion x Tav] - by @fangswbenefits 📖 The plot: Having convinced Astarion to abandon the Rite of Profane Ascension, leaving him a vampire spawn still bound by his hunger, Tav offers him blood in the absence of a cure. Though the two had agreed to remain just friends back at Moonrise Towers, the line begins to blur again as other cravings stir beneath the surface. 🍓's thoughts: Not me writing Tav in for the plot when it's an 'x reader' but ON WE GO- Ugh, the push-and-pull dynamic between Tav and Astarion is delicious. That messy blend of "sort-of exes" and "kind-of enemies" who are still hopelessly in love with each other? Perfection 🤌🏻 They're both such idiots, and the banter is genuinely hilarious. As a survivor myself, I'm also incredibly moved by the way Astarion's journey with intimacy is handled—the slow arc of him reclaiming it on his own terms is raw, and whilst also painful, it is also incredibly real, so I can’t recommend this story enough 🩷

The times you will never remember [Gortash x The Dark Urge, Astarion x The Dark Urge] - by Maladaptive_daydreaming 📖 The plot: When former allies cross paths at the Gortash's coronation, Astarion finds himself unraveling the tangled history of the bond his lover shared with the Chosen of Bane. 🍓's thoughts: Astarion's inner monologue/commentary had me dead HAHAHA. Gortash is, of course, an absolute piece of shit (as he should be, my favourite lil rat <3), but he was right in calling Astarion a yapper 💀 Either way, this is such a fun story that also expands on Durge's backstory in a way that works really well with the canon information that we do have. Durgetash are so insufferably horrible and cannot be normal and I just love it. At the same time, Astarion keep making one horrible decision after the other and I'm on the edge of my mf'ing seat to see how/where the story is going to end.

Deadly Ambition [Gortash x The Dark Urge] - by @elinorbard 📖 The plot: U.S. Congressman Enver Gortash eagerly accepts Governor Richard Bhaal’s offer to join his presidential campaign as running mate, only to discover that the true power behind the operation is Bhaal’s enigmatic and ruthless daughter, Elegy. As the campaign hurtles toward the White House, Enver and Elegy find themselves entangled in a dangerous web of ambition, secrets, and manipulation. 🍓's thoughts: WOMEN IN MALE DOMINATED FIELDS YALL >>> Once again a modern AU has made the list, but I swear Gortash as VP Candidate is diabolical work. Elegy is... well, let's just say the author did an incredible job of making Durge work in a modern context (I love that lil insane baby) —that woman is vicious. Insanely smart, but vicious. Truly a case where I was rooting for the evil cunts to win and my God did this serve. Quite frankly, I need more.

Note: This work is part of a series.

Don't Wake Me Up [Rolan x Tav] - by @seabirdsong 📖 The plot: Tav and Rolan share a complicated past—though only one of them knows it. Years ago, she watched him from afar, until Elturel fell, and everything changed. Now, bound by necessity, they find themselves side by side, crossing the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and discovering that some wounds can only be mended by those who carry the same scars. 🍓's thoughts: Full disclosure: Much like GML I am still reading this fic and haven't fully caught up with every chapter, but I do love Rolan and I do love everything I have read thus far, so "Don't Wake Me Up" is getting a place on my rec list 😌 This is somewhat of an enemies to lovers (well, one-sided enemies to lovers) slow burn, but it's that delicious kind of slow burn where Rolan is just peak idiotic and I like 'em like that. This is another exceptional case of "helping each other through trauma" and I cannot reiterate how much I love it. Once Rolan got over his initial Mr Darcy Default Front he became the best boi and I'm eagerly awaiting my holiday so I can finally catch up with the rest of this incredible fic 🩷🩷

📜 One shots & short stories:

midnight call [A!Astarion x Tav] by @again-please A Fitting Reunion [Astarion x Tav] by @deadly-diminuendo Dhampir Dreams [Astarion x Tav] by @bardic-inspo unburdened and becoming (an interlude) [Shadowheart x Tav] by @shadowhaert The Light in the Shadows [Shadowheart x Tav] by @sorceresssundries Petrichor and Parchment [Gale x Astation] by @forethott (with art by @calolily) Tongue of Silver [Shadowheart x Tav] by @gunpowdercarousel patchwork [Shadowheart x Nocture] by @aevallare Supply and Demand [Astarion x Tav] by luftballons99 Confession (Astarion's POV) [Astarion x Tav] by @vixstarria

Please give these amazing authors some love—kudos, comments, likes or a reblog can mean the world. If you have fic recs of your own, drop them in the comments or tag me! I'd love to keep the love going and discover even more gems. Let's continue to foster positivity and kindness in these spaces, particularly in times like these where those two go a long way 💕🍓

P.S: If any of the AO3 authors mentioned have a tumblr account that is not tagged, feel free to tag them. I have tried my best to look everyone up, but I'm not infallible and might've accidentally missed someone.

[xuexing-lumi]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 + 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 (𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬) Pt.4

This isn’t your average love reading. This is about the one, the soul who already exists in your energetic field, even if they haven’t stepped into your life yet.(Spoiler: yes, but not in the way you think).

🌸 before you dive into part 4... make sure you’ve read part 1,2 and 3 so everything clicks perfectly and you don’t miss any of the details ✨

📎 read part 1 here: How Does Your Pile Contact Their Soulmate?

📎 read part 2 here: How is Your Soulmate Doing in the Physical World Right Now?

📎 read part 3 here: Is it possible to communicate with my soulmate right now ?

trust me, it sets the mood just right for what’s coming next 💌 pink skies, soft energy, and deeper truths ahead 💕

Close your eyes, take a deep breathe and pick your piles.

𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 1

𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 2

𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 3

🌟𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 1 : Mirror

Part 4: What can I do to bring my soulmate in my life ?

A mirror reflects, but it also reveals. The mirror in your pile is no longer a symbol of appearance and it’s the reminder that your soulmate is activated by your own self-alignment. These three cards tell a story of emotional preparation, belief alignment, and emerging vulnerability. You bring your soulmate in not by chasing but by becoming the very soul they’re fated to recognize.

The Hierophant: Your soulmate is tied to your values not just your personality. This card calls you to examine and reclaim what you truly believe in about love, commitment, and worthiness. The Hierophant tells you to create sacred structure around your manifestations. Speak your truth aloud. Write affirmations. Align your dating choices with your soul values and not your fears. Your soulmate is likely someone who is spiritually attuned, or someone you'll meet once you're aligned with your core belief system. This card asks are you truly ready to receive what you’ve been asking for?

Nine of Cups: The Nine of Cups is the wish fulfillment card but here, it acts as a reminder that your desires are already orbiting you. The more satisfied and emotionally whole you feel within yourself, the clearer and faster your soulmate appears in your field. This doesn’t mean perfection and it means self-trust, sensual joy, and celebrating small wins. Your soulmate will be drawn to your glow, not your ache. Make your life so joyful and full that your soulmate can’t resist joining the party. Pleasure is a portal. So is laughter, art, music, food, movement, and comfort. Stop waiting. Start living like they’re already coming.

Page of Cups: The Page of Cups invites fresh emotional energy soft starts, creative flirts, inner child healing. This is your sign to begin letting yourself be seen again. Whether it’s through journaling, daydreaming, drawing, or sending out gentle feelers romantically the page is about making your heart available without needing to control how it's received.Talk to your soulmate in writing. Doodle them into existence. Dance when you feel alone. These “silly” things open soul channels. lol

🌟 𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 2: Pink Lipstick

Part 4: What can I do to bring my soulmate into my life?

Lipstick is the last thing we put on before we speak,but your lipstick isn't out in the open. It’s tucked in a drawer, maybe slightly smudged, maybe unused. (that could be a sign too) There’s vulnerability here. This pile speaks to the soul that wants to love again but doesn’t know how to trust the mirror or the message. All three of your cards are reversed. That doesn’t mean “bad.” It means the magic is buried underneath pain waiting to be uncovered gently. These cards tell a story of emotional disconnection, the healing of wounded love scripts, and the tender first step toward vulnerability.

Five of Swords (Reversed): This is the card of surrender.The kind that says: “I don’t need to win. I just want to feel peace again.” In reverse, it speaks to a part of you that's tired of fighting with love, with your past, with your own self-blame. To bring your soulmate in, you must forgive the version of you who tried to survive when love was war. Drop the sword. Unclench your jaw. Let go of the need to be “right” about love always being painful. This card asks you to stop proving and start receiving. Your soulmate is not your opponent. They are your echo. And right now, they’re waiting for you to release the old scripts not because they’re wrong, but because they’re over. You’re allowed to write a new story now.

Two of Cups (Reversed): This card hurts in reverse because it shows how ready your soul is to connect, and how scared your heart still feels. There may be residue from unreciprocated love, friendships that weren’t mutual, or soul ties that left you asking, “Why didn’t they choose me?” But the answer isn’t that you were unworthy. It’s that you were under-recognized, even by yourself. To bring your soulmate in, you must choose you first not as a trend, but as a truth. You can’t magnetize a healthy, spiritually equal connection if you’re still believing you’re only lovable when you earn it. Let this reversal teach you that the real thing won't need to be chased.

Ace of Cups (Reversed): This card is a cry your heart out kind of message. In reverse, it means your emotional cup has been running on fumes, or maybe you’ve been pouring into everyone but yourself. Your soulmate can’t find you if your heart is buried under old grief, shame, or suppressed desire. This isn’t about being healed. This is about being honest. Start with small rituals of renewal.You are not too late. You are just right on time. (just in case someone needs to hear it, btw cool all reversed)

🌟 𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 3: Telephone

Part 4: What can I do to bring my soulmate into my life?

A telephone is a tool of connection, yes, but more than that it’s a line between two hearts separated by silence. It carries voices, sighs, laughter, confessions.This pile is for those who feel the hum of a connection, but aren’t sure how to pick up the call. Maybe you’ve heard the ringtone in your dreams. Maybe you’ve spoken into the void, unsure if anyone heard, but they did hear it and even answered,but first, you need to unmute your own heart.

Judgement: This is your awakening moment. It’s the card that asks: Are you willing to hear the call you’ve been waiting for? It doesn’t mean you’re being tested. It means you’re being remembered. Judgement is about answering to your higher self and realizing your soulmate is more than just a person. They are a reflection of everything you’ve been becoming. To bring them in, you need to accept the version of you that you’ve outgrown and let her go. You can’t meet your soulmate if you’re still living through the wounds of the person who thought love was dangerous. You have to wake up from that dream now. The call is for this version of you. The one who’s ready.Let go of old love stories that felt like voicemails you were never meant to hear.

Knight of Pentacles (Reversed): In reverse, this card says: you’ve been waiting so long, you’ve convinced yourself it might never happen. It’s not that you’re blocked and it’s that your belief in slow, steady progress has turned into stillness. Maybe your routine became a shield. Maybe you convinced yourself love only comes after you “fix everything.” but your soulmate isn’t waiting for your perfection. They’re waiting for your presence. This card is your sign to unfreeze the part of you that stopped trying.Do the thing you’ve been putting off including the new hobby, the random solo trip, the uncomfortable conversation with your reflection.

The Lovers: The Lovers card says your soulmate is ready to meet you. But are you ready to choose love when it shows up even if it feels scary, unfamiliar, or bigger than what you’ve known? To bring them in, you must choose to love like it’s safe to do so. Even now. Even before they arrive. This means building a relationship with your own desire. Accepting that you are worthy of deep, soul-level connection. Choosing not to ghost your own heart. When you trust that your soulmate is real not fantasy, not someday the universe sends the signal back. The line clears. The call connects and suddenly, you’re no longer alone. You say, “I’m here. I’m ready. Talk to me.”Your soulmate isn’t a missed connection. They’re already trying to dial in. All you have to do is believe that you deserve to pick up.

also, just in case that person needs to hear it.....a specific message for someone (might or might not resonate with everyone)- "he was not worth it."

✦ do you want a personal reading like this?

🌸 I offer:

Celebrity Tarot Reads (K-Pop, BTS, Actors) SP Manifestation Guidance Future Love + Shadow Work Spreads Moon-Coded Letter from Your Twin Flame Channeled Audio Readings + PDF Summaries ✧ First reading? Ask for a free pull!

—

📩 DMs Open: @xuexing-lumi Tumblr inbox

🖤 closing words from Lumi:

We ride or die, even through the mess. 💅 — Lumi, the Moon’s Bride 🌕💋

—

(ignore):

[miradelletarot]

Today flavor of Gale Dekarios: him completely submissive and breedable for Tav. After being thoroughly used he's rightfully rewarded with top quality aftercare and words of pure love, adoration and affirmation by his beloved Tav.

Yeah, I'm hungry for Gale today. But aren't we all? 😔🥺💕

Not beta'd so sorry if it sucks lol

tags: gale x reader, penetration, and a bunch of sappy shit.

**18+ only under the cut**

"That's it, love. What a good pet you are," you purr as you ride him, stroking his hair and trailing your hand down to cup his cheek.

He whimpers from your touch, how you feel around him, his eyes pleading with you, but you aren't sure for what. More? Less? Everything? He grips your thighs as if to anchor himself to you through shuddered breaths and the dizzying heat of lust.

You pant heavily as you take your pleasure, reveling in how he fills you; how deliciously you stretch for him and pause your rhythmic thrusts to savor it.

The time passes in a blur as the room fills with the sounds of your claiming and the sweet redolence of your mingled perspiration.

"Come for me," you breathe with barely controlled ecstasy as you struggle to control your own release.

Your words are too much for him as he spills inside you with choked back moans, his cheeks flushed with need and his eyes squeezed shut. He'd almost look in pain had it not been for the breathy affirmations that tumbled from his lips like a prayer. The very sight of it is enough to send you over the edge right after and you swell with pride, knowing you did that to him.

You lean down for a gentle kiss to his parted lips and withdraw yourself with a sigh. "Stay there, my love," you murmur as you crawl off the bed and disappear into the washroom and return with a couple of warm, damp cloths. You climb back into bed and lay beside him with your body pressed against his.

"You did so well for me, my sweet mage," you whisper as you take the cloth and languidly drag it along his flagging length. He lets out a whimpering sigh as you clean him. Slow. Careful. As if he were the most precious thing on Toril.

You press kisses to his temple as you take a fresh cloth and dab the beads of sweat that soaked his hair and gorgeously olive skin. He watches you with eyes half-lidded, filled with adoration and fatigue as you move the cloth over his body and whisper affirmations of love and desire.

He deserves this and he knows it; from your loving gaze and tender touches. In your praise and devotion. The way you nuzzle his bearded jawline and whisper sweet nothings as you pull the covers over the both of you is all the assurance he needs to know that you are his and he is yours. "Until the stars dim and the seas no longer swell," you breathe. "You'll always be my love."

[azen13]

Same anon who asked for the yan!wrio hcs. I wanted to thank you for it! I loved it. And you’re absolurely right! I think you hit the nail on the head regarding how he will act as a yandere. I loved it so much I might as well ask for another fic, hehe 🤭

I wanted to ask if you take requests that include reader with x or y traits. If yes, I wanted to ask for this specific scenario: (if you dont mind, I’ve asked other genshin yandere writers to write this as well and I’m asking you too because I’m really curious on how you’d write this!) Yan!Wriothesley with an oblivious reader. Basically everyone knows wriothesley is infatuated with her, including the guards and inmates, and everyone knows he’s killed for her, except she herself. I wanted to see what you think Yan!Wriothesley would do if he was met with such a reader. It can be a HC or a fic, anything you’re comfortable with!

Thank you for your timee💕

Pensato

A/N: Hello again anon! Thank you so much for this ask. I love Yandere!Wriothesley and Wriothesley in general, so writing for him is such a treat. I think I may have gone a little bit off-track but I hope this will suffice! Thank you again for your ask!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Murder

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Though the weather was far from fair, this was certainly the most beautiful day Wriothesley had spent on the surface for a multitude of reasons. Rain pattered against stone in a wonderful little waltz, providing a soothing ambiance to the day’s activity–you had invited him on the surface to go shopping in Rue d’Arpont, an enchanting street in the Court of Fontaine full of little boutiques and bistros. 

Being that Wriothesley lived in Meropide and didn’t deal with the fickle Fontainian weather on a regular basis, he didn’t have an umbrella, providing him with a convenient excuse to loop an arm around your shoulder and keep you slotted against his side. It was a certainty that by that evening, at least three tabloids would be printed regarding the mysterious Duke of Meropide’s unexpected relationship with one of Fontaine’s premier pianists. Neither you nor he seemed to mind the thought of that much–though, Wriothesley knew you had hardly thought of that happening when you happily offered to shelter him beneath your umbrella. You simply wanted to help a friend, and Wriothesly had taken the opportunity to mark you as property of Meropide in the process.

“I’m glad you invited me to join you.” Wriothesley’s voice broke through the quiet precipitation, the sound of every droplet of water bending to accompany the melody of his words. In the distance, murmurs lent another texture to the quiet building symphony. Just as Wriothesley took a breath, thunder called in the distance and lightning responded, smashing apart the tender composition. A line of electricity arced across the sky, fingers curling down from the clouds to try to grip Fontaine in its gnarled hand. 

This wouldn’t do. With so little time together, Wriothesley longed to keep your attention firmly focused on him. Neither weather nor your naive whims would disrupt the tempo of life he had set for you, now and forever. “Seems like it’s getting really bad.” Wriothesley’s arm dropped from your shoulder, sliding down your side to grasp your waist. By the way your head turned back to him–eyes widening with such innocent surprise and your cheeks ripening to a gentle, flushed pink–he had your attention again, a fact that made his heart flourish. “Maybe we should find some place to get lunch? My treat.” His free hand pointed towards a small restaurant with what appeared to be a greenhouse by its side. Through the drenched window panes, rows of trellises full of little cream-colored flowers seemed to cover the walls. It almost seemed like something only a dendro vision holder could create, so ethereal and elegant.

A bashful smile shone across your face, as soft as the sun’s first kiss of light at dawn. “That’s very kind of you, Monsieur Wriothesley, but-”

“Ah-ah-ah, no ‘but’s. I insist.” Though your voice was as enchanting as a siren’s song, Wriothesley knew better than to indulge in your innocence. Your virtues became vices with how sharp they were, and Wriothesley knew that if he didn’t exploit them, someone with much more wicked schemes would. “Consider it a congratulations for your performance in Meropide.” As he steered you over to the entrance of the bistro, his mind meandered down streams of memories, tracing back to the roots of this desire to protect you.

A letter. One wedged between manila folders stuffed with forms and transcripts that was brought to his desk as part of his daily work. About two hours after beginning paperwork, his hand weary and barely grasping his pen–his preferred weapon of choice when battling the bureaucratic beasts the Maison Gestion conjured–he found his fingers lifting up a letter that was blissfully light. Upon opening it up though, he quickly realized he was in for a different sort of battle: every word on the page was written in cursive and wild and wispy as wind and waves, to the point where it was almost indecipherable. Fifteen minutes passed by as Wriothesley tried to decipher exactly what each letter meant. Eventually, he understood the message: a famous Fontainian pianist was requesting permission to come to Meropide to perform for the prisoners.

That was the seed that you had planted in his mind. The people of Fontaine held such revulsion for Meropide and its inhabitants, it seemed startling that someone–much less a figure as cultured as a musician–would want to come to Meropide on their own free will.

But you did.

He wrote back, not accepting your request just yet, but feigning suspicion. Further details would be required before he could approve of such an event, including the answers to several questions. Among them, a simple, unadorned “Why?”.

Your response came quick, written in the same mesmerizing slanted script. The way you wrote was conversational, as though you were simply talking to a well-known friend and not an imposing, powerful stranger like Wriothesley. The answers to Wriothesley’s more logistical questions were thorough and cooperative, though he could hardly care. He was willing to handle everything, from the moving of the piano to the security of the concert. If anything, your answers only confounded him more and more. Trust seemed to bloom from every sentence, the very paper reeking of benevolence. Since he had been a child, Wriothesley had never allowed such flowers to grow in the garden of his heart; instead, they withered into ash, leaving his body barren of such tenderness.

A warmth pooled in his chest, trickling steadily into each of his limbs. Briefly, Wriothesley wondered if this is what it would feel like to drink Sinthe.

His next letter was simple: a time, date, and place. 

You arrived in Meropide minutes before his letter requested you come, not that Wriothesley minded. Preparations had been made well in advance so the day would proceed smoothly, and Wriothesley had spent many sleepless nights pouring over the list of procedures to make sure you wouldn’t have a bad time in Meropide. Wriothesley escorted you to his office, made you a cup of tea, and offered you a pastry before you went out to perform. While you sat, he noticed in your lap was a small burlap sack that one might use as a Mora pouch. 

“You don’t need to tip me for letting you perform here, you know.” He elected to frame his question as a joke, adding in a teasing smile to make the picture he painted look more convincing. 

Despite your career in the arts, you seemed to be no actor by the way that you squirmed in your seat. “A-aha, I was…shopping earlier.” As you spoke, your eyes seemed to ricochet in their sockets as they glanced at every corner of his office. 

Wriothesley was ready to press further. By this point, he had ruminated on your letter for far too long, as though examining every stroke of every letter to glean some new facet to your intentions. The few minutes he had spent talking to you only confirmed many of his thoughts, reinforcing the budding desire to shield you from any potential criminals that could have done you harm. Even though he had a question ready on his lips, he decided to stay quiet. He planned to keep a close eye on you as you stayed in Meropide, so any suspicious behavior would be easy to observe. Plus, he trusted you. Not fully, but the seed you had planted in Wriothesley’s heart had taken root and sprouted.

When the clock in Wriothesley’s office struck noon, he escorted you out and towards the makeshift venue the prisoners and staff of Meropide had prepared for your performance. It was nothing extravagant, just a simple metal platform with a well-used baby grand piano, but the shoddy backdrop only made you stand out more as you took the stage and sat down. Your fingers slipped up towards the keyboard. As you began to play, Wriothesley had to lean in just to hear the faintest whispers of harmonies. Each note seemed to evaporate, congealing into airy clouds of sound that slowly moved across the room. The music crept towards a crescendo, your hands occasionally dropping into the lower registers of the piano as the auditory sky began to darken and rumble with thunder. 

And then, just as it seemed you were ready to send lightning shooting across the crowd, you released the tension with a torrent of rain. Your hands fell up and down the keys in a blur, glissandoing one way before arpeggiating the other. Finally, as quick as the tempest began, it stopped. Birdsong filled the air, a gentle gust of wind tickling newborn leaves and making them rustle with laughter. 

You hadn’t even released the keys, but Wriothesley wanted to ensure he was the first to congratulate you for your performance. After he began clapping, a rapturous applause echoed throughout the room. You may not have been a vision holder, but you were still capable of such otherworldly feats, conjuring images simply from the vibrations of strings.

While Wriothesley wished to congratulate you for your playing, many other prisoners had the same idea, rushing up to you eagerly. Some leaned in too close, others clapped a hand on your shoulders, all of them seemed to stoke some fervent flame deep in Wriothesley. He kept his lips shut and simply waited, though. None of them were breaking the rules of Meropide, after all.

The line shrunk at a snail’s pace, as it seemed that each new person wanted to talk to you longer than the last. By the time there was only one person ahead of Wriothesley in line, impatience flickered imprudently in his mind. When he saw how engaged you were with this prisoner, though, the flame of impatience quickly burnt itself out, and from the ashes rose a fire that burnt stronger. The prisoner was an old man in his forties or fifties from the looks of it. He wore such a dour expression it seemed as though he was a wax statue in a hot room. The words you spoke to him were furtive, your fingers reaching into the pocket of your pants. As deft as a magician, the Mora pouch Wriothesley had seen earlier slipped from your fingers to the prisoner’s, who quickly pocketed the money.

Before the prisoner could even turn around, Wriothesley had begun taking wide steps back to his office. If you called his name, he didn’t hear, nor did he care. The guards would escort you out when the time was right and take care of any other matters. His presence wasn’t required there. Instead, he had a much more pressing matter at hand. Walking in a ring around the room, Wriothesley flung open cabinet after cabinet in an agitato, ignoring how files shot out and fluttered to the floor. After each one had been revealed, he began to comb through every single form with surgical precision. There was a cancer in Meropide, and it would be removed with no delay. 

The diagnosis was quick. After three or four cabinets, his hands opened a form and read a name he had memorized with such certainty, he didn’t even need to check your signature. As he read the case, his anger ebbed and flowed, constantly changing directions like a river over time. What once was jealousy quickly returned to its original course: protectiveness. Your father was a former merchant with a penchant for gambling. Eventually, he became so mired in debt that he had to turn to less savory business to make money. Namely, selling Sinthe. 

You weren’t the issue. No, far from it. Instead, your father had weaponized your wholesome nature and pointed the tip of the blade at your heart. With how you carried yourself it seemed that it hadn’t pierced you yet, but that didn’t mean it had other effects. The form–which was quickly being crumpled by Wriothesley’s hands–contained a photograph of your father, still that same gloomy expression. Beneath the contours of your father’s face, Wriothesley saw his own adoptive parents take shape. He felt the familiar stab of betrayal, of trust razed and devastated.

Wriothesley believed in rehabilitation, but he also believed in justice. And in a place such as Meropide, where every rule was of his own design, justice would be enacted in accordance with Wriothesley’s wishes. When your father was summoned to Wriothesley’s office one day and never reappeared, everyone in Meropide knew what happened. Weeks later, when you were invited to return to Meropide for tea with Wriothesley, as you walked along the metal promenades of the prison, you noticed how the prisoners cast you strange glances, but couldn’t understand why. Week after week, you continued to return, allowing Wriothesley into your world. 

All those meetings had led him to the surface, to a small bistro on a quaint street. The two of you were brought into the greenhouse, though the sight surprised both you and Wriothesley. Instead of real flowers and trellises, it was an optical illusion; someone had painted the image of a garden lining the walls of the building. 

“Why are there no real…” your voice tapered off, but the waiter was quick to pick up on your question.

“We used to have real flowers, but too many people would pick them. Eventually, the cost of replacing them became too great, so we contacted an artist to paint them.” The waiter shrugged then left.

After pulling out your chair for you, Wriothesley sat down opposite to you and sighed. “What a shame. It looked pretty from the outside.” A few seconds of silence passed as you fiddled with the tablecloth. “Anyways. Say, have any performances planned? I’d love to hear you again.” At the sight of a gentle smile gracing your face, Wriothesley felt himself perk up a little with pride.

“Not at the moment. Sometimes I’m booked, other times I’ve got nothing, and right now…” 

Sensing opportunity, Wriothesley quickly jumped back into the conversation. “Well, if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.” His hand slithered across the table and brushed against your palm, fingers full of barely-restrained greed. He could offer you an entire world of opulence and comfort, protect you from those that seek to undermine your innocence. A delicate wildflower such as yourself might wilt temporarily after being transplanted, but in the long run, a stable environment will allow you to flourish without all the threats of nature. You may be the musician of the keys, but Wriothesley has mastered the song of your heart. When he takes you for himself, all that will be left of you in this world is the silent echo of your sweet melody. 

Your cheeks flushed, you smiled bashfully. “Thanks Wriothesley.” 

[moonstruckme]

Omg I have another weird request. So I get really bad gas bubbles in my tummy, like to the point of curling up and crying. So what helps is tummy rubs. Can you do a cute thing with doctor remmy since he would know this and like not even care about the burps or toots 🫣🫣 it’s so embarrassing but it happens all the time mostly after I eat and I just want comforting hands of doctor Remus 🥺💕

Thanks for requesting love!

cw: stomach pains, mention of gas bubbles, and implied belching and passing gas

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 618 words

You hear Remus come home, but you can’t make yourself call out a greeting. You’re curled up on the couch, using the butt of your palm to try and push out the pain and gritting your teeth through the largely unrewarding process. You turned on the TV when you first laid down, but you can’t focus on it enough to distract yourself. 

“Dove?” Remus’ voice moves from the kitchen into the living room, his footfalls quiet. Then he’s towering over the back of the couch, concern a line between his brows. It digs in when he sees you. 

“Hi,” you manage. 

“Hi, honey.” His voice stretches with a weighty compassion. He rounds the couch to sit by your feet, hand landing atop your curled legs. “Stomach bothering you again?” 

You hum miserably. This is the worst kind of pain, in your opinion. Not harsh or biting, but buried deep, throbbing and tender like a bruise. 

“C’mere,” Remus says, scooting closer to you and worming his hand in between your stomach and your thighs. 

“Sorry,” you say, voice nearly breaking on a sob. He’s only just gotten home from work, and you’ve already given him a task he didn’t ask for. It’s hardly a sexy thing to come home to.

“Don’t be,” he replies softly, sliding his hand underneath yours on your belly. You slip yours out to let him work. 

Remus’ hands are slightly cold from the chill outside, but they warm quickly, gentle but resolute as he applies a careful pressure to the bubbles inside your stomach. He’s far kinder than you had been, easing the bubbles out rather than punishing them. His slender fingers are deft and skillful. You find yourself relaxing even before the hurt has begun to lessen. 

A belch rises up in your throat before you can warn him. You squeeze your eyes shut in mortification. “Jesus. Sorry.” 

“Quit apologizing,” Remus says, bending over you to kiss the side of your neck lightly. His hand continues to knead at your stomach with a gentle lovingness. “That’s a good thing. Does it feel better?” 

“A little.” You give him a wan smile. You wish you felt well enough to sit up and kiss him back. Your poor boyfriend hasn’t even had time to take off his scrubs; you definitely owe him a cup of tea after this, at the very least. 

“Good.” The word eases off his tongue warm and buttery, and the smile he gives you in return is just as comforting. “I can see you thinking, lovely girl. You’re feeling poorly enough, don’t torment yourself extra.” 

You cringe as another gas bubble escapes you. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet,” you say guiltily. “If I were you, my appetite would be ruined.” 

Remus hums. “Well then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not me.” He grins, reaching up with his free hand to cup the back of your head. His thumb draws circles into your temple. “My appetite will be fine, dove. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I was squeamish, hm? Anyway, I couldn’t eat if I knew you were hurting. Helping you helps me.”

You burp again, more of the pain tingling out of you as you finally begin to relax. “I’m writing to the Vatican,” you sigh. “You need to be considered for sainthood.” 

Remus laughs. It’s a rare, hearty sound, loud and deep and chest-tightening. You think that you’re lucky it hadn’t happened before he’d set to work on your stomach; you’re not sure your body would have been able to handle it. 

“I’m not sure I’d qualify,” he admits, considering you with his tongue stuck in his cheek, “but I appreciate the thought, dove.”