#vowels = space and time

[mourning-again-in-america]

"This Year" would be so much better if it incorporated gregorianish vocals into the chorus. just imagine.

[grandisknight]

good morning-night | xavier

summary: Xavier wakes up in the middle of the night and handles the dilemma sleeping beside him.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, afab!reader, dubcon, somnophilia, fingering, vaginal fingering, brief oral sex/cunnilingus, handjob, kissing, sleep (part 2)

wc: 3.2k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

When Xavier’s eyes blinked themselves open, the sun had yet to rise and meet his bleary gaze. Moonlight continued to filter through the bedroom curtains in its place, slowly moving through the twilight sky.

A rustle or two later, the dimmed interface of his phone highlighted that it was, in fact, still dusk. Too early to be awake for his liking, a tinge of annoyance laced in his brow at the prospect. Traces of slumber still crusted his lower waterline, and the device was quickly put away without a second thought.

Carefully, he shifted his weight to find that perfect sleeping position—one that would also be mindful of the body sharing the space.

Normally, you’d be snoring and snoozing at home, only a floor below from his place. But of course, insomnia had found its way back to you on a chilled autumn evening. And more so, tumbling into his offering arms. He insisted his comforters could use the company anyhow, reminding you how well you’ve slept with him around before. (Really, it was a great excuse to sleep over and see you, so he wasn’t complaining in the slightest.)

Late night talks drifted into steady breaths of fatigue, circling him back to the present. Nothing but a spare, oversized shirt of his draped over your body, undergarments in place and a half-kicked off blanket barely clinging onto your thighs. A mesmerizing sight, even with the disarray of your bed head nestled into the pillows.

By instinct, Xavier quietly reaches to brush away a stray piece of hair that found itself casted over your closed eyes. His hand lingers for a second, taking in the warmth of your cheek against his palm. Soft, he realizes, especially so when a curiously gentle pinch of your skin holds the same bounciness to a fresh marshmallow.

It’s only when a faint noise pushes past your throat that his fingers still themselves—had he woken you up? The sounds were vaguely disgruntled, but the array of consonants and vowels perked his ears. His hand retracted from you then, a quiet apology passed to your sleeping form.

“Are you awake?”

Your light breaths answer him instead, seemingly rejecting his query. He lets out the exhale he had subconsciously held onto this entire time, relieved. “I guess not.”

Xavier shakes his head at his own disbelief. He must’ve heard things—blaming the weariness that dulled his senses, it really was too early to deal with this. He decides as much anyhow, soon cozying himself beside you and letting his fatigue carry him into the following hours of dawn. It was comforting and content—arms circling your waist, his nose nudged against your nape with a deep inhale and back to chest for maximum warmth output.

So surely, he could finally fall back into slumber.

At least, that’s how it was until mere seconds ago. It didn’t help when you began to toss and turn, unintentionally elbowing the high of his abdomen. The follow-up of your legs squirming and bottom pressing against his flew his eyes open for the second time, bewildered at the sudden attack.

“Sleep,” was all his raspy voice could manage. He squeezed your sides in further reprimand, hoping it would cease your fidgeting. If you had moved any further, it would only give him another thing to worry about—one hard thing was enough for him to deal with at the moment.

Despite his best wishes, your body moved on its own, tightly pressed into his front and neatly slotting his growing erection between your ass. Xavier was the farthest thing from being Astra’s strongest soldier, inhaling deeply at the betrayal of his body to yours.

He had half the mind to chastise you before another faint breath of sounds took precedence. They strung together to form a long whine of his name, but tinted with something rather dubious.

“Xavier,” had always sounded so sweet to him, especially coming from his lover. Whether it was in a playful scold or in unadulterated want, the simple utterance of his name was nothing more than an easy way to melt his heart. Though in this moment, it snapped him wide awake and focused on the troubling warmth held within his grasp. Questions of ‘what’ and ‘why’ raced through his mind, unsure of how his name in particular ended up on your sleepy tongue.

His mind drifts to a roadmap of possibilities, with a nightmare becoming one of the more logical outcomes. A wave of sympathy tugged at the potential thought. His hands lowered to rub a soothing circle into your abdomen to offer a semblance of comfort. He remembered reading about it once, how to encourage quality sleep through massages—so Xavier continues to delicately dimple his fingers into the plush of your skin with the techniques in mind.

It only had the opposite effect, much to his dismay. Your thighs pressed together, uncomfortably so, furthering the friction hotly pressed to his hardened state. Hands curling and uncurling, you reached for something unknown with another mewl spilling past your lips.

“Please, Xavier. Mmh. More. Inside me.”

He pulls back from you entirely in surprise, your body falling into place and flat against the sheets.

Your face was twisted into displeasure, knees shifting against each other and chest rising to combat your huffed breaths. Carefully, Xavier hovered over you, conflict rising in his body and mind with observation.

A resolve forms through the hand on your knee gently parting your thighs apart to alleviate the evident tension. It didn’t take much effort, your legs readily parting with the slightest nudge. In turn, seeing your soiled underwear gave him answers—the fabric was slicked with your subconscious arousal, clinging to your labia in ardent effect.

That was the last thing Xavier had expected, and a faint lightbulb flickered in his mind. So perfect, echoes brightly in his head. You looked absolutely perfect. His fingers twitched instinctively, every fiber of his being ringing in a quiet urge.

He really shouldn't feel this way, he tells himself. And should definitely ignore the way his cock was straining against his boxers—how he couldn’t take his eyes away from the heat that continued to weep with every exhale you whimpered.

But curiosity killed the cat, and such a finger found itself lightly pressing over your soaked folds. It was a fleeting touch, that’s all it would be. To confirm that he wasn’t seeing things, to make sure that this was not just an early morning delusion clouded by his indecent thoughts. To see that this was something you sought after.

The slight spasm to his touch and relaxation to your tense expression was a telling response. Furthered so, when your hips bucked to chase into the rest of his hand, searching for the answer to your subliminal needs. Your tense shoulders slackened, sinking into the sheets when he decides to quietly cup himself between your legs, fingertips dragging a slow line over the damp cloth.

Chills ran down his spine when your soft sighs grew in volume, a small smile pulled to your lips in a painted visage of relief.

Ah, so that’s what this was.

Xavier’s mind wanders back to your plea just moments ago, and a warm pink dusts the tips of his ears.

Inside, you wanted him inside.

Shouldn’t he do his part as your diligent partner and help you in a time of need?

The thought of indecency pricks his mind, but the overshadowing sense of his desire to please you (and subsequently, himself) balanced out the logic. You needed this, needed him. And he was no different, painfully aware of the budding sensation hidden away in his draws. He’d tell you when you wake up, give you the run down and apologize then. It’s just this once.

He leaned down, chest just mere centimeters away from yours. Pools of blue peered at your sleep-laden expression from below, observing the puffs flaring your nose in exhale.

Slowly, the cottons of your underwear were pushed to the side, greeting his fingertips with a wet squelch when they returned to your exposed cunt. He lets out a resounding hum at the touch, noting the faint twitch in your brow. Warm and dripping with need, Xavier pressed a feathery kiss to your jaw before sinking a middle finger into your depths.

A delicious gasp and lull of your head appreciated the gesture, and it takes everything in him to not come on the spot. He settles for careful rutting against the sheets, sighing with the layers of friction heightening his sensitivity.

“You have one inside now,” he whispered, feeling around your walls and groaning when they flutter in turn.

Languid strokes accompanied his mind, wandering into the thought of replacing his hands with something bigger, something warmer, how divine you would look wrapped around his throbbing—a shaky breath intercepted his ideas, reigning him back to reality.

He turns to praise instead, one step at a time. “Taking it so well, as always.” He sneaks another kiss into the corner of your mouth, tempted to swallow your replying whimper there and then. A push in and out, he works to meticulously reward your pretty sounds.

At one point, his middle retracts until only the edge of his nail is left. Xavier coos when your brows knit together at the loss, lips downturned. “You want more? Can you take another if I give it to you?”

Your eyes remain blissfully closed, but a soft moan of his name answers him in encouragement. A plea to continue his caresses, your hips lifted briefly to chase into the air, fueled by instinct and edging his finger back inside.

He kindly obliged, pairing his ring to meet the present middle in conjunction. Xavier revels in the stretch of your accommodating core when they make their grand return, pushing into your heat. He begins to slowly pump once more, trying his luck with an occasional curl of his pads against a particularly sensitive area. A broken mewl aptly rewarded his success, with a proud chuckle passing under his breath.

“There it is. You like it here, hm?”

One glance down sent his mind into a hazy overdrive, admiring how the sheets soaked up every droplet of arousal that wasn’t melting into the prints of his skin. It seemed like such a waste though, letting such precious honey escape into a place that wouldn’t appreciate it the way he could.

Xavier swallowed, aware of just how dry his throat had felt then. Though, a glass of relief to parch his woes was only a heartbeat away.

If he was careful, he could… just for a little bit.

His fingers slowed in the time that his lips dipped downwards, heart moving before his mind could. Attaching themselves to your clit, it remained pursed, burning in ecstasy at the delight he'd discovered. Good, he would be able to make sure none of your efforts go to waste. It flowed so easily into his welcoming throat that he couldn’t help but groan into your precious heat. The pace of his fingers resume, tongue wiggling over your swollen bud—cycling between sucking the sweetness into his eager mouth and licking gently.

“Anh, ‘s good, please,” you sweetly cried out, breaths hiccuping and that’s when he knew. You were close, pulsing so ardently around his fingers and lips parting in an expression he’s studied well.

A particular firm point of his tongue caught the air in your lungs and he watched as your half-lidded gaze struggled to meet his. Confusion and fluster had never looked so beautiful until it flashed across your face, searching for the source of your awakening.

“Ah, Xavier, what are you—mmh—!”

You barely had time to warm up your vocals, let alone process anything when a searing heat ripples through your body. Pliant under his touch, you come undone with every lapping of his tongue and stroke of his fingers. Xavier only hummed into your sensitive cunt, digging his nose further to collect your flowing release without hesitation.

It was only when you began to weakly swat at his seated silvery tuft of hair that he pulled back, taking the hint. His fingers leave first, a lingering hum memorizing your taste as his mouth followed second.

Glistening from the tip of his nose down to the curve of his chin, Xavier meets your glassy stare halfway and welcomes your mouth with his own. The added waking call of his soft kisses against your lips were slow, smooth in contrast to the outright desperation from seconds ago. You could taste yourself, taste him, all swirling together when the flats of your tongues find one another.

With a hand cupped to his jaw, you tilt away for a moment’s air. “Xavier,” you mumbled drowsily. “What’s going on?”

“Morning,” he answers, tone saturated with the early day gravely edge and a hint of arousal. Though his expression was starkly calm, as if this was another casual morning and wasn’t just spent between your legs. He presses a soft kiss to your lower lip. “Did you have a good dream?”

“A dream?” You paused, feeling more exposed than ever despite the stickiness pooled below being a great tell-tale. How were you supposed to explain that your now fleeting dream involved taking Xavier in a fight? In bed? And that you enjoyed it?

There was a simple way out, presented through a sheepish mutter of, “Maybe. Guilty as charged, possibly.”

He smiles, one of gentle cruelty. “Won’t you tell me what it was about?” He carried the audacity to poke fun at the situation, mirthful words in line. You shoot him an accusatory glare that spelled ‘you already know the answer—do I have to spell it out?’

“Not even a little detail or two?” Xavier moves his fingers then, absolutely drenched in the viscous outcome of said dream. They were still nestled into your warmth, and the awareness gave way to a hearty exhale on your end.

You turn to the pillow, batting half an eye towards him and a muffled admission of, “It was about you,” to answer his questions. “We were… in the middle of… foreplay.” That was as much as you were willing to offer him, keeping the unspoken intimate elements to yourself.

“I figured from the way you kept calling for me,” he muses. “Needed me, and inside of you too.” Xavier punctuates the recalling with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t sleep because of it, and clearly you couldn’t either.”

A flush creeps across your cheeks as you turn to face him. If thunder were to strike you down, a part of you hoped it would be in this moment to save you from the embarrassment.

“Oh gods, you heard all of that?”

“Mm,” he confirms.

A tenderness saturates his features as genuine sincerity fills into his words. He finally retracts his fingers then, fixing your underwear into place with a tug. “And I’m sorry if I went overboard. I won’t do it again, promise.”

“Oh. I—“ You paused, biting your lower lip. Gazing at the wall behind him, you quietly confess your thoughts. “—Didn’t mind. Felt nice, actually.”

Xavier, somewhat defeated and relieved simultaneously, rests his cheek over your heart and arms lazily looped around your sides. A lighthearted sigh melts into your skin. “That’s… great. But, you’re going to be the end of me, one of these days.”

“Isn’t that my line?” You snort, though gently pat the back of his nape. A small yawn breaks your breathing, the earlier fatigue pricking your nose with an exhale.

“Xav,” you hummed. “Are you not sleepy?”

A prodding hardness against your thigh answers you before he could, and Xavier could feel the quiet laugh of your chest shaking his flattened cheek. Fatigue be damned, you couldn’t quite ignore the elephant in the room.

“Don’t say it,” he quietly warns, but you spell it out for him regardless.

It was as clear as the night sky. “You’re hard.”

Xavier cringes at the blunt nature of your astute observation. “Just… morning things. It’ll go back down once we sleep. So good night—ah,” he breathes, sucking through his teeth with a hiss.

Before he could even think about moving, your hand sneaked down to graciously palm over his poor boxers. The pressure of your fingers along his length were leagues better than the partial relief of rubbed sheets. He couldn’t help but screw his eyes tightly, subtly rocking into your touch. It sent a wave of lustful heat into your abdomen, seeing him succumb to his desires under your guided direction.

“I don’t think it’s just a morning thing,” you chide into the crown of his head. Xavier attempts to pull back in defense, but only falls forward when you dipped past the fabric and curl your fingers around his cock.

“I think it’s your turn to give me some details on what’s running through that mind of yours.” A squeeze adds onto your reason. “It’s only fair.” And, to save yourself from your own brief moment of embarrassing realization.

Weak to the hand that stroked from head to base, his mouth fell open to vocalize his thoughts and aroused pants almost immediately. “Couldn’t help it—hah—you looked so good, tasted even better. Sorry, so—“

Xavier breaks into a whimper, shifting to dig his forehead between your breasts. His forearms tighten slightly, holding you closer to him.

“It’s fine,” you reassured him. “Let me take care of you, s’alright, Xav.”

You continued to twist and caress, occasionally swiping a thumb over his sticky, hot head. It was overwhelming for a man who had spent his recent waking moments entirely focused on you, with his previously lidded arousal quickly coming undone.

“Just like that,” he begs. “I’m close, close.”

‘Close’ was putting it lightly, when warm streams of release painted your knuckles and escaped onto his abdomen in the same breath. You both exhaled, one of surprise and the other of relief, slowing your motions all the same—you pull back once the spurts subside, his length spent. He manages to lazily roll away from you, recovering on his side of the bed.

Reaching into the side drawer, a procured tissue touches your hand and neatly cleans off his remains. With a second piece, you turn to face him and pat down the slight mess over his skin, before tossing both dirtied pieces aside. Threading the other hand through his matted bangs, you asked, “Feeling better now?”

Xavier’s eyes were fluttered to a close, and you would’ve believed he fell asleep if it weren’t for the fingers reaching for your wrist. He brings it to his lips and smiles against it. “You didn’t have to do anything,” he murmured. “But, yeah. I appreciate it.”

“Well we’re even now, so it works out.” You pat his cheek in turn, shuffling closer to him and meeting his torso.

The arm closest to you drapes over your welcomed bodily heat, giving you the opportunity to envelop him wholly. He hums in agreement. “Now we can say good night.”

“More like good morning,” you retort, paying mind to the faint shimmer of orange hues bleeding into a now fading dawn.

“Same difference,” Xavier yawns, shielding your bodies from the inevitable sunrise. Tucked neatly in his embrace, he plants a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Mm. Good morning-night, my star.”

It was the final touch to an otherwise comforting existence, safely leading you back into a serene sense of sleep. The sun continued its slow ascend into the morning air, watching over the coupling of your bodies that drifted into a land of dreams.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Jenni's Version) III

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: You sound different to Mama

You are different to Mama, that much is obvious.

It's the obvious things first.

You don't have the same hair. You don't have the same eyes or nose or face shape. You don't have the same build. You walk different.

Mama is very tall. You are very small.

It's personality too. Mama is loud and funny where you are quiet and reserved. Mama attracts people to her. They flock to her likes flies and honey, eager to be around her even just for a little bit.

People do not care as much about you. You are avoided. Your new Tio told you that Jenni is charismatic. She has unbridled charisma that people seem to like.

You don't have that.

Mama takes centre stage whenever she walks into a room, all spotlights on her. She is the main character in the story of her life.

You fade into the background, a reoccurring extra in somebody else's story. You have a few lines here and there but your purpose is to elevate the main characters. You are not important. You are not a favourite. You could be replaced with anyone.

You're not like your Mama.

It's the little things as well.

The stuff that makes you different from Mama that you had never considered before.

Mama is from Madrid. She speaks like it to, the way her tongue curls over vowels and flicks over certain sounds.

You are not from Madrid.

You can change your name. You can change your face and how you act but you can't change where you come from.

Back when you had Alexia (not Mami, not Mami anymore or ever again), she had stressed the importance of your heritage. You are from Barcelona. You are Catalonian.

You learn Spanish at nursery and around the Barcelona team but around family and at home, you speak Catalan.

Alexia and Alba come from a small town just forty minutes away from Barcelona. Alexia once said that is where all the family is, no matter how spread out they have become.

You were part of that family, once upon a time.

Your identity came from being part of that family. You were the same as them.

You were Catalonian, down to your very core. It was something that Alexia had insisted on, proud Catalonian that she was.

You didn't realise something as silly as that would show so obviously.

But you don't speak the same as Mama. You hold your tongue differently and the way you say your words is different too.

Mama is from Madrid.

You are not.

But you are neither in Barcelona or Madrid right now. You are in Mexico and they can't quite seem to understand that you and Mama have different accents other than just plain Spanish.

You seem deep in thought as Jenni looks over at you, sitting on the sofa with Andy swiping his tongue over your hand repeatedly.

It's your first day at nursery and Jenni's sure that you're worried.

The last time you went to nursery was the day Alexia forgot you. Jenni doesn't really want to take you but she's got meetings all day with management and the club and it's not the kind of space that she wants you to be in.

So, nursery it is.

"Bambi," She calls, kneeling in front of you and lightly reaching out to cup your face," Are you okay? What's going on, huh? Can you tell me?"

Your throat bobs. "Mama," You say," What if they don't like me?"

Jenni smiles fondly at you, rubbing her thumb over the apple of your cheek. "They'd be fools not to like you. You're such a sweet girl."

"But what if they don't?"

A feeling that you can't name bubbles in your tummy, swirling around like a tiger pacing in its cage. It's ready to burst out at any minute. It's ready to attack, to claw and bite its way to freedom.

You don't want it to get out.

"They will," Jenni promises.

Mama does that sometimes.

She tells you little white lies to save your feelings.

You think Mama must know you're different to her. You think she must know that people only turn to you because you are attached to her.

You think she must know that people only give you the time of day because you're an extension of her. People do not see you as a separate person, you think, because you're not.

You don't even think you're a real person sometimes.

Alexia's child.

Alba's niece.

Eli's granddaughter.

You don't think you've ever been your own person, not really anyway.

Alexia's. Alba's. Eli's.

Now Jenni's.

You're not sure that you can ever truly be someone by yourself. You don't know how to be a person all on your own.

You are attached to someone else's story.

In movies and your favourite shows, the extras aren't real people anyway. They are made to serve a purpose.

They are made to make someone look good or evil. They are made to make people root for the hero or pray for the villain's downfall.

You were made to be someone's child. You were made to be attached to someone. To be moved from one person to the next like those little puppets that danced on strings.

You were never meant to have a season long story arc. You were lucky if you even appeared once per episode.

Without someone with you, without Jenni with you, you're not sure who you are. You're not sure how to act and you're not sure how to interact with kids your age.

You had Jaume for a brief time but even he seemed more like a real person than you even though he was just a baby.

Maybe one day he will become an extra, when the newness and shininess of him rubs off and he becomes just another kid like you.

But you don't think he will.

You think Jaume is a main character. You think he will be a leader like Alexia and charismatic like Olga.

You're crying now, eyes glazed over and blank and Jenni pulls you into a hug, cradling you closer to her.

"Bambi," She whispers," It's okay. It's okay, Mama's here."

Your hand fists her top, white knuckled as that tiger paces in your tummy, scratching at its cage. "Mama," You say," Don-Don't forget about me."

"I won't," Jenni promises," I won't, Bambi. Just a few hours and we'll come home. Can you be big and brave for me? Just for a few hours?"

"I don't have to be big and brave forever?"

"No. Just for a little while."

"I can do that, Mama."

Being big and brave is difficult. You've been big and brave before though, when Alexia took you to football practice, when baby Jaume was born, when you had to go to the mean man and Mama held you down.

But somehow, you can't be big and brave here.

The children speak Spanish but not your type of Spanish. They use words that you don't understand and say things in a way that's confusing.

But this is Mexico and Mama's teammates do the same thing.

You are the interloper here, the extra that's arrived from a different series. You are the one that has to adapt.

You say a few words to a boy and his brow furrows.

"You speak wrong," He says. There's no mistaking what he says this time. "You speak like you're stupid."

The tiger paces more furiously in your tummy and your throat tightens up.

But you must be big and brave. It's only a few hours.

Mama showed you on the clock. When the big hand is at twelve and the little hand is on two, she will come back for you.

"N-No," You say," I'm not."

"You are," He continues," People that don't speak properly are stupid."

The tiger in your tummy snarls and rams its big muscular shoulder against the cage. The bars creak under its weight, warping slightly.

"I...I'm not stupid. I'm just from Catalunya."

He turns his nose up at you. "You made that up! That's not a real place!"

"It is," You insist and the tiger rams its body against the cage again," I am from Barcelona which is in Catalunya which is in Spain!"

The words come easy to you.

You are from Barcelona like how Alexia is from Mollet del Vallès. Both are in Catalunya. Catalunya is in Spain.

You know those words off by heart.

But the boy doesn't accept them.

"That's stupid. You're stupid!"

You don't know what to say to that. You don't know if there's anything you can say to that.

So you just stand there, the tiger snarling in your tummy and the boy in front of you.

A teacher is there though, a soft hand on your shoulder.

"Carlos!" She says sternly," We do not call people stupid."

"But she-"

"She's not stupid. That's a bad word. We don't call people that."

"But-"

"No."

The boy - Carlos - scampers off after being scolded and the teacher takes you to the arts and crafts table.

She says they're drawing pictures of their mummies and daddies.

You join in too.

You draw Jenni and you holding hands.

She's in her Tigres jersey and you're in a tutu. She's holding your hand and you try to get the right shade for her hair.

"And what about your daddy?"

"I don't have a daddy."

The teacher's eyebrows shoot to her hairline. "Oh, sorry. What about another mummy then?"

You stare at your paper. You don't want to draw Alexia.

"I don't have a Mami anymore."

"What about siblings? Have you got any siblings?"

"I had a brother. Once."

You don't know why the teacher is getting distressed but she is. She also just lets you draw what you want for the rest of your time at the station so you do.

You draw little Andy on his leash and your new house in the background and a ball at Mama's feet so she can be happy.

The big hand gets to twelve and the little hand gets to two very quickly and you escape to Mama's arms.

You grip her shirt tightly, white knuckled again and she sits in the back of the car with you.

She rocks you as you sob.

"Bambi," She whispers to you softly, a welcome sound in your eyes," Bambi, baby, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here."

"Do-Do I talk stupid, Mama?" You get out through your sobs and Jenni tightens her grip on you, gently guiding your head to move into the crook of her neck.

"No, Bambi. You talk very well for such a little girl. You're not stupid at all."

"Are you sure?"

The tiger has slowed down its pacing until it curls up in the corner of its cage to sleep.

"I'm very sure."

"Am I meant to speak more like you? Is that what I'm meant to sound like?"

"No, Bambi," Jenni says," You're already perfect the way you are."

[astralnymphh]

kneeling for her ⋆ | ellie williams headcanons

༺ ellie x fem!reader sucking her strap hcs/scenario! ༻ ☽𖤐☾

(ellie image from kittaeria on pinterest)

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: had the most random scenario blossom in my head yesterday so i wrote it per usual, went a lil more risqué with this one 😜at least to my standards

cw/tags: NSFW!! SMUT!! MDNI!! ellies a lil goofy in the beginning, blunt/straightforward-ish reader, not a fully wrote out fic, small time skips, sitting on lap, cursing, takes place in jackson but not specified to be before seattle (readers choice) soft-dom leaning ellie (except maybe less soft in one instance, nothing rough tho), guiding you verbally and with hands, praises, petnames; (good girl, baby, slut) sucking/choking on strap, clit stim (giving) strap-vag insertion, flatiron position, rewarding, gripping head/hair, deepthroating.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

setting the scene

༻⛧one dusty orange sunset, cooped up in ellie's makeshift 'garage house' relishing a simple meal she whipped up for the both of you, albeit can you really classify her attempts at the art of culinary as five-star cuisine? regardless, the two of you slumped into the gray sofas' sufficient padding and dined like kings; in apocalyptic standards. no conversation had been rustling the space between you until a rather, interesting, unordinary, dare say- scandalous? scenario had implanted its peculiar self into your thoughts.

"hey babe?" you quell the silence, tone arching in curiosity.

"mhm?" ellie garbled through shut lips, chowing down her food.

"you know.. we should- try something new-"

"ooh~ like what?" she instantaneously hunches her back closer to you and tosses her barren plate aside, avid to hear your words go from mind to mouth. she invariably dotes on your ideas.

"uh- it's like.. related to.. bed stuff."

"like sleepin- wait! can we pleaaasee build a display shelf for my comic books above my bed-"

"ellie." 

"sorry." ellie, even being an adult, is still crazy about her long-kept hobbies.

"uh- anyways. I'm talking 'bout like.. sex." you impenitently tell.

her eyelids dim, sloping her head to the side in adorned interest, "sex? that's one way to ask."

"no ..seriously, I have an idea.." you stow the plate atop a stubby heap of books, conveying a genuineness in your stare.

ellie sails her tongue briskly through her lips, anchoring her torso back onto the sofas' arm, lengthening her legs out with a faint bend at the knees. her palm drops to her thigh, patting it twice.

 "c'm over here." she coaxes sweetly with an alluring gaze, imbued with a pip of power in her vowels.

a suffuse of blush overlies your midface, crawling your body towards her beckon.

her hands steady your hips down on her lap, finding refuge on the back of your thighs thereupon settling.

"what's the idea, then?" the moods' been shifted, emanating one of sensuality.

you nestle near her headspace, whispering, "y'know ur' strap?"

"yeah.." ellie likes where this is leading, clearly by her rapt smirk and tune of chords rising in tempt.

"what if I sucked it?"

⛧ oh boy, that set off a night she wouldn't be forgetting for the inbound days ahead. immediately you found yourself levitating up from the couch by her arms and bouncing on the mattress. a makeout session leads to fated stripping and now, your kneeling in front of her at groin-level and a hunter green mass protruding towards your nose bridge.

her optics glare down at you, the sight of you so keen and willing to do this. sure, it's not the real thing but the sight should and will be fucking exhilarating. 

"c'mon, what're you staring at?" ellie's hand gently smacks your cheek and splinters your blurry-minded trance.

you deduct a reply from your mouth, instead, taking a solid grasp of the strap and wrapping your lips round' the tip, all while preserving unwavering eye contact.

"shit.." 

her hands ease and twine the locks on each margin of your head, massaging the pads of her fingertips tenderly. her arousals' climbing new peaks every second at this rate. she presses her pelvis further upon your lip, steering you to open up.

your lips part and welcome the rotund tip in, stroking along your front teeth. the weak grasp on your head pushes the strap languidly to a greater extent that bounds it to the back wall of your throat.

"ach-" you jab out a cough.

"good girl, take that shit in.." 

⛧she's one to be in control, but it's nothing rough. her hands guiding you back n forth gently as the strap summons spurts of tickles in your throat each time it prods the back of it. it'd be far enough to chafe the hilt against her clit, per usual any time she wears the contraption, so you'd always hear quaint whimpers, curses, groans, etcetera, from above.

"mhh~ fuuhhhhckkkk.." ellie draws out a long euphoric groan, straining her neck back and exposing the mild protrusion of her adam's apple.

catching up with the motion, you begin bobbing your head on your own accord. her hands dull their hold and hover above, letting you work your utter sorcery, mouth wide open and drooling for her.

her head recoils down, "such a slut- oohh~ fuck.." 

⛧again, she's not rough without consent and a special occasion, but she'll clutch your hair firmly enough. to you, it's like her non-verbal sign that says 'go faster'.

thrusting your head faster, her own moans begin to burgeon and crowd the room over your sucking and popping noises. she looks so fucking hot from your angle, a clement sweat, fucked out face, leaning slightly back so her pelvis projects closer to you, a solo hand supporting on the back of her thigh, the other latched onto the apex of your head and knotting strands of hair around her fingers. it's all getting to you. 

"oh- baby, fuck- keep goin'n.. uhn- shit!" the climax augmenting within her hips jitters the shit out of her knees, begging to just buckle underneath her and collapse on the bed.

"gh- hn.." your words fumble around ellie's cock, still putting your all into pleasing her. adding a grip on the strap and stroking it was endgame for her, the adjoined knocking against her swelling bud ruined her.

⛧ellie's definitely more of a groaner and a huffer when she comes, it's not growling level but it's certainly not fake exaggerated ones.

⛧i think she's also the type who'd want you to come as well, like, there is not a single night where she's the only one getting pleased, she has to see you unravel and lose your shit under her.

"stop, baby- stop.." ellie hastily hushes through heaves of breath, pulling your head from the strap to which it springs off your lips.

"huh..?"

"m'not cummin' without you- fuck.." her fingers take a grapple at your jaw, guiding you up onto your feet.

you give her a blank stare until it's washed away with a surprised one as you're cast onto the bed, stomach down, ass up. she shambles over you and flattens you out till your hips settle in the cloudy mattress.

she mounts your thighs and inclines her crotch to yours, slowly inserting into your cunt from the back. her nails chisel into your plush hips, thumbs notably indenting on your ass.

"oh-my gmm.. ellie.." 

"god damn-" she mumbles to herself, cuffing out a quick chuckle, "you earned this.." positively rewarding you for your work.

insert a loooong night spent railing.

⛧random conclusion hc but I feel like in this position where she's behind you she'll litter you with kisses and bites on your shoulder-neck region, especially for being so good and disposed for her. 

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

MASTERLIST

[darsynia]

Ahhhhh thank you so much! This kind of burned out of me (with far too many fire metaphors throughout, let's be real), but it took me a little while to figure out the framing of the two time periods. Once I realized that one was fire and one was smoke it made SO much more sense--the fire is intense, consuming, exhilarating, but the smoke takes its time, seeping into everything and leaving its mark in an all-permeating, strangely gentle manner.

I'm so glad you liked it! I keep approaching Bucky stories in almost a forensic way (hah) lately, observing, darting in and making a connection and backing off. I need to write one where he has more than a few lines, FFS... !

The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’ 

After an honest-to-fuck alien invasion, the nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage in your area, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say. 

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity? 

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then 

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality. 

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire. 

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame. 

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

[finniestoncrane]

If I could request Reevesverse penguin with an absolutely needy as fuck reader. Like they’ve already cum like 3 times but they are BEGGING FOR MORE 🙏🙏🙏

Please and thank you! Your writing just… goosebumps

Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, word count: 700 good god i want him to dehydrate me to the point that i'm just a wee withered crisp sitting on his lap HNG 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fingering, kissing, groping

Oswald lifted his hand to his mouth, inhaling as he brought his fingers into his mouth, parted lips closing around them as he savoured the taste of you. Your slick, your arousal, your satisfaction, all of it dancing on his taste buds as he sucked his fingers clean of you. Even at your third orgasm, you tasted as sweet, as strong, as you did the first time he'd made you cum that evening.

Through almost closed lips, too fatigued to even open your mouth properly, you mumbled your pleas.

"Ozzie... I could... I could go again..."

"Are you kiddin', sweetheart? You'll pass out."

He looked at your eyes, glazed over, lust-filled even after your two previous orgasms, both of them pleasurable and satisfying, but clearly not enough to completely cure your hunger.

"I'm fine, I can take it. I want it, please. Please."

It was hard for him to say no to you. A lot of his sense of pride, his affections, his dominance, his masculinity even, they all hung on his ability to spoil you. To treat you as he knew you deserved. But there was a little bit of him that delighted in teasing. And beyond even that, there was a distinct pleasure in hearing you beg him. It made his cock throb each time your lips formed the elongated vowel in the middle of your "please". Being wanted felt good, being needed felt even better.

"Whaddaya think this is, baby? Some kind of charity case? I'm a busy man, sweetheart. I gotta get back to work."

You reached out for him, catching the sleeve of his suit jacket as he moved to flatten the collar down, pulling him back to you and finding him surprisingly easy to control, almost like he was expecting you to keep begging, or that he wanted you to. One he was seated again, you shifted yourself onto his lap, ample space for you on his thick, wide thighs to get comfortable.

"No, please... come on, Ozzie. Once more, just a little more. It won't take much, I swear. Just your fingers again... I'm so close already."

You were writhing in the seat, jerking your hips a little as you tried to find the friction you were desperate for him to give you. Oswald watched your body moving, how it seemed so desperate, so needy, and the familiar stir at the front of his pants threatened to give him away.

Reaching down the front of your already soaked underwear, his fingers trailed over your swollen, tingling lips, the cool of his ring making your whole body twitch, head thrown back with a gasp as he spread your folds open. One finger tickled up the length of your entrance, teasing over your clit.

He cooed, a warm rumble from his chest that sent a shiver over you. As you digested it, let it warm you, surround you, he leaned in, a soft kiss pressed to the front of your throat, Oswald's strong nose against you, nuzzling into you.

"Please... please, Ozzie... please..."

Begging him always worked. He liked to be needed, to be wanted. To have you so desperate that you were willing to debase yourself just to get what you were pleading for.

You were close already, riding on the high of your previous climaxes, rocking yourself back and forth on Oswald's fingers as he kissed your throat, tongue flitting out over his lips to taste you, not quite satisfied with how much of you he had already savoured.

With you fucking yourself on his fingers, he let himself grab at your body, anywhere his hands could reach he touched, held, aiding you in the rough rocking that was getting you off. And he pulled you closer as you whined, shaking and convulsing as you orgasm took control of your muscles and limbs, the heat spreading through you, dissipating slowly with the relief it always brought.

Holding you to his chest, Oswald sighed, satisfied in his own efforts. He was a man of his word, it was important to him to stick to it. But if you asked again, for just one more, he would have to oblige.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Summoning Game Show Part 5

Masterpost

I just spent an unnecessarily long time making A Quiz so I would have questions and answers ready to go, only to not put any of them in. And spend a ridiculously long time doing math because I had to redo it like three times. Numbers are not my strong suit. In any case I now have a fully functional Jeopardy game and the next part.

~~~~~

It’s a close race. They were equal on the mountain track and neither really got sidetracked by Skulker on such a straightforward route. They made it to Zone Two almost even, but Jason almost immediately falls behind as Skulker hits him with a paintball. Being shot at shocked him more than anything, but realizing it was paint, he stopped trying to avoid it and just kept going, letting his armor deal with most of it. Skulker got bored and quickly went after Johnny instead, who got irritated and started a shouting match with Skulker as he drove. The different terrains meant they had to keep slowing down and speeding up, and Skulker got bored with the paintballs and started throwing water balloons instead. This was more annoying for the drivers because the water made the sand and mud trickier to drive on. Both Johnny and Jason both got their bikes temporarily stuck in mud and had to drag them back out while Skulker cackled above them. 

Zone three allowed Jason to catch back up to Johnny. This was what he was used to and he was able to go faster with more confidence. Johnny and Jason separated after Skulker shot a net at them both. And they found each other again on a straightaway leading to the finish line. It was close at the end, but Jason managed to pull out ahead. 

They shook hands at the finish line, walking back into the main room together. They separated when Johnny left to go back to the stands, followed closely by Skulker. 

“Wonderful race, very intense, great driving all around.” Danny says, very entertained. “Well earned win, Jason. I’ll remind you this is what you have currently.”

“What letter would you like to guess?”

“I’ll take I.”

“Another vowel, very good.” Danny waves his hand again. “There are two I’s!

“The next challenge is trivia, which will be played by Red Robin as he is the only one who has yet to participate in a challenge.”

A new podium appears on stage as Danny’s podium rotates so the two are facing each other. Red Robin walks up to the new podium.

“ The theme is SPACE!” Danny is so excited he is practically bouncing. A jeopardy-looking game board appears on the screen. “ You have 6 categories, all space themed, they are:  Earth, Other Planets, Space Numbers, Stars, Other Space Entities, and Spacecrafts! There are 9,000 possible points, you need to get at least 7,500 in order to win! The game can stop as soon as we’ve reached that number.”

Red, being Red, decides to do all the hardest questions first. He starts at the bottom left corner, gets the first question right. Tim thinks since he got the hardest one he could probably finish out the Earth category pretty easily, so he goes down the list and gets them all correct. 

With 1,500 points he decides to start the next category with the hardest question as well. This is his first wrong answer. He starts going up the list, and gets the 400 incorrect for this category as well. Danny is disappointed. The rest of the boys are infinitely relieved that Tim is the one doing the trivia part. They probably would have lost already. 

Tim does get the rest of the ‘Other Planets’ category correct and moves on with 2,100 points and 6,000 points left on the board. He decides to start ‘Space Numbers’ with the 100 point question and keeps going, acing the whole category. He now has 3,600 points. With 4,500 points left on the board he needs 3,900 more points. This means he can only lose 600 more points. He aces the ‘Stars” category, then moves on to ‘Other Space Entities’. He misses the last question, leaving him with 6,100 points and 1,500 left on the board. Tim can only afford to miss the 100 point question, so he decides to start at 500 and get it over with.

He continues until he reaches the 200 point question. If Tim answers this one he will win, and he does so correctly the screen changes to shoots of confetti.

[gloomwitchwrites]

What Are We (2 of 4)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: neighbor!Kyle, friends with benefits (sorta), lotus position, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, aftercare, Kyle begs a bit, praise

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Part of the Imagines and What If Series

When neighbors become friends to become sometimes lovers, you make the first move after things between you grow a little heated.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // what are we masterlist

What is this tangled thing?

This messy, gnarled thing that pulls you back in repeatedly until you’re standing on the ceiling, staring down at the floor in perplexed curiosity.

And why is it always him? It could be anyone, and yet you come back to Kyle every time, the two of you entering each other’s spaces time and time again as if Fate is forcing this arrangement.

He’s your neighbor. That’s it. A friend. Someone you say hello to in the hallway.

Someone who also always visits after he comes back from deployment. Someone who helps carry your laundry back to your flat or fixes the small shit the property owner is too lazy to care about. Someone that gives you such a soft smile that it melts your heart and turns you to goo even as you tell yourself how ridiculous you’re being.

Someone who, at this moment, is reaching for you, begging for you to come to him.

“Come here, love. In my lap.”

Moving is easy. Giving in is easy.

You drape your arm around Kyle’s neck while the other slides up to rest against his chest, fingers lightly curling to drag across his skin. Kyle sighs when you settle, that beautiful sound transforming into a low groan as you sink onto his cock. Your legs lock behind him, giving you leverage.

Kyle is not immune. His arms go around your middle, one reaching downward to lightly squeeze one round cheek while the other meanders upward to the back of your neck. Once there, he takes hold. Not roughly, but more of a possession, a silent command to let him take control in this one way.

The two of you meet repeatedly, his pelvis a perfect angle to rub against your clit with each convergence.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he croons, lips stretching into a smile. Kyle’s pearly whites appear briefly when he smiles and his brow softens as he observes you from behind half-closed eyelids. “That’s it, love. Ride me. Like that. Good girl.”

Your hips buck, and Kyle thrusts upward, matching you perfectly. The groan you let out is unseemly, but even as you try to tilt your head back to release it, Kyle blocks the movement, keeping you stationary.

“Look at me when you come, yeah? At me. In my eyes.” Kyle squeezes the back of your neck and you whimper, pussy clenching around him as you do as he says.

“Fuck,” he groans, drawing out the vowel.

Another shiver of pleasure rushes through you. Then another, just as quickly. The small death builds, explodes, and then you’re grinding down on Kyle, moaning his name. Kyle keeps you still, doesn’t move his hips either, just allows you to come undone on his cock.

The moment your muscles unspool, the tension melting away, Kyle rolls you onto your back. He grasps your wrists and throws them above your head, trapping them beneath one massive palm. He settles between your legs, doubling his efforts, huffing above you as he chases after his own end.

Kyle’s forehead presses against yours. “Let me come inside you, love. Please.” The please is strained, like it’s taking every effort within in him to not lose control.

Your nails dig into his back, and your hips flex upward, inviting him in. “Finish inside me, Kyle,” you beg, wanting to feel him deep.

His groan is low, and he settles further against you, rocking in quick burst of energy that punch the air from your lungs. You cling to him, giddy, reveling in how he falls apart. When he finds his end, your wrap your legs behind his back, holding him flush against you.

Kyle grins through his moan as your ankles lock over each other. You don’t uncross them until Kyle pushes away.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, patting your thigh. Pushing off from the bed, Kyle heads for the bathroom, his nakedness on full display.

You flush then, all the heat and memory bubbling up as his cum slowly drips out of your pussy. He’s never finished inside you without a condom. When there isn’t one to be had, he might finish on your back, stomach, or even in his hand. But never inside you. Kyle has never asked this.

When he returns, Kyle brings a damp cloth. With gentle hands, he eases your legs open, cleaning the insides of your thighs, wiping everything up except his cum. That is what he leaves behind, and that one small action feels like a brand. An act of ownership.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

With the insides of your thighs clean, Kyle leans in and presses a small kiss to the insides, quickly discarding the cloth immediately after. Then, he is drawing you into his side, snuggling up beside you on the bed, one hand already holding onto his phone as he looks through takeout options.

“What do you want?” he asks. Without glancing away from the screen, Kyle kisses the spot right behind your ear.

You tense. This is too real, too personal. He’s always made it clear that this can’t be anything more. Hasn’t he? Pressing on the thought, you consider it, and realize that Kyle hasn’t entirely pushed the idea away.

“Did you hear me, love?”

“What?”

Kyle pushes up onto his elbow, glancing down at you. “Everything good?”

Can he feel how tense you are? Does he know what rushes through your mind? Should you even say anything at all? Keep it to yourself and pretend that these thoughts aren’t racing through your head?

But again, when has Kyle ever rejected a conversation with you? On plenty of occasions, Kyle has held you in the dark, let you cry into his chest, and pepper soft kisses along your brow as he brushes your hair out of your face.

Why would he turn away from this?

“What are we doing?” you blurt, immediately hating how strained your voice sounds.

Kyle arches a single eyebrow. “We’re ordering food,” he replies slowly.

“No. I mean—yes. I know that. But—us.” You gesture at him and then at yourself. “What are we doing? What is this?”

Kyle sits up a bit more. “What do you mean?”

“What are we, Kyle? This is…” You lose your nerve, unable to finish the last bit.

At first, you think Kyle might reject the question, but instead, a smile spreads across his face.

“Fuck, baby girl.” He runs his hand over the top of his head and falls onto his back. You twist around, reaching for him. The moment your hand touches his chest, Kyle snags it, pulling you into his arms. “Why do you think I’ve been making all these excuses to see you?”

“Because you like me?”

Kyle shakes his head, laughing. “Unbelievable. I’m ordering us food and then we’re talking about this.” Hooking his arm around your back, he brings the phone’s screen back into view. “But first, tell me what you want.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666

[fanofthings20]

Blackfire Part 1

First meeting

Agatha after her trial where she absorbed all the coven members' powers (killed them all) what occurred was out of her control her power is of the dark arts of absorbing any powers used against her. She is deep in the throes of shock and remorse just staring at their remains. She didn’t even notice the figure clad in black until the figure was lifting her face and when purple and dark green eyes met there was an instantaneous connection between them. Their magic blended together so well that they could not deny their soulmate status even though they had just met it felt like they had always been aware of each other's presence. 

Before any words were said this mysterious figure placed theirself in front of Agatha’s sightline while simultaneously behind their back waving a hand in quick motion with a brief flash of green and the bodies surrounding them disappeared. This figure after ensuring the bodies are gone goes down on their knees to be at Agatha’s level and hugs them. Agatha seeking all the comfort she can from this stranger clings to them with all her strength. After Agatha has slightly started to recover and lets go of this person, she looks back up to their face which is covered with a hood/mask where their dark green eyes are visible. 

They both slowly stand back up off the wooden planks. Agatha steps close enough to where she can finally reach the hood, her hands make this move slow enough to where the other has enough time to grant permission with a single nod. Once the hood and mask have fallen she is greeted with the most unbelievably sexy female face with the smuggest grin to exist. Do you like what you see, sweetheart? This was the first vocal response out of her soulmate and she was struggling to stay focused given the sexy face and deeper-toned voice coming from her new companion. 

The name is Rio Vidal. Rio just stands there admiring how flustered and distracted her mate is. Rio purposefully invades Agatha’s personal space in a way that their bodies are touching and that there is little to the imagination for what lies underneath. Seductively whispering in her ear Unless a cat has your tongue, I need your name Fuerte (sexy). Agatha finally recovers from Rio’s presence and tries to turn the tables on her by saying Agatha, Agatha Harkness hot stuff. 

Wedding: estimation month after they met

Given they were already fate-determined soulmates there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Since they did not have a coven their only choice was to visit Lilia Calderu who was a semi-mentor/older parental figure option that showed true interest and care in Agatha. Since Agatha’s mother was a total letdown of a b-witch (if you get Agatha’s drift). Honestly, Evanora should count herself extremely lucky that she was already dead by the time Rio and Agatha connected and that Rio only had one capability after death. Rio is highly protective of Agatha so there are times when Evanora is mentioned that Rio takes great pleasure in scheming ways she would have repaired the torture she put Agatha through.

Now Agatha and Lilia had a 50/50 relationship between family figures or sarcastic old witches. But Lilia was indeed happy and slightly concerned when she discovered who her soulmate was given how honestly psychotic Rio can seem to be at times. It happened to be a full-blood moon on the night in the woods that they had their ceremony and Lilia served as the officiate and witness. It was a quick service but staying within tradition these powerful witches said their vowels in Latin Rio’s facio Amor (I do love) and Agatha’s i parum pudici (i do sexy). With a simple rope of their personal items lightly wrapped around their connected hands. They finally share their first kiss as soulmates and wives getting so caught up in the emotions and powers that Lilia has to clear her throat at least four times to bring their attention back to the present. They thank Lilia for her time with payment before rushing back to their new-ish home. 

Once they reach the security of their home, given they are both the most powerful witches (extra power with full blood moons), ever so sassy and playful energies, both dominates, etc. It turns into a full fledge sexy fight for power over each other and the deep-rooted desire to f**k the life out of their partner. A lot of flinging the other around, knife cuts, pinning wrists to walls/floors/tables/bed, flipping each other, sassy back talk, all the positions imaginable, unbelieve number of orgasms. They were up all night long going as if they were senor scratchy (if you get the drift). On more than one occasion during the consummation of their wedding, there was a bright light of a mixture of dark purple & dark green color combo. They were caught up in the pleasure to notice the light bustings which would lead to quite the discovery later.

4 months later

Our marriage so far has been amazing nothing but absolute bliss and love. One night after dinner we were in the living room together on the couch. The habitual routine of Agatha using my lap as a pillow reading one of her books while I fiddled with my blade and are both casually finishing off our wine glasses. I was slightly distracted tonight by this connection to another being that has been around for a month but it feels more like dreamwalking with brief glimpses into their life. This being seems to be in serious trouble and completely alone given what was glimpsed last night of it chased by these suits of armor. 

One of those armor suits lashed out, striking close enough to a foot to knock this being off balance and there was a mirror right across from the spot this being fell. This being took a moment to look in the mirror before glancing back at the shadows, it gave me the chance to notice it's a small wolf pup. But the look in the eyes and the power essence there's more to this pup than regular pups. I felt a thumb caressing my cheek and her voice was distant at first but as my focus returned to the present I could finally hear “come back to me darling”. 

  Leaning into her touch allowed me to breathe in her scent to keep me grounded. Looking down at her it was easy to notice the concern in her purple eyes. “You okay hot stuff”  “I’m okay mi amor just thinking of that pup I told you about”  “Any more indicators of where this mysterious pup of yours might be darlin'?”  

 “I’m not sure but it feels like it might be a darker world”  “Well we will keep looking until we find the pup”  “mi amor, I think there's more to this pup than meets the eye it seems like a darker toned magic than either of ours in this pup”  “at least the pup will fit right in with what seems to be the running requirement of darkness” Agatha took a little longer to stare into Rio’s eyes and rubbing her cheek until she felt that Rio was indeed okay before she returned to her book. They stayed like that for two more hours before heading to bed for the night.

When the connection was reestablished, it was impossible not to notice the extreme pain that the pup was injured. This time instead of being chased the pup had been cornered by at least four of those armored suits there was no possible path excluding going right through those suits which were three times the size of the pup. The pup was snarling, waiting and watching as these suits came closer until the darkest level of magic was unleashed that disintegrated those suits. Watching the armor fall apart on first contact and the figures within were instant imploded messes. This is a dark level of magic that surpasses even the Darkhold’s abilities which is intriguing because that has never been achieved before. 

But the power this pup holds can be examined another day because that magic flare was essentially a flare saying here I am for those suits to follow. Speaking of the devil about ten more suits headed this way, no idea if the pup can hear me I start whispering “you gotta start running pup”. The pup took off running as fast as its injured body could afford but there was a slim chance the pup would be able to get away. It seems our intentions and connection were aligned because in the next moment, there was a black light and then nothing. I intended to reach this pup to get them out of harm's way.

When the connection died off in the present there were a couple of loud thuds starting with our bedroom ceiling and what sounded like the front porch roof. When Agatha heard the second thud she woke up and we both rushed downstairs to investigate given no one should have been able to breach our protective wards. Since we had no clue what awaited outside the front door I kept Agatha behind me because she could get injured whereas I had no such capability. Getting closer to the door I felt a familiar presence on the other side that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the real deal. Either my grin or our connection gave Agatha all the details she needed to have a feeling about who had finally found their way to us.

“Shall we go meet our mysterious wolf pup addition my love”  “Indeed mi amor, do we have any healing potions available?”  “Yes darling, is it for you or our addition”  “Our addition seems to have gained recent injuries”  “Let's not delay giving care any longer” With that they finally walked outside to see a small black-furred wolf pup lying on its left side with a pretty deep bleeding gash with a metal arrow sticking out of its right side. The pup had been staring at its injury and didn’t notice us at first but when I stepped off the porch onto a branch its attention snapped right to us. Instead of being defensive snarls that's expected, the pup lets out low pained whines it stares at us for a few moments before it turns its attention back to its injury. I have a gut feeling about what might occur and no matter how much I gotta give the pup credit for trying to use the same method I would. 

I also don’t want to watch them make the wound worse especially when it’s been a long journey of trying to track this pup down. There’s a deep connection between us that I want to have the chance to explore along with the power this young one holds. I try reaching for our connection and it seems to both of our surprise the connection comes to life keeping our little friend further distracted allowing me to reach them telepathically. “Oscuro cachorro (dark pup) don’t do it, I admire your plan but you don’t have to worry about danger here.”  “we’ve been looking for you cachorro, it was finally time for you to be safe at last”  “all you have to do now is trust us to care for you and to help learn your powers”  

I can sense there’s a human element hiding in this pup, patiently waiting till they feel comfortable to speak up. At this point, I've managed to get within five feet of our pup trying to ensure it feels safe enough to not withdraw on me. I feel a gentle nudge in my mind before hearing a young but deeper-toned voice “I’m sorry Lady Death, for failing you”  “you didn’t fail darkling, but we can sort that out after your better”  “I can’t shift back until energy is recovered”  “Wouldn’t want you to shift now anyway given your recovery will be less pain and faster for you this way.”  “That is my soulmate Agatha, do you have a name darkling?”  “No names given to death carriers”  “That’s okay, we can sort out a well-deserved name for you when you're better.”  “I’m going to pick you up now so you can meet Agatha and go inside for wound care, is that okay?”  “Trust you”

Carefully approaching and picking up our pup holding them in my arms walking back towards Agatha who’s watching with nothing but concern and care in her eyes. When we get close enough our pup lifts their head off my arm to reach out and sniff Agatha’s extended hand. They sniff for a while before giving her a quick licking, head nudge and speaking to me with an even weaker voice level  “trust her”.   “Easy pup save what energy you have let now” I finally look up at my love speaking out loud to her “Our pup trusts you darlin”. After that we head back in the house to treat her wound.

TBC in Part 2

Taglist:

@i-believe-in-melinda-may @thesapphictimelady @apenas-comentarios-e-reeposts @believe-in-magic13 @pusteblumenfan @darlyuniverse @scoliobean @abandonlilly @polaris-likethestar @cheesysoup-arlo @gallifreyan85 @thecavalrywife @sgm616 @angelbeingatitspurest

[mediumgayitalian]

In his head he is brave enough to say it: gods, you are beautiful in the moonlight. He is. He has made Nico weak in the knees since they were fifteen and new and fragile as spun glass, and he does now. In the moonlight his radiance is much subtler; he is opal and pearl and quartz, he is shining and multifaceted.

Instead he traces the bob of Will’s throat, his long, freckly neck, cratered with burn scars and cupped with a raised white scar from years of endless picking; follows the wild winding wisps of his hair, barely held back by his old sunglasses, compressed in coils around his head like a pen spring squished to the size of its threads, creaking with the weight of its own potential energy, brimming with the imagined burst of its future; memorizes the fluttering flap of his feathering eyelashes, the delicate dips of his deepened Cupid’s bow, the roughened raze of his wide rowdy hands. All of him is in motion, always, but now especially, hands twitching on the wheel, head thrown back, mouth wide and shaking along with his shoulders.

“I really like your laugh,” and it’s quick, vowels tumbling over each other and tripping the consonants, a queue of clumsy hopefuls scrambling over shoulders and clasping hands. The pretty laughter fades and arched eyebrows replace it, poorly hidden surprise, twitching smile lines, and Nico looks deliberately forward, mortification cackling along each of his wire-tense muscles, dancing along the shimmering heat of his face. “It’s. Wide.”

“Wide?” asks Will carefully, craning his neck to glance in his blind spot, whispering chuckles dancing along to the beat of the blinker.

“Wide,” Nico confirms, flicking out his hands. His fingers are not nearly as long, nor as wiry or corded, but the scarring is mirrored. Nicks and scratches and burn marks and calluses, topographic maps of time spent.

Will’s turn is successful — the strawberry baskets dip dangerously from their precarious perch on backseats, but don’t fall, shifting over and around each other to burst tiny globules of stretched taut flesh, rubbing against rough reed ribbons. Nico inhales deeply, and the sweet is almost nauseating, summer fruit twisting in the air along with lavender body wash and Blistex and Texas summer sun.

“You take up space.”

“My laugh?”

Laughter in his words in his hands in his skin, in his eyes, in the coils of his hair, in his grass-stained heels, in the bends of his scar-bleached knees. In the dancing dots of his face arms chest legs. In the dip of his bottom lip, crater under his too-big front teeth. In the jut of his crooked spine and wide hips.

“What about my laugh?”

It is in his words more often than not and in Nico’s dreams even more so. It curls around the blurry edges of his dreams and weaves into daisy-strong chains, dangling from the too-high ceilings of his nightmares, coiling around his arms and chest and back and yanking with the force of breaking ribs, the force of bellows, the force of clasped bloodless hands. Dragging him across trench gouged ground to bright light and clear air and the distant memory of summer rain.

“That you like, I mean.”

“It’s snorting,” Nico confesses. Will reddens, and Nico smiles, under the heat of it grows sunflower and dandelion and tinted brown-eyes Susans. “Um. Loud.”

“Geez,” Will grumbles, “tell a guy the truth, why don’t you.”

Nico has never seen gold under silver nightlight and it fascinates him, how Will sparks and shimmers, how when the sun sets it does not fade away. How the tiny specks of precious metal weave through him like tinsel and glow in veins of sweet summer memory; how the warm night billows and blows around him lovingly, how the breeze from the open window greets him like a precious grandchild, a beloved nephew. Seedchild; beloved of the earth and sun, performer under the moon, the stars.

Will’s wide hands inch across the dash, brushing over the ancient radio dials and dipping over the skipping cassette, pausing by the base of the gearshift and resting, limply, palm open, fingers cracked and spread. Knuckles popping and chittering amongst themselves, hiding in the bent hoods of wrinkled skin. Nico lowers his heavy hands on the heated hopeful hesitance, curling his cool fingers around much longer ones, and squeezing, once, twice, thrice.

“I like your laugh,” he repeats. He rolls his shoulders, hands flexing, twitching, pulling.

Will’s hand tightens. The road opens up and the Atlantic glimmers beside them, moon whispering to its rippling waves, and he smiles, grins, wider than before, and he is laughing, again, and it is wider even this time, as wide as the sparkling silver water.

“I hear you.”

He squeezes.

You are beautiful in the moonlight. You are beautiful all the time.

Nico squeezes back.

[diamond-champagne]

9. It'll Always Be You

Paige Beuckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: none :)

Summary: In which promises are made...and kept

a/n: The end is so close ya'll. Please let me know what yous want next. Also she's short but I love her.

It would be easier if they hated each other. It wouldn’t be this hard. The burning feeling ignited my anger so deep in them would be a welcomed relief of whatever this is. This a constant state of discontentment that has seemed to worm its way into their lives and settle down in their minds. 

It’s like being in a rocking chair and knowing you won’t fall but still feeling the panic that arises anyway. 

It’s like knowing you’re above the surface in the ocean and yet you feel like your lungs are filling with water

It’s like knowing everything is going to be okay but not knowing how.

-

Paige moves through the next couple of days the way the tide rolls in down the shore. She comes and she goes, day in and day out. 

To be fair, this is new to her. The blonde is used to fighting and then making up, or even fighting some more. However, this weird limbo of which they each hold a key to a lock they don’t have is scaringly unfamiliar. They used to be perfectly intertwined and now they’re chaotically tangled. Both pulling on random threads, having no clue if they want to be closer together or further apart. 

Paige is plagued with the will they, won’t they. Azzi and her are trapped playing this game of cat and mouse and she’s not sure who is who. The worst part is that she isn’t sure why they’re doing this because every time, since that conversation with Azzi, she feels like her forever is right in front of her. 

-

“I trust you with my life, just not my heart.”

“What does this mean for us?” Azzi whispers. Her body suddenly lags with defeat and upset clouds her eyes.

“It means,” Paige starts before letting out a sigh. “It means that maybe we need to figure out why we’re scared before we can face them.” She can see the protest rise in Azzi so the blonde is quick to keep speaking. “You said that sometimes my feelings were too much so maybe you need to figure out why that scares you. While you do that, I will figure out why I’m scared to trust you to love me.

“And once we do that?” 

“Once we get to the root of our fears, maybe we’ll be in a place where we can be more than friends.”

“Maybe?” Azzi sasses. The word might be the most offensive thing she’s ever heard.

“Maybe,” Paige confirms. “Because I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to be hurt. We can’t give each other the love we feel like the other deserves while being scared of said love.”

Azzi shakes her head in understanding. “And what if you decide this isn’t what you want anymore?” The question makes the brown-haired girl’s heart drum against her ribcage. 

It’ll always be you” Paige states. Despite the tears in both of their eyes, Azzi can see sincerity in her favorite pair of eyes. So, she smiles and counters with her own whispered promise. “It’ll always be us.”

So the two stand, facing each other, in this in-between space of friends and lovers. They bask in knowing there’s something yet mourn not having everything. It’s the definition of bittersweet. 

-

The memory is engraved into the blonde’s head the same those words are engraved into her heart. The spoken vowels play on repeat through her mind all day like her favorite song or the newest tik tok sound. She won’t forget these words though. They’ll always be hers to keep; always hers to love.

Until their day comes, Paige will savor the inbetween the best that she can. She’ll revel in the feeling of having Azzi’s eyes on her when they’re out with the team. She memorizes the feeling of their bodies pressed against each other when the pair sit next to each other. The blonde will make it a point to have their fingers touch in passing.

It’s the little things that make this worth it. It’s the little things that make Paige think that maybe they can rush this after all. But then, there’s a specific smile that Azzi has just for the blonde. And when Paige sees it, she knows that this is worth the wait.

But then she’s back to being restless and a little impatient. This much she tells Azzi in the bar bathroom at Ted’s when the girls are a little more free with their alcohol than usual. Tale as old as time and true as can be; Azzi and Paige will only want each other when a drop of liquor is involved. 

“I don’t remember why we’re doing this.” Paige mumbles. Azzi has got her trapped between her body and the sink. The curly-haired girl’s hands are tracing patterns on the blonde’s hip.

“You should. It was your idea.” Azzi answers smugly. The smirk on her face isn’t a result of their conversation but rather how the blonde is reacting to the mere feather touch by Azzi. Her blue eyes are low and hooded. Her body immediately pushes closer to Azzi’s upon contact. The voice that usually drips in confidence is breathy and broken. 

It’s a high that Azzi will never be free from. It’s her favorite version of Paige. The one she can ruin completely if you give her the opportunity. The brown-hair girl knows she should stop. They’re supposed to be taking things slow. But Paige is so perfect infront of her and neither one is sober at the moment so it’s easy to justify when their lips crash together. The kiss starts fast and desperate but ends being slow and passionate. It pulls small moans and whimpers from both girls as they indulge in each other.

When they finally pull apart, there is considerable distance between them. It’s like they both know that this is a bad idea. It’s like they both know they don’t care. But they stay separated at the whispered promise of “You” that Azzi lets out. 

“It’ll always be you.”

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[heartfullofleeches]

ASKING TO PEG REMMY MISSIONARY STYLE DRABBLE ???

[Suggestive, no actual smut, but Reader does ask to peg the man]

Somethings are easier to explain with dolls.

Whenever Remiel finds himself at a loss for words, no sooner can they be found than in the acts he conducts them to carry out. A habit elevated in regularity the day you agreed to be his partner. It's what led to your union to begin with. Unable to ask you out on a date himself, Remmy had the split second resolution to prop dolls he created to resemble the both of you outside your home as if they were getting ready for their first day.

It's common to find the tiny couple holding hands or pressed to one another's cheek on date nights. If Remmy considers himself too flustered or fearful of your reaction approach a new stage in your relationship with his voice, his dolls are the perfect outlet.

Patting the empty space beside you, Remmy pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose - shaking with excitement to be with you in the same bed once more. The cushion of the soft, heavenly surface of the mattress didn't hold a candle to the feel of your skin. Who needed a pillow when he had to perfectly good partner to relinquish him of the stress of a tough day, even if it's just for a little while.

"You called? Something you wanted to talk about?" Remmy bites at the inner wall of his cheek to stop his smile from growing. You called him. The two of you could be married and living together, and still he'd be left a bashful mess.

"Yeah...It's been on my mind for a while. Promise you won't get mad or anything for me asking?"

Mad at you? He'd never!- "I could never stay mad at you, Y/n...."

"It's..kinda embarrassing to say aloud. Remember when I asked if I could borrow your dolls?"

"Oh, crap- Right..." Remmy fishes the first doll out of his pocket, the other haphazardly tossed into his backpack. Remmy loved all his dolls, but he admittedly never took the best care of his own miniature. Handing them over, Remmy's lips quirk meekly as your fingers touch.

"Sooo...." You begin, drawing out the vowel as you gently place the doll doppelganger of your partner in your lap. "What would you say your thoughts are on..."

Taking your time, Remmy attempts to fill in the pieces of the puzzle already laid out as you assume the dolls into position. Legs spread, hands posed at his hips. Cuddling with you on top? Him sitting in your lap, maybe? Both are good options. The latter can be true since you're laying on him-

"..pegging?"

Oh.

Ohhhh.

"Me?!" Remmy can't believe his ears.

"Yes, you. You are my boyfriend, aren't you? I thought it'd be kinda funny to ask you with the dolls since you're always asking me things with them. If you don't want to that's obviously okay."

It's not that he doesn't want to- "I just can't believe you want to do that with me of all people.. I'm really flattered and... I-I'd love to try that out with you. I would try anything new with you... At least once or twice.. Just... promise you won't be too rough or anything?"

Kissing his cheek, Remmy finally allows his cheeky smile to grow.

'Wouldn't dream of it."

[grandisknight]

rafayel: an artist's nails

summary: It’s been a while since your last nail endeavor, and you seek out your creative lover to fill in the missing details once again.

tags: established relationship, fluff, silly rafayel, gender neutral!reader, kisses, light banter, nail polish

wc: 1.0k | (ao3)

a/n: hi hi! eek this is my first time posting like this to tumblr, i'm not too familiar with it so please forgive me for any mistakes (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i hope my short but sweet little headcanon does rafmc some justice! the idea came to me randomly while angst writing (hhhh) so here we are c:

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“Again?” He looks down at you from the impressive height of his ladder, palette and brush paused in mid motion. The canvas stretching his wall had streaks of pale blue, contrasting the rich sapphire that lay underneath them. Another masterpiece in the making, and you’ve caught him at a somewhat opportune time to air out your proposal.

“Please? I promise it’ll be the last time!” You gave him your best pout, hands clasped together in a pseudo prayer.

“That’s what you said two weeks ago, my love.” Rafayel shakes his head.

“Ra—fa—yel!” You called out, purposefully stringing his vowels in a way that he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to.

“Okay, okay. Give me a moment, yeah?”

Leaving his instruments behind, he descends from the perch of his ladder. Dusting off his hands on the edge of his slacks, he straightens his posture towards you with a few strides. Arms crossed over his chest, the warmth of coral and cooled blue examined your presence up close. “You don’t seem injured. Mission went well?”

“It did! But that’s not what I’m here for.” You flash your hands towards him, wiggling the tips of your fingers for dramatic effect. “Look at how much they’ve grown! They’re begging for a new design, and only one curated by Linkon City’s best painter could do the job.”

The bed of coral acrylic was slowly pushing past your natural nail, unflattering to the eye and no longer holding the fresh sheen it once had. It was long overdue for a retouch, and you trusted your boyfriend’s talented eye to decorate your fingers once more.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he half-heartedly remarks, but takes your hands into his own regardless. His fine fingers delicately trace over the rounded edges of your acrylics, tilting them alongside his head to capture their finish in the warm lighting of his art studio. “Hm… They are longer than before, I’ll give you that.”

An internal score in your mind was being kept, and you just landed your first point. “Exactly. So, I was thinking for the next design—“

“Woah, excuse you.” His fingers intertwined with yours, passing his warmth into your palms. He tugs you closer, hands closed like the prayer you presented just moments ago. Rafayel quirks a brow as he continues.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You paused, a blink of confusion crossing your face. “…Am I?”

The plush of his lips puff out like a fish, awaiting your realization. Ah. You had to pay the kiss toll first—how could you forget?

You met his pout halfway, lightly pressing a kiss to pay your dues forward. Rafayel quickly chases your leaning figure, peppering a second, and then a third, to the lips curling into a faint smile at his antics and he mirrored yours all the same.

“Okay—Raf—Mm!”

He swallowed your interruptions with ones of his own, a barrage of straight smooches fluttering over your mouth. Only after the nth kiss did he finally part, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles with a hum in satisfaction.

“Payment accepted.” Rafayel lowered your hands, only to gently tug them in the direction of his desk.

Pieces of sketch paper and paints, pencils and more laid across the surface as you approached. He lets go momentarily, pulling out a chair and swiping away some tabletop space, before patting on the cushion in invitation.

“Alright, why don’t we start sketching out your ideas, yeah? Let’s see if we can make this new set better than the last.”

…

No sooner than a week later did you return to Mo Art Studio, feeling particularly energized as you practically skipped into his living space.

“Ah, you’re back.”

Rafayel called out to you before you had the chance to speak, swiping another shade of cerulean over the canvas. He looks over his shoulder, eyes twinkling at your appearance and brow upturned in curiosity. “You seem like you’re in a good mood. Did you get them done today?”

You nodded, waving him down with an equally bright expression. “Take a break! I want you to admire your masterpiece.” With an outstretched hand, you await his descending figure in a similar sense of deja vu.

“Yeah? You’re already here though,” Rafayel teases, taking hold of your invitation in turn. “But alrighty. Let’s go.”

Natural habits led your bodies to walk past the floor to ceiling entrance and into the sands hugging his estate. Seagulls chirp overhead as the fragrance of salty seas sting your nose, welcoming in the warmth of sunshine and ocean views all around.

“Maybe the crab from last week is still around,” you mention. “I think it was this way—Ah!”

Rafayel snickers at your enthusiasm, but paused you short of your wandering in an effort to pull you closer to him. He raises your combined hands outwards, turning them in every direction as he observes the new design.

Speckles of pale white and faint pink hugged the tip of your nail, pearly effects blending into the azure gradient that filled the rest of the space. Light traces of a circle or two resemble bubbles, a key seashell charm on your pinky finger and an exclusive Lemurian insignia resembling the bond over his heart were all littered across the set.

He nods in approval, and you could practically see the sharp rise of his shoulders in pride as he spoke. “Ah, they turned out really good this time. I wonder whooo designed them.”

You lean into his playful stance, pressing a kiss to his cheek and watching as his skin flushes in an adoring rouge. “Thank you, my love. Next time, we should do your nails too!”

“Yeah? I don’t know if I want to have another pot with steam drawn by you again,” he retorts, laughing as you lightly pushed his shoulder.

You raised your voice in self-defense, offering him a scolding glare. “Hey! I told you it was a steamed fish. Steamed fish! You of all people should know that well!”

Your voices faded away as you left your footsteps in the sand, the low tides pushing to support the harmony of your banter as the sun slowly settled. Safe to say, you wouldn’t be letting go of these nails blessed by the ocean anytime soon.

[lyralit]

writers' game:

random number generator from 1 - 20. whatever it lands on, add that character to your plotline

fairy that collects vintage fingernails

space guard orc with a soft spot for teen flicks

overzealous evil senator

twins that start conversations out loud and end them in their heads

found family between a space barbarian grandparent and a polygot chicken

a baker who only speaks in riddles

dogman

a mute writer

enemies linked to each other (one gets hurt, so does the other)

a companion turtle whose only vowel is "o" (most of their vocabulary is "oh no!")

pixie backseat driver

sunglasses + flipflops wearing ancient wizard

magistrate who is able to talk out of any situation

witch who treats every potion like a chemistry class (counts the molecules in each bottle)

witch who throws in a random ingredient every time (think "george's marvellous medicine")

child who has never seen a narwhal before, only heard of them in stories (lots of pointing and "oh, it's that! isn't it!")

skinny quarterback who can take down a whole team

human-alien alien translator who only knows Ancient Greek

guy who breaks into houses, steals their items, and replaces them with nicer ones

police chief who is head of the local mafia

[captain-hawks]

gen knows he’s bad at this.

he’s so fucking bad at it—this terrifying vulnerability the proximity of your heart has stripped him down to, these solid walls he’s spent so long reinforcing crumbling uselessly to dust beneath the gentle curve of your smile, the taste of your lips.

he doesn’t know how to tell you.

he doesn’t know how to say these three simple words lodged in his throat. they’re the mantra in his head and the unsteady, off-kilter rhythm trembling in his chest, but this foreign string of vowels and consonants lies trapped in a tangled mess between his tongue and his teeth.

but he hopes you can feel it in the countless shapes his fingers trace along your skin in the dark—across the endless trails and constellations he’s mapped over every dip and curve and plane, the yearning, aching shudder beneath his rib cage every time you say his goddamn name, the shortness of his breath, the quake in his tone—

—this perpetually nonexistent space between your mouth and his.