#you have to be able to string sentences together

[suksatoru]

it's half past midnight when you hear the first telltale sign that someone is trying to break into your apartment. the shifting footsteps outside the front door were too loud to ignore, there was the unmistakable sound of someone breathing, and then came the dreaded, incessant jingling of the door knob.

dabi kept an extra pair of his combat boots outside your apartment door to scare off anyone from even attempting to break in when he's not around—you'll be sure to tell him his little trick did in fact not work if you manage to survive this entire ordeal.

dabi was a pretty resourceful boyfriend. he had given you some... questionable self defense weapons. prioritizing your peace of mind, you didn't ask him where he got the illegal artillery from and simply tucked it into the back of your coat closet (the world was a scary place, you weren't an idiot who would turn down extra protection).

and thank the universe you didn't, because now you have a bat with a bunch of nails tacked onto every square inch of its surface to, hopefully, fight off your intruder. your fingers tremble as you dial dabi's number, hearing it ring before it goes straight to the automated voicemail—anxiety prickles in your stomach, and you flinch when you hear the door knob shake even harder than it was before.

just your luck. tightening your grip on the bat, you take a tentative step backwards to keep yourself out of sight in case the door does cave in and open.

"the one time he isn't home," you mutter wearily under your breath before quietly gasping when you hear something scratching against your doorknob—it takes you half a second to realize the perpetrator was picking the lock, because it suddenly snaps off its latch and opens with a horrifying clink!

the door doesn't open. not for a heartbeat, at least. but the moment it does, you swing the bat as hard as you possibly can—throwing all your body weight into the hit.

dabi had less than a second to duck out of the way.

you miss—or in other words, he avoids getting his face bashed in by a single millisecond as the nails slam against the doorframe behind him instead.

he's crouched on the floor, eyes wide and a little breathless while you stand above him, completely stupefied

"dabi?" you shriek, half relieved and half mortified as you let go of the bat still stuck in the wood, gently pushing his boot with your slipper clad foot in questioning

"at least i don't have to worry about leaving you alone on missions as much," he says, eyes simmering with amusement and fatigue as you sputter, trying to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence

"what the hell! wha—how—why would you scare me like that! you have a key, you asshole! use it! a-and i called you! why didn't you pick up?!" you snap, delivering a swift kick to his shin as he hisses through his teeth, grin wide and toothy as he stretches his legs out in front of him, making no move to get off the floor

"first of all, my phone got crushed in a fight. second, i accidentally melted the key—don't ask me how. and third, the reason i picked the lock was because i thought you were asleep. i just wanted to come in quietly without waking you up. what the hell are you doing awake, anyway?" he muses, slumping a bit against the wall as you stay quiet.

with a sigh, you close your front door shut and make sure to lock it properly before lowering yourself onto the ground beside him. he smells like smoke, and there's dried blood on his pants. it doesn't stop you from pressing yourself into his side and dropping your head onto his shoulder

"you woke me up," you murmur, and he scoffs

"as if. i was as quiet as a mouse. you just have freakishly good hearing senses," he says with a breathy chuckle as you frown

"i could've seriously hurt you with that bat. can you please try and give me some sort of a warning next time? i don't think i'd be able to live with myself if something happened to you."

dabi doesn't answer for a while. he's staring straight ahead to where your bedroom door is left ajar, the warm golden light of your lamp spills into the hallway and illuminates it in a soft glow that looks like sunshine

"it's gonna take a lot more than that to kill me."

silence settles over you two, and dabi takes a split second to glance at you through his peripheral vision—you have both of your arms wrapped around one of his, and your brows are furrowed as your eyes remain closed.

he glances up at the bat, still jammed into the door frame, thanks to the nails, before he grins.

"it's pretty sick, huh? that bat's gotta be one of my favorites. and you have good aim—pretty lethal combination, if you ask me.

"dabi," you scold tiredly, but he just brings a finger to your lips

"shh shh, don'cha think you've yelled enough? do you want another noise complaint from those nosy neighbors of yours? can't say i could fault them this time, though—it is pretty late."

your lips settle into a pout, and you grumble quietly under your breath as he tucks an arm under your knees and behind your back before standing up

"come on. i'm tired as shit—and bloody. i'll shower and join you in bed, all right?"

you don't say anything, simply nodding as he carries you to your room. he settles you onto the heap of blankets before heading to your shower.

normally, dabi would've just passed out the second he got home. but he didn't want you laying in filth. so, here he was—scrubbing himself down and hopping out of the shower after another ten minutes to see you curled up under the blankets.

it had been a horrible couple of weeks for him. fighting in terrible conditions and sleeping in even worse—but coming home to you was always something that made the torture bearable.

he slips into bed after turning off the lights, and you instinctively move to hold him. your arms wrap around his middle and your head falls on his chest. a warm palm slides under your shirt and settles onto the planes of your back a moment later

"next time, i'll sneak in through your balcony. be the perfect knight in shining armor for you—i don't think you'll have enough time to grab the bat by the time i get in."

you don't open your eyes, but your lips stretch into a small smile that has dabi grinning widely

"missed you," you murmur with a yawn as he hums, staring up at the ceiling

"go to sleep. i'll be right here when you wake up, promise."

once your breathing evens out, dabi peels himself out of your embrace as quietly as he possibly can. he takes a quick walk around you apartment—ensuring all the windows were closed, the front door was locked, and no one suspicious was lurking outside before he re-enters your room and slides back into bed.

he finally lets himself fall asleep, and it's the best sleep he's had since he left you.

it's not because of the air conditioning, it's not because of the bed, and it's not because he'd gotten to take a shower—really, the only reason he was able to fall asleep peacefully was because he had you with him, tucked into his side and in bed, right where both of you belonged.

[elumish]

I know that I am preaching to the anti-AI choir, but I genuinely believe that skills like summarizing, articulating, and refining an argument, engaging with existing research or information yourself, and going through the process of crafting materials are core skills for life but also for many careers, and outsourcing those degrades people's ability to think critically and engage with ideas.

Even ignoring the fact that generative AI is awful for the environment and based almost entirely in intellectual property theft and has a bunch of other ethical issues, using gen AI as a crutch will actually just make you worse at both engaging with life and doing many professional jobs.

But also, beyond this, you will benefit from actively engaging with research and the news and shaping, summarizing, and articulating arguments.

Can you read a piece of news or an article and understand the point it is making? Do you know how to identify the biases of the source? Do you know how to understand what you are reading in the context of that bias?

Can you shape an argument based on information you have engaged with? Can you validate that argument by seeking out additional relevant information? Can you describe that argument to someone who is familiar with the subject matter? Can you describe or summarize that argument to someone who is not familiar with the subject matter?

Can you articulate your point--whether it is an argument or just a question--in written format? Can you articulate it out loud? Do you know how to shape what you are expressing to a given audience?

Being able to articulate yourself clearly, in a logical structure that is based on verified evidence, is important for so much of life.

[fingertipsmp3]

A few times a year I get the urge to learn basically every language ever and then I give up because I get too ambitious. So my new rule is I’m never allowed to not be learning a language. I have to do at least one language lesson per day for the rest of my life

[cherrygirlfriend]

─ LET ME PLEASE YOU ♡

...or rafe wanting to spoil you.

♡ pairing.ᐟ softie!reader x bf!rafe

♡ summary.ᐟ your boyfriend loves spoiling you. in many ways.

♡ warnings / tags.ᐟ smut, MDNI! fluff, fingering wc: 2k

♡ author's note.ᐟ part of my 3k celebration! this is kind of a part of my ceo!rafe x wife!reader au!! but this is them when they were dating <3 if you wanna check it out, here’s a link to my fic about them but you dont have to read it!

3K MASTERLIST ♡ RAFE MASTERLIST

to say that rafe spoiled you would probably be an understatement. you'd never been too much into shopping; or to clarify, you'd never been able to afford shopping trips that weren't to the local thrift store that mostly carried clothing that hadn't been in style since the fifties. but you always managed to make do; your grandmother having taught you how to sew almost the moment you were able to string proper sentences coming in handy when you had an idea for something you wanted to change about an article of clothing.

so, it wasn't very common for you to have a lot of things. nice things in particular. but when you and rafe started dating, not only did he start to buy you things, but he also started to take you out on shopping sprees, ones that basically went like this: you'd see something cute, you'd feel the smooth fabric under your fingertips, and then take the label, your eyes widening in a way that made you feel like they were bulging out of your head when you saw the number on it; more often than not being a four- or five-figure number. you'd then try to beeline away from it, only for your boyfriend to snatch it and adding it onto the pile of clothes he'd encourage you to try, almost always ending up in one of the shopping bags he'd carry for you.

you watched your figure in the full-length mirror rafe put up in his bedroom when the two of you got together, the white sundress clinging to your curves like it was made for you. you twirled around, the hem swishing against your thighs, rafe letting out a deep chuckle, the man lazily sprawled on the armchair, his legs spread wide and a blunt between his fingers, smoke coming from the end of it as your boyfriend tapped it against it the crystal ashtray on his nightstand.

"you like the dress?" you asked with a sweet smile, looking at him through the mirror. rafe's eyes slowly trailed up and down your body, momentarily staying on the curve off your ass, before continuing to look you in the eyes.

"i like it a lot." he said deeply, tapping his spread legs with the palm of his hand, and you could feel a slight warmth crawling up your neck as you turned to him, tentatively walking towards him until you were at his armchair, looking down at him, reaching towards him with your hand, only for rafe to tug you down to straddle him, a small squeal leaving your lips before it turned into a soft giggle.

taking a deep inhale of the joint, his hand on your chin as he tilted it downwards, tilting his own head backwards and blowing the smoke at you. rafe's fingers ran up your bare thigh, a slight shiver running down your spine, "you have the prettiest thighs in the world, y'know?" his steely gaze lingering on the soft skin on your thighs, "so soft and smooth..." the man mumbled. his voice, his praises, his touch.. it all was making you melt into his arms, your heart fluttering with every word that left his lips. and the bastard knew it, knew the effect his actions and words had on you.

rafe took another inhale of his blunt before tilting your head back, blowing the smoke into your parted lips, your eyes fluttering closed as you inhaled the smoke and felt rafe's hands creeping up your thighs under the hem of your dress. "so sensitive..." he whispered against your lips.

"my sensitive baby." rafe hummed, his nose moving to nuzzle against your jawline while his hands continued to lightly trail up and down your thigh, chuckling deeply when your breathing hitched the moment his fingers got even close to your inner thigh. he always knew how to make you melt. "look at you." he chuckled under his breath, tilting your head back as his lips trailed down your neck, "you're unraveling already." rafe teased, pressing a small kiss on your pulse point, before sucking on it harshly.

"rafe...!"

"yeah, baby?" he whispered, and you could feel his warm breath against your skin as his fingers got closer to where you needed him painfully slowly, your hands gripping his shirt. "c'mon, use your words."

rafe's touch was so distracting, it was as if every thought inside of your head vanished the moment you felt his fingers on you, the man underneath you enjoying the more and more you get wound up. "i want..."

he interrupts you with a mocking chuckle, "you want what? say it." rafe tsked, "or is it too hard for you, huh? you can't use your words 'cause you're too distracted?" rafe cooed mockingly as your body trembled on him, pressing yourself into him. "poor little bay... can't even talk 'cause her brain's all mushy from how i'm touching her..."

your boyfriend was reveling in the way you reacted to his touch, the way you pressed yourself into him, the small whimpers that left your lips... "you just want me to take care of you, don'tcha?" rafe chuckled, his hand reaching the edge of your panties, a patch of wetness already forming in them. he let out a low hum as his fingers started tracing the lace of your baby pink panties. "need me to make all the decisions, don'tcha? can't take care of yourself?"

"i don't think you can even think for yourself, can you?" rafe teased, his fingers dipping into your panties, "need me to tell you what to do, what to wear..." he circled his finger around your clit painfully slowly. "tell me, what do you want, baby?"

you could hardly form a sentence, your eyes pressed closed as your brain was all fuzzy and mumbled, trying to focus on answering. "i... i just-" you tried to speak, but the words died in your throat as rafe pressed his growing erection against you. "you just what?" he asked, his tone slightly mocking as he flicked your clit, making you gasp and whine.

"poor baby." rafe cooed mockingly, his touch making you shiver and arch into him, "all worked up and all i had to do was touch you a little bit. pathetic." he teased, his words causing your face to get warmer. "just need me to take care of you..." he mumbled, his finger continuing to circle your clit, your legs trembling around him, "gonna be good for me, yeah?"

"mmhm, yeah..." you ground into him, rafe showing his satisfaction with your answer by making his fingers work your clit a little faster, your body desperately pressing into his touch.

"that's what i thought..." rafe mumbled as his fingers slid down your slit while his thumb stayed at your clit, still tracing patterns on it, a groan leaving his lips, "fuck, you're so damn wet..."

you felt two of his fingers draw patterns at your entrance, gathering your arousal before pushing his ringed fingers into you in a way that made you throw your head back in pleasure. rafe curled his fingers inside of you, pressing them against that spongy spot inside of them, and the thought of his fingers being covered by your arousal, the scent lingering even afterwards, somehow turned you on even more "look atcha... such a good little pet."

a chuckle rumbled in rafe's chest as he pulled his fingers out of you before plunging them back in, this time even harsher. "awww, someone's a horny little kitty." he laughed and whispered; "you're so adorable..."

"so beautiful and obedient." his fingers curled inside of you once again, "you're mine, aren't you? all mine... no one else can touch you. you belong to me." his thumb rolled around your clit even faster, "say it..." rafe mumbled huskily.

"mmhm..." you whined, "all yours..."

rafe's fingers continued to work you, the man showing you that he was pleased with your answer by speeding up, "that's it..." he mumbles, "i know what my girl wants..." he growled. rafe was a possessive man; he loved knowing that he was the one who was making you into such a needy little mess, that you belonged to him, and him only. "you're my girl, aren't you?" he whispered, his fingers rubbing you just at the perfect angle.

"yes!"

"good girl..." rafe murmured, his fingers picking up the pace, "my good girl..." his teeth nipped at your neck, a small squeal leaving your lips. rafe could feel how close you were getting, your body trembling in his lap, "you're gonna come for me, arent'cha?" he teased, his hold on your hip tightening, "gonna be a good little pet and come for me..."

"i'm the only one who gets to see you like this..." he whispers against your skin as his fingers continued to pound you, the sound of your mewls and moans filling the room as the feeling in your abdomen grows. "no one gets to hear you like this... you're gonna come for me?" rafe teased, his fingers working you even faster, "gonna be a good girl and come for me?"

you ground yourself into rafe's fingers as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body shivering on top of rafe's, "that's a good girl..." he murmured, pressing his lips against your collarbone, "gonna be a good girl and come for me?"

"rafe...!" you moaned as you felt yourself hit the peak, before crashing right back down as you felt your cunt clench around the fingers still buried deep inside of you.

"fuck..." rafe chuckled, loving the way you were gasping and repeating his name quietly, curling his fingers inside of you to prolong your orgasm before pulling them out of you and bringing the drenched fingers to your lips, "clean 'em up for me, baby..." rafe cooed, and you opened your mouth with a content smile on your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth in a way that made rafe groan, your tongue licking his fingers clean to the best of your ability. rafe grinned down at you, his hand going to your cheek, stroking it with his thumb, "you're so cute when you're obedient."

when rafe pulled his fingers out of your mouth, you nuzzled your face into his neck, and even though rafe was hard as fuck under you, he couldn't help but find your sleepiness utterly adorable. he stood up, still keeping you in his arms, bringing you to his bed and laying you down.

rafe crawls into bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. letting out a soft hum, "rafe..." you mumble softly, looking into his eyes half-liddedly, "how much do you love me?"

rafe let out a chuckle and shook his head, his hand trailing up and down your back, "damn, baby. you're really asking me that?"

rafe's hand tilted your chin up, making you look at him. his gaze was intense, "how much do i love you?" he repeats, his thumb softly rubbing over your bottom lip, "more than anything. more than anything in this world. more than money. more than anything."

you let out a soft laugh, "more than money? wow. you really must love me."

"i guess you got me there, baby." rafe grinned down at you, "i do love you more than money. i love you more than anything. but money is a close second."

[konigsblog]

OCTOBER 11TH — STEPDAD!PRICE. Your mother loves that man. You can't break her heart and let her know how sinister, perverted, and deplorable his behaviour truly is.

2024 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. (DAY 11)

TW: STEPCEST, NON-CON.

Your stepfather has always come across a little strange. His words have always felt like they have a much darker, sinister meaning. His large and scarred hands always linger on your soft figure for longer than what can be considered appropriate for a father and daughter duo. And the truth is, he can't help himself from you. You're much better than your mother. Tight, barely used, and so trusting of him. Meek and unsuspecting. The thought of corrupting his stepdaughter is a sickening and taboo thought, yet a hypnotising one as well.

He dreams about you. He spends hours in front of his computer, hunched over and jacking himself off sloppily after a couple of cigars and plenty of beers, watching the camera footage of you showering and getting yourself off, delicate fingers pumping into your wet and warm hole, stimulating yourself in private. He's always kept a watchful and predatory gaze on you, claiming that he's just looking out for you, that his touch and words are nothing more than him being protective and friendly. Ignore your suspicions, Birdie. Don't break your Mama's heart...

Your mother is head over heels for that ill and debauched man, oblivious to his twisted ways and how perverted he becomes in private with his Stepdaughter behind her back. Don't say nothin’. You'll break her poor heart.

He gets you tipsy, barely able to stand up properly without his support and string a coherent sentence together without mumbling and babbling. Your drunkenness allows for him to use your body for its purpose; to be bred and violated relentlessly. You're nothing more than a sex toy for his pleasure. You fall in and out between consciousness, whimpering and mewling out at the horrifying and grotesque sight of Price mutilating your tight cunt with his hard and leaking cock between your plush thighs. You wince and whine at the sticky mess Price had created over your bare stomach, with spurts of his creamy load oozing from the head of his musky and bulbous cock, coated in your delicious slick.

And no one bats an eye. Your mother doesn't even notice your standoffish and anxious behaviour, too devoted to her beloved and trusted husband to notice.

[talaok]

Win Again

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x sex worker f!reader

Summary: Marcus has won yet another match, so to reward him, his master has granted him another hour with you.

warning: smut| unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), a whole lot of manhandling, he like uses your body idk how to explain it, multiple orgasms, and once again unnecessary feelings cause im not able to write something where they just fuck for some reason

a/n: i know im two days late but PLEASE read this still. (also) basic things for this guy that i've decided are canon: 1)he has a monster cock, like actually scarily big, 2) he's real fucking strong (hulk typa shit), 3) he's not a big talker (but he is a grunter). I need this man to fuck me more than i need my next breath (real), also i did so much research for this fic and you cant even fucking tell

It wasn't often that you didn't dread going to the barracks.

These were strong, ferocious, and dangerous men, and you were but a meek lamb in comparison.

But today was different, today you were seeing him, him who fit the previous description to a tee, and yet was so different from any man you had ever offered your services to.

And perhaps it was because it never felt like you were ever offering anything, ever since that first night, you had never given anything you hadn't wanted to.

The guards stopped as you arrived at his room and you felt a wave of excitement crawl up your spine the moment they opened the door, waiting for you to enter.

The armored men stepped aside to let you pass, the cobblestones on the ground sounding against your sandals as you made your way inside, looking back at the door just in time to see it being shut close.

It was his breathing you heard first, his heavy breathing coming from where you knew his bed sat on the room's left, and seconds after, the creaks of the wood as he stood up, his feet stalking your way.

You turned to him then, a smile almost making it to your lips as you saw him alive before you once again, granting yourself a second to relish in the fact he still breathed, he was still here.

"You've won again" you spoke softly, your hands slowly finding the string holding your dress together.

He didn't respond. The window behind him caused the moon's soft glow to fall on the stone floor, but not on his beautiful face, that, you had to watch closely to inspect.

A newer cut right above his left eyebrow had appeared, and his right arm was bandaged almost completely, but otherwise, he looked fine.

His eyes remained on yours until you'd undone the dress, until it fell at your feet- then, a low groan rumbled from his chest as he took you in, and took his turn inspecting every inch of your bare figure.

"How do you want m-"

You didn't have time to finish your sentence that he'd picked you up, effortlessly pulling your body up until your legs slung over his shoulders and his face was buried in your cunt.

He hadn't even given you a second to realize what was happening that his tongue was already lapping between your folds, desperately drinking everything your body gave him.

"Oh my g-" you threw your head back, your skull finding the wall behind you being the only reason you realized he'd moved, and you were now caged between him and stone as you forgot how to speak.

The moans you had faked so many times for so many clients were nothing like the ones your mouth was spilling now, these were higher, coarser, feral, and the way you were gripping his hair... there was no way that didn't hurt.

"Y-You only" a whine interrupted your words when you felt his tongue plunge into your hole, when he started fucking you with it just like he would with his cock "You only h-have me for an hour" you breathed, your thighs squeezing tighter around him contradicting the words you were about to speak "d-don't you want me to p-please you?"

His grip on your ass only tightened and his mouth halfheartedly parted from your core to answer you.

"You are"

And just like that, he'd gone back to work. The moment his mouth closed around your clit you knew you were done for, you knew there was no point in fighting what was inevitably going to come, and so you shut your eyes, as he brought you to heaven.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nouse, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

"F-fuck- general I-" The fist you had wrapped around his hair tightened as every muscle in your belly did the same "Oh!"

Somehow, through all the chaos, while you were coming all over his face, while your moans reached levels never reached before, the only thing you could feel or hear, besides pure ecstasy of course, were his groans, his groans as he drank up every drop of your juices, as if your orgasm was bringing his as much pleasure as it was to you.

You barely had time to open your eyes that his strong, big hands and even stronger, bigger arms had pulled you down until your legs hugged his waist instead.

You really did weigh nothing for him, and if that wasn't enough to prove it, the next minutes definitely would.

Your heavy breathing was fanning over his mouth as he freed his cock from his pants, but while you were expecting him to kiss you, having been blatantly staring at your mouth since he had any way of seeing it, every thought in your brain turned to dust when with one hard fucking thrust, he drove his cock into you- or the first few inches at least.

You couldn't talk, you could do nothing but throw your head back as your eyes rolled to the back of it, and let him take whatever he wanted to take.

"I'm not a general anymore," he said with another thrust, stretching you out even further, even deeper.

You wanted to laugh at his words. Now? Now he was feeling the need to correct you? When you could barely breathe, let alone think?

But he didn't look interested in hearing a response from you, not when he grabbed your waist, and definitely not when he started moving you up and down on his shaft with just the sheer force of his muscles.

The moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Oh my god" you whimpered, feeling tears prick your eyes as your toes curled at the feeling.

You could feel him everywhere, everywhere.

But he didn't pause, he wasn't one to take his time, and perhaps that was because he didn't have much; he resumed his movements again, retracting his hips while he pulled you up his cock, and slamming into you while pushing you down on it, leaving you breathless, a simple doll at his mercy.

His groans and growls were deep and filled with lust, just like the way he bent down to take your left tit into his mouth, just like the way he was fucking you, deep and hard, and God- God it was happening again.

"s-shit" you squeaked, your walls squeezing around him as you bit your lip, so fucked out you could barely remember your name or anything at all that wasn't how good he was making you feel.

"O-Oh my fuck-"

The arms you had intertwined behind his neck tightened with every spasm of your hole, with every flutter of your belly, until you'd come once more.

You opened your eyes, letting them trail downwards, to where his lips parted to suck in ragged breaths, begging him for a kiss.

"again" he said instead, and your eyes widened as you felt him starting to move anew

"I-I can't"

He looked at you now, really looked at you, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, and then- then he kissed you. Marcus Acacius kissed you the same way he'd been fucking you for the last hour: like an animal.

It was a mess of teeth and tongues and yet it felt like the best thing on earth, better than wine, better than life, even better than the sex- it was perfect.

"again" he ordered once more, and what could you do, if not comply?

So he started again, he started fucking you again, even more ferociously than the previous time, even if you didn't think it possible.

The way his skin slapped with yours was drowned by both your desperate sounds, your legs started to tremble, beginning to fall from his hips as he moved you up and down his cock like it were nothing, and you- you didn't even know where you were anymore.

"please" you begged, a single tear of pleasure, of overstimulation falling to your cheek as he kissed you again, muting all your cries as he drove himself into you like a madman, like he was possessed.

"Time's up"

Two knocks sounded from the other side of the wall together with the warning, and you thanked Marcus for having rendered you such a mess because otherwise, that would have reminded you of how little time you two ever had, and how miserable everything really was.

His movements sped up at the notice, his dick plunging into you over and over and over until finally, it was happening again.

"give it to me" he said, and you did exactly as he asked- you gave it all to him, screaming and crying you let him have all you had to offer, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

He came loudly just after you, groaning deeply as he filled you up to the very brim.

Out of all the words you could have said to him then, all the things you wanted to tell him at that moment, you chose none, because none would have said anything he didn't already know from the look in your eyes, from the same exact spark in your irises that ignited his own.

So he helped you to the ground until you stood on shaky legs, walked to where your dress lay on the floor, and dressed yourself again, his eyes never leaving you.

The door opened just as you were done, and you turned to him one last time again, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Win again for me, general"

He looked at you too for one last time again, as he thought about how you didn't know, you didn't know how big of a role you played in his victories, how many times he could only think of the taste of you, smell of you, feel and voice of you as he took his opponent's life, as he fought for another hour with you, another second.

"I will" he promised

[devilishcupid]

CARBON COPY | Miguel O'Hara

☆ premise: trying to find miles morales in earth-42, he encounters you. or at least, a version of you.

☆ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!alt universe!reader

☆ warnings: across the spiderverse spoilers, pregnant!reader, clueless!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, miguel's pov, some swearing

☆ a/n: oh my god. across the spiderverse is literally a masterpiece. into the spiderverse already is, but the spiderverse team said, "we can do better." they didn't have to, but they did.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Jessica asked through the commlink. "This is risky, even by your standards."

"It doesn't matter. The quicker we find Miles, the quicker we get out of here." Miguel muttered into his earpiece as he walked through the busy streets of Earth-42's New York.

"Yes, but blending in? For all we know, a version of us exists here."

"Which is why you need to stop talking and start looking, Jess." Miguel hissed a little too loud, earning looks from a few passerbys. He winced. Jessica had a point. If a version of them did exist in this universe, it would be best not to bring attention to themselves.

"Miguel!"

And... that was now thrown out of the window. Cursing under his breath, he turned around reluctantly to face the person who called him—only to find that it was you.

His eyes widened, and his lips parted at the sight of you. Never in a million years did he expect to see her again. But here you were, the absolute spitting image of her. Your clothes were exactly the same things she would wear, your hair and makeup done the same way.

Finding different versions of people in different universes was not uncommon. There's literally a society uniting the different universes' own Spider-people, for God's sake. But Miguel didn't expect this. He didn't expect a carbon copy of his dead wife on a universe where Spider-Man did not exist.

He should've said he wasn't Miguel, that you were mistaking him for someone else. Hell, he shouldn't have stopped and turned around in the first place. He didn't know what came over him, but in a second, he had his arms wrapped around your body.

"Miguel, hon, are you okay?" You asked, your voice laced with surprise and concern. You had no clue that the man who was hugging you was not your husband. At least, not your husband in this universe.

Miguel grunted in response, his ability to string words together to form a sentence rendered broken by your presence. He squeezed you tighter. He couldn't believe he was holding you in his arms.

You weren't the same woman he fell in love with. He knows this. But he couldn't help himself. You looked exactly like her. Felt exactly like her. Sounded exactly like her. Shit, you even smelled like her.

"Damn it, Miguel, keep it together! She's not your wife!"

Hearing Jess' voice snapped Miguel out of his stupor. Remembering his mission, why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from you. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold you longer. But he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop.

"Honey, what's wrong?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. God, how he missed feeling the warmth of your palms. "You're acting weird."

"I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a small smile, his hands wrapping around yours and his lips pressing a kiss on each of your wrists. "I just missed you, that's all."

You laughed. "What are you talking about? You saw me this morning."

Miguel could only chuckle in an attempt to hide his sadness. What was only hours for you was months for him. "Right. I did."

"Are you sure you're okay, though?" You asked again, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of your lips downturned.

"Don't worry about it, darling. I am."

He wasn't. But you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know that in another universe, the two of you were married. You didn't need to know that you had a daughter together. You didn't need to know that he loved you and your daughter more than life itself, only for him to lose you both.

"Listen, I have to go. I'm having lunch with a friend. But I'll see you later at Doctor Nguyen's, okay?" You placed your hands on your stomach, a smile forming on your face. "I can't wait to see her again."

Miguel swallowed the lump in his throat before forcing himself to smile. Only now he noticed the bump on your stomach, carrying a different Miguel's Gabriella. "Yeah, me too."

With a kiss goodbye on his cheek, you walked away, blissfully unaware that he was not your Miguel. He watched as you disappeared around the corner, knowing it was the first and last time he was ever going to see you again.

But that didn't matter. He'll find Miles. He'll make sure the canon isn't destroyed. He'll make sure another version of himself wouldn't have to suffer the loss of his family the same way he did. He'll make sure you and your kid were safe.

[didhewinkback]

how bad do you want me

a something old blurb inspired by the taxi pic but that pic was so sweet and this is definitely just filth

warnings: smut city baby; word count: 3k omg

---

“I’m home” he calls out from the hallway, the smile on his face growing when he hears the happy bark and your “we’re in here” call back.

He toes his shoes off and places his tote bag and jacket on the hook, shaking off the day. He feels good, there is nothing quite like a good day in the studio, when the creative juices are flowing just right, the music seeming to fly right off the page, his pen not able to move fast enough to capture the lyrics pouring out of him. Almost felt like divine inspiration but he knows the source of it, knows on the good days when everything’s working all he has to do is think about you and his mind instantly waxes poetic.

Images of you have flown through his head all day, - you in that wedding dress and you out of it, you dancing against him at that bar in Japan, you sunbathing on the beach in St. Tropez. Making him feel like he was burning from the inside out as couplets and sonnets and bridges poured from his brain. Knowing he could write about you everyday for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough but what a privilege to get to try anyway. 

He’s thrumming with the unreleased energy, the euphoria of a good session, the thrill of getting to go home to his muse. The new melody flowing through his head as he heads towards the tv room, his buoyant steps interrupted by the oaf of a dog greeting him halfway. 

“Hi sweet boy,” he coos, bending down to scratch at Sammy’s back, to accept his kisses as he greets him, tail wagging and body shaking. “Yeah yeah yeah, missed you too, you big oaf.” 

He presses a few kisses to his head and scratches his fingers against the dog’s scalp before standing up and heading through the doorway, having to lean against it at the sight of you on the couch. Hair still damp from a shower, long, bare legs stretched out against the pillows, wearing nothing but an old t shirt of his. He has to clench his fist to keep himself from just diving on top of you, swallowing to try to combat the way his mouth has just gone dry. Knowing all the songs in the world couldn’t capture just quite how he feels right now, looking at you. His wife. 

“Hi.” you say softly, smiling over at him, the glow of the tv making your face already more incandescent than it usually is. “Good day?”

He should answer, should attempt to string some sentences together but he just nods and makes his way over to you as quickly as his feet can carry him, kneeling one leg on the couch in between your thighs as his hand brushes along your cheek, cupping the back of your neck and he bends down to kiss you.

It should be soft, gentle, a greeting kiss for the first time you’ve seen each other since this morning but it’s instantly carnal, his tongue diving into your mouth when you gasp, the hand on the back of your neck tightening as he kisses you deeply, hungrily trying to explore every inch of your mouth. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before pulling away to press his lips against your jawline, dipping down to swirl his tongue against your neck.

“Good session?,” you ask breathlessly and he hums against your skin, biting down when you roll your hips up against his. You slide your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he continues his ministrations, knocking his hat off in the process. “Didn’t even take your hat off.”

“Needed you,” he mumbles, shifting so both his knees are on the couch, hovering over you as he brings his mouth back to yours, swallowing down your soft moan as his hand trails down your side, sliding up your t-shirt to clutch at your skin. He makes to move down your body when a soft whine coming from decidedly not you makes him pause. He groans, resting his head against your collarbone when you laugh.

“When was the last time he was out?” he grits out, feeling like he might die if he has to detach himself from you in any capacity. 

“Like 20 minutes ago.” you say, your hands sliding along the front of his sweater and pulling him in closer to you and he almost moans in gratitude.

“Alright, Sammy.” he says, turning to the dog laying patiently at the edge of the rug and lifting a hand to point to the bedroom where his dog bed lays. “Gonna need you to go into the other room, pal. ‘M about to do some things to your mom that may scar you for life.” 

You groan out a laugh as his genius boy, who's going to get so many treats after this, more treats than he will ever know what to do with, stands up and pads away, leaving the two of you alone.

“Dog’s a genius.” he says

“Can’t believe you just told him that,” you laugh and he grins, turning back to you and his breath catches in his throat. 

Your kiss swollen lips, the way you shake your head at him but that does nothing to soften the molten look in your eyes. He leans down to kiss you once before pulling away, pressing his mouth against your jaw, your neck, sliding down your body until he’s laying on his stomach, his head resting against your belly, his shoulders between your thighs. His knees are gonna be fucked tomorrow, bent at a weird angle but who cares when he’s got you looking at him like that, smelling this good. 

He closes his eyes, pressing a kiss to your stomach against the t-shirt still laying across it before pushing the hem up with his hands, his lips following his hands until the shirt rests right above your chest. He drags his lips against your breasts, sliding his hands down to your hips and squeezing when you let out a soft moan. 

“Thought about this all day,” he murmurs against your skin, tongue darting out to lick at your nipple before sucking it into his mouth in a smooth pull. He kisses across your chest before giving the other nipple the same treatment, fingers scratching against your skin when your hips buck up on their own accord. He kisses his way down, pausing at your stomach, licking a stripe across your skin before sucking a mark at your hip bone, the soft sounds coming out of your mouth making him feel like he’s on fire. A symphony he never tires of.

He rests his chin against your hip, looking up at you, the way you’re shakily breathing, staring up at the ceiling, your arms over your head, your shirt pushed up. You look back down at him, looking so gorgeously overwhelmed just from his mouth on your skin that he’s not sure he’s ever felt better about himself in his life. He did that, he does this to you. He has this effect, the same way you do to him. What a fucking gift to give someone as much pleasure as they give you. 

“Y’ so beautiful, you know that?” he practically growls out and he can see your heavy swallow, your tongue darting out to lick at your dry lips. “Got to spend all day writing songs about it. About how good you make me feel. Y’ make me feel so good.”

“H - jesus”, you gasp out as his mouth continues its trail down your skin, his hands sliding down your thighs and back up, a pattern that makes you whine. He could draw this out, could keep sucking marks into your skin, cataloging every moment that your hips twitch, but he knows if he doesn’t get his mouth on you now he’s going to lose his mind. His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, body doing a weird half press up to pull them all the way down your legs, kneeling at your feet as he pulls them all the way down your ankles and throws them on the ground. 

He pulls your ankle up to his mouth, his lips dragging against the skin of your calf, pausing to suck a mark on his way up as he lowers his body back down, hooking your leg over his shoulder as he drags his teeth against your skin.

“Wanna taste you, he murmurs, sliding down your body as he comes face to face with your core. “Want you all over my stache. Want to be able to smell you for days” 

A moan punches out of you at that, hips twitching towards his touch, his mouth and he just takes a moment to take you in, all of you. 

“Fucking - christ, baby,” he groans at the sight of you, how ready you are for him, just from his mouth on your skin. “I got y’ this wet?”

“Please,” you moan out, chest heaving and he has to rut against the couch to take the heat off, the arousal pooling in his stomach almost enough to make him shoot off right there at the sight of you like this. His eyes trail up and down your body, trying to catalogue everything to memory, knowing he’ll have inspiration for the next hundred sessions from the way you’re breathing, the way your body reacts to his touch and the guttural moan you let out when his mouth finally connects to where you need him the most. 

It’s sloppy and messy from the start, his tongue sucking your clit into his mouth in heady pulls, going harder when your hand slides into his hair and pulls as he licks a trail up and down your core. He presses soft, deep kisses against you, taking his time in a way you were not prepared for if the way your thighs shake against his shoulders are any indication. He slides his hands up your thighs, pulling you apart gently with his fingers to give his mouth more room, licking a trail down to your entrance, tongue darting inside to taste all of you. Living for the way you throw your head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut as you roll your hips up into his mouth.

“H, I’m -”

“I know baby, I know.” he mumbles against you, giving you another hard suck that makes you cry out. “Always know just what you need, baby. Always gonna give it to you.”

He slides two fingers into you, deep from the start and your leg kicks out, foot knocking against his back and he doesn’t care, he wants to feel all of it, all of you. He’s a man possessed as he closes his eyes, focusing on nothing else but the feel and taste of you, his favorite taste in the world, the way you’re practically gushing into his mouth and he hasn’t even gotten you there yet. 

You’re out of words, he can hear you trying to speak but its just sounds at this point, and the thrill in reducing you to this state is indescribable. His fingers curl inside you just like you always like it as his nose nudges against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth, running his tongue up and down in a senseless pattern thats only goal is to make you scream. He can feel it before you try to warn him, the way you’re clenching against his tongue, moaning loud, pulling on his hair as your thighs tense against his head and you come, hard, moaning out a chant of his name over and over. 

He doesn’t let up, not yet, continues to drive his fingers into you, continues to taste as much of you as he can and you’re practically writhing against the couch, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re coming again, practically reduced to whimpers and he has to open his eyes, has to see the sheen of sweat against your forehead, your chest heaving as you gasp for breath, your blown out eyes as you tilt your head down to look at him. 

He presses more soft kisses to your core until you’re practically tugging his head away and dragging his head up to your mouth, kissing him deep the moment he’s close enough, the twist of your tongue against his, the way you’re practically leaning into your taste on his lips has him groaning into your mouth, his mustache rubbing against your skin in a way that seems to make you lose your mind, his hips rutting against yours in a way that makes you both hiss. 

“H, come on - need you -” you’re murmuring half completed sentences against his mouth as your hands slide to the hem of his sweater and pull - he leans away from you for all of two seconds to yank it over his head before his fingers find your jaw, tilting your mouth back to his. You start to tug at the waistband of his trousers before he gets the message, the desperation in your movement pulling him closer to the edge than he already feels. 

He pulls his trousers and briefs down in one go, standing up to shuck them all the way off and freezing in place when he looks down at you, sprawled naked against the couch with your thighs splayed wide. You lift up to pull your shirt over your head and to pull him back down, neither of you speaking, mouths dragging across each other’s skin as he guides himself into you.

“Fucking hell,” he grits out against your neck, biting down as he thrusts all the way in, one smooth push that has your hands sliding down his back to grip his arse. It’s tight, hot, wet, swollen heat, so wet and smooth he has to shut his eyes tight against the sensations flowing through him. “Baby I’m - shit. Not gonna last -”

“Don’t care,” you sigh as you guide his hips into yours again, your legs tightening around his as he fucks into you. He can’t help the moans spilling out of his mouth, would feel self conscious about how quick this is going to be but there’s no time to feel anything but you. The slide of your skin against his, the way you’re clenching down around him, the feel of your nails scratching up and down his back. It’s like you’re the only two people on the planet, nothing else matters but the slick feel of you around him, no thoughts in his head but how fucking good this feels, how fucking good it always feels with you. 

“I love you,” you moan out, as if reading his mind and a full body shudder runs through him as he tries to hold himself back, tries to make this last longer but he’s done for at the sound of your sweet voice in his ear, saying his favorite three words he’s ever heard come out of anyone’s mouth, still in disbelief that you’re saying them to him, that you vowed to say them to him for the rest of your life. “I love how you make me feel.”

“Baby, please -” he shushes you desperately as he licks his way into your mouth, your words pouring down his throat like the sweetest honey he’s ever tasted. Everything he’s ever wanted. 

“Want you to come,” you murmur as you pull away, his nose nudging against yours with every thrust, your hands sliding against his sweaty skin. “Want you to come inside me.”

The moan that escapes him seems to come from the depth of his core as white hot heat surges through him, giving two thrusts more before he comes inside you, teeth biting down on your neck, going to leave a mark but he doesn’t have time to worry about that, not when he feels this good. His body shaking with aftershocks as he punches his hips gently a few more times, unable to control the euphoria flowing through him. God, the way you make him feel. 

He practically collapses on top of you and you just bring your arms around him, both of you panting hard to catch your breath, the onslaught of emotion and feeling taking you both by surprise. It takes a few moments before he’s even able to move, tilting his head up to capture your mouth, kissing you softly, languidly, like he doesn’t know how to stop. Nor does he ever want to. 

You lay there for a while, soft moans pooling into each other’s mouths as you come down, hands sliding up and down your bodies, sweat cooling on your skin. He’s reluctant to move and it’s only when your kisses slow down in their ferocity does he shift, gently sliding out of you as he continues to drag his lips against yours before pulling away, pressing his mouth against your jaw and temple and burying his head into your neck. You run your hand gently through his hair as his hands slide up and down your sides, pausing every so often for a cheeky squeeze, a thumb grazing your nipple, his hand gently cupping your breast. Just wanting to be as close as possible for as long as possible, intertwining his legs with yours. 

“Am I crushing you?” he asks softly, his voice almost hoarse from all the sounds he’d been making. 

“Kinda like it,” you say and he huffs a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to your neck before sitting up. You instantly whine at the loss of contact.

“Hang on, darling. Just gonna -” he wraps his arm around you, pulling you with him as he lays back on the opposite end of the couch, rearranging for a few moments before you’re resting against his chest, his arm holding you securely to him, pressing his head against your hair and just breathing you in. You draw a finger up and down his chest, just drawing mindless patterns against his skin in a way that feels so nice. 

“Studio was that good, huh?” you ask, and he can feel your smile against his skin.

“Y’ can’t expect me to spend all day writing songs about you and not have to instantly get my hands on you.” he says, reveling in the way you shiver against him and he feels insatiable. He starts to mimic you, bringing a hand to draw light patterns across your chest, fingers slowly sliding down your belly and resting low. 

“What are you up to?” you murmur softly, not much fight in the question as you lean into his touch. 

“Just want to love on you some more, baby.” he says softly, sliding his fingers through your folds, circling your entrance and the mess there, living for every twitch and clench he can feel. “Let me hear some more of my favorite sounds.”

You tilt your head up, capturing his lips with yours as you gasp against his mouth as he starts to fuck his fingers back into you, moaning at his gentle touch. He revels in it, revels in you, revels in the sounds you make. His favorite song, the melody he’s always chasing. Loving how you make him feel, how you make each other feel, how you get to do this for the rest of your lives. He could write a million songs about this, about you, and he just might. How lucky is he?

---

that pic just did something to me okay !!!! blame the pic and the amount of espresso i had, i think this is the smuttiest thing i have written yet. hope u like it pls lmk what u think

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[catdile]

I’m so sad about Loop and the thought of them disappearing/never getting to see their party again devastates me to an astronomical degree so

Au where Loop gets ‘here we go again’-ed back to their timeline and everything is normal, except for the fact that the loops are still happening (supposedly, they haven’t looped back yet they don’t know I don’t know what are you a cop) and they’re still. Very much visibly a star.

They are obviously, very scared. Because their party doesn’t recognize them and there’s this whole thing where one member of the party REALLY has to look at them until they realize that ‘Siffrin’ really is, a WHOLE STAR NOW.

I HAD A WHOLE FUCKINH VISUAL FOR THIS. BECAUSE I BASED IT OFF OF THAT ONE MOOMIN EPISODE WHERE MOOMIN TURNS INTO A SWEET LITTLE BEAST AND HIS MOM IS THE ONLY ONE OUT OF ALL OF THEM TO JUST LOOK AT HIM AND GO ‘oh shit yeah that’s my baby’

Obviously there will be changes in dynamic and scenario, and it might be more than just one party member to do this, but the idea of a person looking at their unrecognizable friend and then being able to tell it’s them just from how they look at them makes me so ill.

Anyway since Loop knows damn well not telling their party shit will just get them in deeper shit they just like. Soppily start explaining everything, they cannot string two sentences together they’ve been crying nonstop since they saw their party give them a break. Obviously the party believes them because holy shit if you’re a whole fucking star and you’re also crying? Your eyes out? There are no tears, then why the hell would you lie about this?

It just ends in a lot of tears and Loop is. So sad

But also happy because…’yay !!! My party !!! I have my party AND I know how to break the loops now !!! Awesome !!! That was so easy !!!’

Yeah it only took losing yourself and accidentally changing your body into something you don’t recognize so you can leave your self made torment only to be stripped away from the ones you love and put into some other fucking fella’s timeline so that THEY can have their happy ending instead yeah Loop that was SO EASY.

IS THIS ANYTHING????????

[deusfoundry]

part 1 here! this can be read as a stand alone but these two drabbles are set in the same universe/timeline!

girl dad!zayne is a decade older now, and while some things have changed, most remain constant. his body is still fit, the muscles of his upper limbs still defined, but he's got a slight pudge on his belly from your cooking. he still scoffs down ungodly amounts of candies and pastries, much to your dismay. he still spends a good chunk of his time at the hospital, but you've been able to coax him into taking less shifts lately, so he's at home with you more often.

girl dad!zayne who's pleasantly surprised when his daughter's boyfriend knocks on their front door, but grows confused when he realizes he's alone.

"hi!" he hands zayne a small box containing two portions of the same cake they had for christmas a few years back. the first one he spent together with your little family. "this is for you and auntie."

"come in, son." zayne places a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him inside the house with a smile.

girl dad!zayne who's starting to put two and two together when he shifts in his place on the dining table, almost uncomfortable and definitely nervous.

while he's visited your home by himself with just a cake and anecdotes about your daughter in tow before, zayne knows this is different.

"my wife isn't home yet, and according to her i've already hit my weekly sugar limit." he sets a plate down in front of him. “so you better eat this with me. otherwise, we'd both get in trouble.”

girl dad!zayne who stays quiet when he asks for his daughter's hand in marriage.

zayne knew it was bound to happen, expected it from the way he stutters between sentences, the way slips up and calls him "sir" when it's been eight years since he last used the honorific.

"i love your daughter. so, so much. and i can see myself- no- i know i want to spend the rest of my life with her. if she'll let me." he ends his speech with an exhale, holding zayne's gaze with a decisive look on his face.

zayne's eyes flicker towards the tiny box in his hands.

girl dad!zayne is equally terrified and relieved. he knows he can trust him, has known it for the last decade or so. but he can't shake the small voice in the back of his head that selfishly wants to keep his daughter close forever, that still holds on to the image of when all of her drowns in his arms.

she was so small, so vulnerable to the dangers of the world, and part of him wants to protect her for as long as he can.

girl dad!zayne who gives his blessing in the form of a simple question.

"how are you planning on proposing to her?"

zayne watches the man in front of him break into a grin, tears welling up on his eyes. and before zayne knows it, he's pulled into a tight hug. the air is knocked out of his lungs as he thanks him profusely.

girl dad!zayne who lets himself be held by you. the side of his head rests on your chest, close enough to your heart that he can hear the faint but steady thud of your heartbeat. your hand runs through his hair while the other cradles his back.

"he's proposing to her." he whispers as your fingers find his scalp.

"i know."

zayne freezes. "what?"

"he asked for my blessing a month ago. i told him he can stay until you came home, but he said he still has to build up the courage to ask you."

he pries himself away from you, putting just enough distance so he can look at you in disbelief. he opens his mouth, a string of complaints forcing their way out of his throat, but as always you beat him to it.

"hey, he asked me to keep it a secret! plus i didn't know it'd take him that long to ask you. you can't blame the man though, you're scarier than you think you are, dear."

and you had the nerve to giggle at his face.

girl dad!zayne who answers a call from his daughter two and a half weeks later.

it's the middle of the night when his ringtone cuts through the silence of your shared bedroom. he reaches for his phone and groggily slides it open. he rests it against his ear without putting it on speaker mode to not disturb your sleep.

he regrets it immediately when he hears his daughter's squeals over the phone.

"daddy i'm getting married!"

zayne pulls his phone away from his ear, hissing sharply.

"r- really, sweetheart? that's great." he briefly forgets about her boyfriend- well, fiance, asking him for his blessing a few weeks ago.

"he just proposed to me an hour ago and it was the most romantic thing ever! is mom with you?"

he hums, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. "she's asleep."

"oh right! i forgot it's nighttime for you there. sorry dad, i'll just call lat-"

"no, no-" zayne can almost imagine the grimace on his daughter's face, the tiny apologetic smile he knows she dons. "it's alright, dear. tell me all about it."

half an hour later, zayne falls asleep to his daughter's voice. she giggles when she hears his quiet snores through the phone.

"i love you, dad." she whispers before ending the call.

girl dad!zayne who visits his daughter on the day of her wedding right before he has to walk her down the aisle. it takes all of his willpower to not cry on the way to her hotel room and even more when he finally enters, spotting her standing in front of a mirror.

“dad!” she brightens up when she sees his reflection on the mirror.

“sweetheart,” zayne walks towards his daughter, but freezes in place when he's finally close enough to see her.

she's stunning, white satin cascading all the way down to the carpet of the floor, make-up done just right, jet black hair curled to perfection. clipped to her hair is the veil you wore at your wedding all those years ago, and for a brief moment, he sees you standing in front of him.

“i- i have something for you.” he hands over the box he's keeping in his pocket.

she eyes it with curiosity, gently unclasping the tiny lock to reveal the heart-shaped locket nestled inside. 

“dad…” 

“your mom gave it to me on our first anniversary.” he runs a thumb over the intricate detailing where the rust has settled, time wearing down the charm. “i didn't want to put my own photo inside. so for the longest time, it was just your mom…”

he opens the locket to show a picture of you in your early 20s. the brightest smile on your face tugs at the edges of your daughter’s lips.

“until we had you.” zayne shifts it to where a picture of her as a baby resides.

he hears her sniffle in his arms, and instinctively his hand flies to her back, fingers rubbing comforting circles over the fabric.

“you're making me ruin my makeup, dad.” her voice cracks through her words.

"your something old." zayne chuckles, moving around to help her put on the necklace. he pulls her impossibly closer to plant a kiss on the top of her head, over the veil she borrowed from you. "i'm so happy for you."

girl dad!zayne who walks his daughter down the aisle with you on the other side, because she insisted on having both her parents with her.

the whole walk is a blur to him. he remembers a few stray tears falling down his cheek and you scolding him for crying so early on through watery eyes. he remembers her laughter and the almost deathly grip she has on his arms. he remembers the comforting smiles you both give her when she admits she's nervous, asks what she should do if she messes up her vows.

"you'll do great."

"he's already in love with you. i'm sure nothing like that could change his feelings."

he remembers untangling his arms from your daughter when you arrive at the altar, but his hand still lingers on hers. he remembers locking eyes with her fiance.

“take good care of her.”

he gives him an affirming nod, and zayne finally releases the grip he has on his little girl to find your hands.

girl dad!zayne who weeps halfway through the ceremony. the brave front he's been keeping up all day shatters from just one look at your tear stained cheeks. he tries his damnedest to block any thoughts of his little girl, but it's the only thing he can think of as the ceremony goes on.

he hears her laughter and suddenly, she's two years old. and the best thing in her world is her dad making tiny seals and kittens out of his evol.

he catches sight of the tears welling up on her eyes and suddenly, he's helping her nurse a scraped knee with his hand over the wound and a whole tub of ice cream for them to share.

she turns towards you two right before she says her vows and suddenly, it's the first night you spend at the hospital after giving birth. he looms over your spent figure, holding the tiny bundle of joy in your arms as she gives you the smallest of smiles.

zayne chokes down a sob, leaning down to hide his face on the crook of your neck.

girl dad!zayne who joins in on the applause, his arm linked around yours as his daughter runs down the aisle with her husband, safe in the knowledge that someone loves his little girl the same way he loves you.

not proofread!!!! im not very satisfied w this again but we Move ehrhhehe hope u enjoy this all the same chat mwaah!!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[nicholasluvbot]

ㅤㅤI'LL LIKE YOU ✶ 보이넥스트도어

𝑓emale 𝑟eaderㅤ۶ৎㅤidol!reader & idol!bndㅤ☘️ㅤONETHOUSAND / fluff ʚɞ non established relationshipㅤ( CLiCK FOR MORE )

alternatively ───── when your fans ship the two of you together.

myung jaehyun.

jaehyun is the epitome of shy but calculating.

in front of you, he can barely string a full sentence together. he isn’t even able to look you in the eyes, his voice shaking as he blurts out, “y-you’re really talented. um—i, uh—really like your new song,” before practically sprinting away, face turning beet red.

fans live for his adorably flustered behavior, constantly making jokes like, “it’s not his fault he went to an all-boys school and has no information about the other chromosome in his database.”

but what they don’t know is how hard jaehyun works behind the scenes to fuel the ship.

he’d scroll through your instagram for hours, obsessively studying your outfit choices, your favorite colors, even the brands you wear. 

then, out of nowhere, he’s spotted wearing suspiciously similar clothes to yours, down to the tiniest details. fans, of course, catch on quickly, posting side-by-side comparisons of your photos, sending the internet into a frenzy.

when asked about it, jaehyun acts surprised, laughing nervously while scratching the back of his neck, “haha, i guess we just have similar tastes?” but inside, he’s thriving. he’s totally smug about it—he knows he’s been caught, but he’s secretly loving the attention.

when the members start teasing him, saying, “didn’t you just buy that bracelet because you saw yn wearing the same one?” jaehyun’s face turns bright red as he stutters, “n-no, i just like the design, that’s all.” sure, jaehyun... we’re all buying it.

park sungho.

sungho is a walking contradiction.

he tries so hard to act cool when the ship is mentioned, brushing it off with a shrug. “ah, fans are just having fun,” he’d say, his tone so nonchalant it almost seems convincing. but his red ears? they give him away every time.

fans live for the moments when he accidentally lets his guard down. like when someone shows him a video of you during a variety show—he’d sit there watching quietly, trying to suppress a smile, his lips twitching ever so slightly. but then jaehyun would chime in loudly, “why are you smiling so much?” causing sungho to immediately snap, “i’m not!” his voice a little too defensive as he avoids all eye contact, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

if you ever approach him at an event, though, his whole “cool guy” act crumbles. he’d stammer out a polite greeting, bowing so low and so awkwardly that his members have to stifle their laughter in the background. his hands fidget nervously, and he can barely meet your eyes.

later, when clips of the interaction inevitably surface online, fans zoom in on the way sungho sneaks lingering glances at you throughout the event. they also catch the soft, almost dreamy smile he wears whenever you’re speaking. within minutes, the clips go viral, with captions like, “bro is down bad.”

when he’s alone, though, he replays the clip of the two of you interacting like he’s preparing for a dissertation, his eyes glued to the screen as he analyzes every detail—how close you were standing, the way your voice sounded, and whether or not you smiled at him. his members tease him relentlessly about it, but sungho just mutters, “it’s not a big deal,” even though he knows he’s so far gone. 

lee riwoo.

he is so obvious it hurts.

fans catch him dancing to your songs a little too much during livestreams, his grin wide and his moves full of energy, as if he’s the biggest fan. “it’s just a catchy song!” he insists, trying to downplay it, but the way he lights up whenever your music starts playing says so much more.

his real feelings become painfully clear when you invite him to do a dance challenge together. on the outside, he’s all smiles, nodding eagerly, but on the inside? he’s screaming. internally losing it.

the moment you step into the same frame, though, his usual confidence evaporates. he stumbles over the choreography, his nerves getting the best of him, laughing awkwardly as he messes up. fans immediately notice how red he goes, and they absolutely eat it up. meanwhile, you just find him adorable, completely unaware of how flustered he is.

he’s a shy babygirl™ through and through, so whenever someone asks about it directly, he stammers, looking to his members for help like they’ll come to his rescue.

fans catch on quickly, noticing how he starts fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, or blushing whenever your name comes up in conversation. he denies being affected, always trying to play it off, but his members totally snitch on him during live streams, exposing how he practices greeting you in front of the mirror, muttering to himself, “hi, yn, i’m jaehyun, nice to meet you…” while his face turns as red as a tomato.

obvious, but too cute for words. 

han taesan.

this man is a pro at subtlety.

he doesn’t outright acknowledge the ship, but fans quickly catch on to how much effort he puts into feeding it.

during music shows and award events, he’s always in the background, staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and it's so obvious that fans can't help but point it out. whenever you’re on stage or accepting an award, he’s just there, soft smile plastered on his face, his eyes shining with pride. fans zoom in on clips of him, his gaze lingering on you, and caption them with things like, “taesan’s proud bf energy!” and the ship goes viral.

he’s definitely the type to secretly read fanfiction about the two of you..

when the members tease him about how much he lights up whenever your name comes up, he completely freezes. sungho teasingly asks, “taesan, didn’t you say you wanted to collab with yn?” and taesan, flustered and caught off guard, panic-answers, “n-no... i mean, maybe... let’s move on,” but you can tell he’s dying on the inside, trying to keep his cool. secretly, though, he’s probably rehearsing how he’d casually talk to you during the collab

he’s the type to subtly bring you up in interviews, too—“yn’s songs are great; i’ve been listening to them a lot lately”—just to see if fans catch it. and spoiler alert: they absolutely do.

kim leehan.

the definition of soft.

the first time he sees a ship edit of the two of you, his reaction is straight out of a romcom. it’s almost too cute to handle—he lets out an embarrassed laugh, his hands immediately flying up to hide his smile. “ah, fans are so funny,” he says, but his voice is so much softer than usual, and his blush? it gives him away. his ears turn red, and he’s absolutely melting inside, not knowing how to react to being the subject of such a sweet edit.

whenever he’s around you, he can't even hold a normal conversation without giggling nervously and stumbling over his words, offering compliments in the most awkward yet endearing way. and then there’s that awkward pause where he starts fidgeting, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left. but it's clear to everyone that he’s completely flustered and totally into you.

Still, fans adore how genuine and sweet he is, especially when he unknowingly matches his mood to yours—smiling when you’re happy or looking concerned when you seem tired.   

kim woonhak.

woonhak is so loud in denying the ship that it’s painfully obvious he’s head over heels in love with you.

during live streams, as soon as fans even hint at mentioning you, he immediately shouts, “no way! that’s not true!”—almost too loudly, as if trying to convince both the fans and himself. 

but behind the scenes? he’s absolutely dying. when no one’s looking, he’s re-watching every single interaction the two of you have had, replaying the moments over and over, giggling nervously and trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal, but deep down, he knows it’s everything to him.

his members absolutely love stirring the pot, casually bringing you up just to see woonhak completely flail. “didn’t you say yn’s your ideal type?” taesan asks with a smirk, clearly enjoying the chaos. woonhak's face goes red in an instant, his eyes wide as he shakes his head vigorously. “i NEVER said that!” he insists, but everyone can see the way his lips twitch into a nervous smile, the way his hands fidget. fans eat it up, capturing every moment of him flustered.

he’s definitely the type to act all cool in front of everyone, but when it comes to you? he turns into a nervous, giggly mess. 

once, he accidentally liked one of your posts while scrolling through your feed, and when fans pointed it out, he immediately went into full denial mode, spamming “NO” on weverse and trying to distract everyone by starting a random conversation about something totally unrelated. but in his mind, he's already panicking—did they see that?

even when it’s not about you directly, you can see how his mood changes whenever your name is mentioned, like his face softens a little, or he just gives a tiny smile that he tries to hide. he’s loud, energetic, but soft for you in ways that he’s too embarrassed to admit.

ㅤㅤiRAㅤ:ㅤwe all know what inspired me to write this 🤭

ㅤㅤ•ㅤㅤfeedback 🗯 reblogs ───── highly appreciated ˆᗜˆ

tags @sgz-net @kstrucknet @k-films

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 (you're here) Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Art of LBM

Danny was still lying under the Specter Speeder, mind reeling as the words “they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms” ran in a loop through his head. Could that really be true? Is his death attached to the portal, forever lodged in the doorway, preventing it from closing?

The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. The bit about why his ghost friends and frenemies caused so much chaos as they unleashed their obsessions on Amity Park made so much sense. It would certainly explain a lot of his interactions with ghosts after he died. 

 Danny silently cursed himself for not destroying everything in the lab before they got here. He and Jazz hadn't worried about the portal schematics, because they honestly didn't have any way to open a portal, only cycle energy in a recursive loop that shouldn’t have done anything. No one, not he and Jazz, not their parents, not Tucker or Technus, had been able to figure out why it had worked when Danny was inside. But if the machine was able to sustain a portal that was already opened. . . He wondered idly if he could light a fire that looked accidental and would both destroy the lab and leave the two men enough time to escape. It’d probably be too risky. And who knew what destroying the portal would do to him. Fully kill him? Destroy him completely and shatter his core? It might be worth it to prevent anyone from gaining this knowledge. 

No wonder Lex Luthor was interested in this business. A child was murdered in this basement, and for all Tim knew, the child’s soul could still be trapped here fueling a Lazarus Pit that connected the world of the living to the afterlife. What Luthor could do with an interdimensional portal or even a single sample of Lazarus water. . . Tim shuddered to think.

On the one hand, he was grateful that Wayne Enterprises secured the business before Luthor had the chance. On the other hand, he felt rather ill to think his family had directly enriched mad scientists who performed child sacrifices. At least he had full faith that between him and Oracle, they’d hunt the Fentons down and make sure justice was served.

“What is to be done for the child?” Tim asked Constantine. “Is his soul tied to that machine?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just his death.” 

“You’re gonna have to explain the difference to me, ‘cause I’m not sure I see the distinction.” Tim said wryly. 

“I guess. . . Hm. You could think of it as the moment of transition drawn out endlessly like a plucked string whose note never stops vibrating. Like life is the anchor point of one end of the string, and the afterlife is at the other end, and the child’s death is the note created when his soul crosses from one side to the other. The soul is the bow causing reverberations, but the reverberations are the actual death itself. The effect of the soul’s passage. And in this case, the portal is amplifying the death so it doesn’t end like a normal death ‘note’ would.” Constantine leaned in to examine some of the runes that were part of the array. “Not a perfect metaphor, obviously, since you bow perpendicular rather than parallel to the string, and death and souls are nothing like music, but you get the idea, right?”

Tim was still caught on John Constantine saying the words “death note” together unironically in a sentence. He was going to have to share that with Steph later. Maybe with the whole family group chat, even. “Yeah, the metaphor makes sense, as much as any of this occult stuff does to me.”

“Whatever. As for whether there’s anything we can do for the child, I think we’ll have to try and summon him if we can.” The Brit started pulling items out of his trenchcoat’s inner pockets. “We need to ask what the spirit wants done, before we go messing with things we don’t understand.”

“Alright, need anything from me?”

“Yeah, move this stuff out of the way so I can draw a circle.” Constantine directed Tim to shove aside a few stacks of boxes, something called a Fenton Ghost Weasel, and together they shifted a coffin-shaped iron maiden that for some reason was labeled Fenton Stockades. Then he set to work chalking a circle and runes on the ground.

Finally he sat back and dusted chalk off his hands. “That should do it.”

“Will this be bright too?” Tim asked warily.

“Eh, might be? Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Tim grabbed an auto-darkening welding helmet with a green “Fenton” sticker on it off the workbench and slipped it on.

“Alright, here goes.” Constantine began the summoning ritual.

While Danny debated arson, the other two had finished clearing a space and chalked some kind of circle onto the floor. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard the trenchcoat guy begin a traditional incantation for a summoning. Were they trying to summon him? Danny really hoped it wouldn’t work. 

When people tried to summon the Ghost King he could almost always ignore the pull. This pull, however, was very strong and immediate. It seemed proximity made a difference, or this guy was just better at summonings than the average cultist. Before Danny could accept the inevitable, he was pulled bodily — literally! — out from under the vehicle and across the floor, still flat on his back on the Fenton Under Car Creeper, with the Specter Speeder’s ecto-engine hugged tightly to his chest. The wheels of the Fenton Creeper (not to be mistaken with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick) sped him straight to the summoning circle. Still very much in human form. 

This was his first real look at the guy called Constantine, and he couldn’t help a horrified yelp. “Eugh!! What the fuck is wrong with you, dude!?!!” 

His lapse in attention made him lose the battle with the summoning spell, and it gripped him, pulling him through the convolutions of the spellwork even though he was already lying half across the circle, and forcing him to change into Phantom in the process. It was such a disgusting sensation, like he was one of those squishy water filled tube snake toys that look like a fleshlight, and someone squeezed really hard and abruptly so he turned inside out and went flying to go splat against a wall (or in this case, against the ground inside the circle of chalk). He tried and failed not to retch.

The younger man in the crisp suit whom he’d already identified as Mr. CEO-Timothy-Drake-Wayne looked at him in startled bafflement, while the older blond, still smoking his cigarette, (gross, and was that thing never ending?) was probably looking at him. Maybe. It was really difficult to tell, because he was a frankly vile sight. Danny winced and swallowed down nausea. “What have you done to your soul?”

“I — what?”

“Trypophobia central, man! Ugh that’s gotta be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t you cover it up?”

“Who are you?” Timothy Drake-Wayne interjected.

“I’m the dead guy? You literally just summoned me.”

“Constantine said you were a child”

“I mean, I was?” Danny looked down at his obviously twenty-something year-old self and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I was fourteen though. These things happen.”

“Not typically, no. The dead tend to be pretty unaging.” Constantine said. 

“Dude I’m not having a conversation with you while your soul looks like Escher’s swiss cheese nightmare. Anyways, some of us do. Heck, I know a guy who constantly shifts from infant to old man and every stage in between. It’s pretty distracting when you’re trying to get him to let you fix the timeline again.” Danny continued to look anywhere but at the blond man. “But if it’s so important to you, I can —” He got an abstracted look, and slowly de-aged himself until the two men stood over a fourteen year old boy with snow white hair and glowing green eyes.

“That does not help. No.” The guy whose soul looked somewhat like a bleeding tooth fungus said. He turned away and started doing something magical. Danny hoped it would mask his soul in some way, but so far all it did was make Danny feel like he needed to pop his ears.

He also felt particularly uncharitable, so he didn’t revert to his natural age, and instead tried to see how young and cute he could make himself appear.

“So are you just haunting this basement? Seems hazardous, given the former proprietors.” Timothy tried to redirect the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as distressed to see the ghost of a child, but his eyes darted surreptitiously to the Lichtenberg figure Danny used to always hide under gloves.

“Nah, haven’t been back here in years. I mostly live in my Infinite Realms haunt these days.”

“You . . . live? Is that just a figure of speech?”

“It’s rude to ask about a ghost’s nonliving status, you know. Highly taboo to ask how a ghost died or poke into the circumstances of our deaths without permission.” Danny admonished. Making himself younger than fourteen took more effort than he expected.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Timothy raised his hands placatingly to the boy who now looked younger than Damian. “What brings you back to Amity Park?”

“Uh, you summoned me? Are we still not clear on that?”

Tim looked pointedly at the Fenton Creeper and the engine Danny still held. He’d shrunk down to the size of a four year old, and the engine really should be crushing him given it was bigger than his torso now. He quickly set it aside, and turned his biggest puppy dog eyes on Tim.

“You were in here already, and you looked pretty alive for a moment there.”

“I can look lots of ways!” Danny focused really hard on looking as cute, small, and nonthreatening as possible. He thought it was working when all of a sudden there was a pop! and he was smaller than he’d ever managed before. 

Timothy Drake-Wayne looked like a giant. The other guy, who had thankfully managed to put away his soul somehow, wore scuffed oxfords bigger than Danny. Hell, he could probably fit his entire self into one of Constantine’s shoes if that wasn’t a bizarre thing to do, and they weren’t already full of stinky feet. Holy shit what happened to him!?

Tim blinked down at the cat? Snake? Ghost. . . thing at his feet. What the fuck. A moment ago he was talking to an adult man whom he’s pretty sure was dead and he’s very sure was trolling them. Now his interlocutor had turned into an adorable creature with soft white paws, a long twisting tail, big pointed ears that swiveled like a cats, and a humanoid face that should’ve been creepy but was actually eliciting cute-aggression in him. Tim blinked again. The little baby ghost creature blinked enormous green eyes back at him. Then it yawned, revealing three rows of needle sharp teeth that looked like a cross between what you’d find in the mouth of a shark and a cat. Yikes.

“Does that mean the interview is over?” Tim asked him.

The creature just blinked up at him again, then zeroed in on his shoelaces, pupils expanding until only a narrow band of green ringed them.

Yup. The interview was over. Those paws hid some wicked claws which could apparently slice through leather with ease. Oh, Tim really hoped ghost scratch fever wasn’t a thing. At least the ghost looked sufficiently contrite after he yelped, and it waited while he removed a shoelace to sacrifice as a toy.

If Damian ever met him, there would be a new member of the family. Maybe he should name the creature preemptively so they didn’t have a cat-snake named Bat-Ghost in Wayne manor. 

“Do you have a name, little baby cat-snake ghost? Little baby ghost man?” He cooed as the miniature monster dashed back and forth, intent on shredding his shoelace.

The ghost paused long enough to chirp, “Li’l baby man!” before launching himself at the string. Even shocked, Tim’s reflexes had him whisking the toy out of the way, and the ghost went careening under a cabinet.

He wedged himself in the gap, landing face first in a dust bunny, and quickly wriggled backwards with an indignant squall. His wordless protestations cut off as he fell into a violent sneezing fit that thankfully dislodged him from beneath the cabinet.

Tim suppressed his laugh, and asked, “Little Baby Man? Is that what you want to be called?”

The ghost pawed most of the dust away from his nose, but spider webs covered his face and a big dust bunny perched atop his head like a fascinator with a cobweb lace veil. He looked Tim right in the eyes and nodded, dislodging the dust in his hair and setting off more sneezes.

“Li’l Baby Man” he confirmed. He placed a paw on Tim’s shoe and chirped, “Tim!” Then he pointed his tail at Constantine and said, “Gross!” with narrowed eyes.

[moonselune]

Bg3 companions and a reader who is ridiculously into them? like can't be around them without blushing, stuttering over words, etc.

Love your writing ♥️♥️♥️

ahhhhh thank you so much, this was a pleasure to write !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Breakfast in camp had become a small but daily ordeal. Sitting across from Karlach was as thrilling as it was nerve-wracking. She always looked so effortlessly radiant—her wide smile lighting up her face, her hair messy from sleep, and that laugh that came from deep within her chest. You, meanwhile, were a nervous mess, barely able to lift a spoon without fumbling it in her presence.

This morning, you were attempting to slice an apple while also trying to sneak glances at her, as usual. But, distracted as you were, you barely noticed when she caught you looking. She grinned, that flash of teeth making your heart skip about five beats.

“Hey, you want some?” she asked, holding out a plate piled high with a variety of fresh fruits. You stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Uh—y-yes! I mean, no! I mean—” You fumbled for the right words, your voice a bit too loud in your panic. Karlach looked at you, mildly confused but amused.

“Alright then, you let me know if you change your mind,” she said, winking, before going back to her breakfast. The little wink nearly killed you on the spot, and you dropped your apple, which rolled dramatically across the table and plopped off the other side.

Wyll, sitting beside you, tried to hide a snicker behind his hand. He’d been noticing your flustered behavior around Karlach for days and had clearly reached his breaking point. As Karlach turned away, Wyll leaned in close to you, smirking.

“Oh, this is painful to watch,” he muttered, barely containing his laughter. “When are you going to do something about it?”

You gave him a quick, desperate glare, feeling the blood drain from your face.

“Do something?” you whispered, panic lacing your voice. “Wyll, I can’t even string a proper sentence together around her without sounding like a fool!”

Wyll rolled his eyes, still grinning.

“Trust me, I can see that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But if you keep this up, it’s going to get unbearable for both of us. You’re absolutely lovesick, and she’s completely oblivious.”

“Lovesick?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice low but also scandalized by the word. “That’s… that’s not…”

Wyll arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look that read, Really?

You sighed, knowing he was right. Every time Karlach entered the room, you either found an excuse to leave or wound up a blushing, stumbling mess. Just this morning, she’d brushed a crumb off your shoulder, and you had nearly collapsed on the spot.

Wyll laughed, patting you on the back a little harder than you would have liked. “Look, if you don’t do something soon, I will. Maybe I’ll tell her for you—‘oh, by the way, did you know you’ve got someone so smitten with you, they can’t even eat breakfast right?’”

Your eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow with challenge.

“Fine,” you whispered, heart racing at the thought of actually doing something about it. “What do I… say?”

Wyll shrugged, his expression softening a bit. “Just talk to her. Be honest. If there’s one thing Karlach respects, it’s bravery. And if there’s one thing she loves, it’s someone who cares as much as she does.”

But as you mulled it over, you looked across the table and saw Karlach laughing at something Astarion was saying, her eyes bright with amusement, her entire face aglow with the life and warmth she carried effortlessly. You swallowed, trying to imagine how you’d ever muster up the courage to tell her anything.

The rest of breakfast went by with your heart hammering and Wyll occasionally sending you smirking looks. You felt like you were on fire, thoughts racing as you considered his words.

Finally, as camp was beginning to break up and everyone was scattering to their daily tasks, you decided to follow Wyll’s advice. Taking a deep breath, you gathered every bit of courage you could find and made your way over to Karlach, who was busy folding up her bedroll. She looked up, surprised, as you approached.

“Oh, hey! Need something?” she asked, her grin warm as always.

You cleared your throat, feeling the words get caught. “I… um…”

Karlach tilted her head, watching you patiently. “Everything okay?”

And there it was, the opening. The chance to say something. Be brave, you reminded yourself. You took a deep breath and tried again.

“I just… wanted to say…” you stumbled, unable to look her in the eye. “I really… enjoy spending time with you.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a soft smile, her eyes studying your face, but still, she seemed blissfully unaware. “Well, good! Same here! You’re a lot of fun, you know. Brave in your own way, even if a bit shy,” she teased lightly, giving your arm a light squeeze.

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously, feeling your cheeks burn. Maybe Wyll had a point—Karlach appreciated bravery, and here you were, looking like a fool again. But as her hand lingered just a moment longer on your arm, you felt a surge of determination. This was only the beginning.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

You’d found Minthara’s sword on the outskirts of camp that morning, half-buried beneath some tangled roots. It was unmistakably hers—dark metal with a wicked curve, and elegant engravings tracing the hilt. You’d only seen her use it from afar, but even then, there was something mesmerizing about the way she wielded it, about the way her gaze sharpened whenever she held a blade. You were already a bundle of nerves at the thought of returning it to her, and that only got worse the closer you got to her tent.

She was sharpening a dagger when you approached, her expression focused, so much so that for a moment, you thought about turning back. But then she noticed you, her eyes snapping up to meet yours with a glint of curiosity.

“You’re looking rather… tense.” Her eyebrow arched slightly as she took you in.

Your heart thudded painfully, and you swallowed, forcing yourself to hold up the sword without dropping it. “Uh, I… found this for you. Your sword, I mean. It was… um, outside camp, and I thought you might want it back?”

Her gaze softened, a small smirk playing on her lips as she reached for the sword, her fingers brushing against yours. You nearly jumped at the contact, face burning, feeling like you might explode from embarrassment. You tried to say something else, but the words came out as a strangled squeak, and you practically forced yourself to look at the ground to avoid those piercing eyes of hers.

“Hmm,” she murmured, glancing over the sword, and then back at you. “Thank you. It's… refreshing to see someone with a sense of respect.” She held your gaze for a moment longer, and then, with an amused nod, she went back to her sharpening.

You quickly walked away, all but stumbling as you escaped, only to find yourself practically nose-to-nose with Shadowheart, who looked far too amused.

"Gods above," she snorted, crossing her arms. "I've never seen someone turn so red while returning a weapon."

You stammered, looking anywhere but at her. "I was just… trying to be polite!"

"Polite? If that's your version of polite, then I’d hate to see you actually try flirting," she teased, unable to hide her grin.

“Oh, please,” you huffed, looking away and trying to calm the blush still heating your face. “It's just… I don’t know. I like her, alright? Even if she’s… well, she could probably kill me without a second thought.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. "Good to know you’re aware. And yet you still act like a lovesick fool around her, it's almost like you want her to kill you."

“I would die happy!” you blurted out, throwing your hands up. “Minthara could do anything she wants to me—absolutely anything at all—and I’d thank her. She could stomp me into the dirt, call me a fool, hex me, curse me, make my life a living hell, and I'd still probably thank her with my last breath!”

Shadowheart laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You’re hopeless."

But you were too caught up in your rant. "I’d let her do anything—anything at all! She could make me fetch her supplies every morning, have me clean her sword every night, stand guard for her at dawn and dusk, and I’d still think it was the best thing to ever happen to me!”

"Ahem."

You froze, mid-rant, and turned slowly to find Minthara standing directly behind you. She looked deeply amused, one eyebrow raised, her eyes glittering with dark humor. Her smirk was even more wicked than usual, and her gaze held you captive as she stepped closer.

“Good to know,” she said, her voice smooth and cool, her smirk only growing. “I may have to test that loyalty sometime.”

She winked at you, and then, just as easily as she’d come, she turned and sauntered away, leaving you standing there completely speechless, your face redder than ever.

Shadowheart burst out laughing, clutching her side as she watched you sway in shock. “You really have a gift for making a fool of yourself, you know that?”

You sank to your knees, stunned, still processing that Minthara had heard every single word. Shadowheart’s laughter rang in your ears, but you were simply too dazed to care. Perhaps that death would come quicker than expected - if your own heart didn't give out first.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Every time Lae’zel looked your way, you felt like a live wire, a rush of heat filling your face. She seemed to command every space she entered, her presence sharp, unapologetic, and utterly captivating. But whenever you were around her, every sentence became a tangle of stammered nonsense, and all you could do was blush helplessly. Today was no different.

You were fumbling with your supplies near the fire when Lae’zel walked over, her gaze scrutinizing as always.

"You’ve been acting strange,” she declared, crossing her arms and eyeing you critically. “Weakness of any sort is unacceptable. Are you unwell?"

Her bluntness only made you more flustered, words tripping over each other as you tried to respond. "No, I… I mean, yes, but not in that way. I mean, I'm fine. Completely fine.”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “You are not fine. You stammer, you lose color and gain it again. See Halsin or Shadowheart—this weakness needs mending.”

Desperate to reassure her, you tried to explain further, but each attempt seemed to make it worse. “I’m not… it’s not that kind of weakness, I just—well, around you, I—uh…”

She fixed you with a glare, her frown deepening. "Enough. Your words make less sense with every second. Perhaps you’re more ill than you realize.”

Your cheeks burned as she turned sharply to fetch Halsin, all but barking his name across camp. He arrived quickly, taking in the scene with a look of amused understanding.

“She is in poor health,” she said, gesturing at you. “They are losing control over their words and show clear signs of a fever. You will attend to them.”

Halsin’s brows lifted slightly, and with a knowing look, he glanced from you to Lae’zel. He gave a slow, considering nod. “Yes, I believe I see the trouble. An ailment, certainly… though it appears to be more of the heart than of the body.”

Lae’zel scowled, gripping her weapon as if ready for battle. “Explain this ‘heart ailment.’ What creature has inflicted it upon them?”

Halsin chuckled softly. “They’ve been bitten by a lovebug, Lae’zel. That’s all.”

Lae'zel let out a string of sharp Gith curses, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "A lovebug. Where does it lurk, this creature? If it is preying upon our camp, I’ll hunt it down myself and crush it beneath my blade."

Her fierce determination, though absurd, only made your heart race more. Halsin stifled a laugh, giving you a sidelong look of utter amusement.

“I think you’ll find that hunting it will be… difficult,” he said, barely hiding his grin. “The lovebug often prefers stealth, hiding within feelings rather than form.”

“Feelings, a psychic offender,” she repeated, her brow creasing in thought. After a moment, she nodded decisively. “It is trickier prey, then. But I will find it nonetheless.”

And with that, she strode off, muttering to herself about unknown threats to the camp. As soon as she was out of earshot, Halsin let out a laugh, clapping you on the shoulder. “You know, I think you may have just made a miraculous recovery.”

You let out a groan, pressing a hand to your flushed face. “Do you think she’ll ever realize?”

“Not any time soon, I’d wager,” he chuckled. “But watching her hunt for a creature that doesn’t exist… that’s something we’ll all enjoy.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart’s approach had been so unassuming, yet it immediately set your heart racing. You’d been minding your own business by the campfire, trying not to glance her way too much, when she’d walked over, looking perfectly calm and utterly oblivious to the effect she had on you. She needed help with a spell—one that apparently you could explain better than anyone else at camp. You tried to play it cool, managing a quick, slightly-too-high “Sure!” and hoping your pulse wasn’t visibly hammering in your throat.

Standing beside her, you began explaining the spell, hands trembling ever so slightly as you demonstrated the incantation.

“So…uh…you’ll want to focus your energy here, at the core…” you muttered, gesturing to the focus stone. You held it out for her to see, only to have her fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through you that nearly made you drop the thing.

“Like this?” Shadowheart asked, her gaze flicking up to meet yours. Her dark eyes held that same thoughtful curiosity, and your voice caught in your throat. It was hard enough trying to form sentences with her this close, let alone explain a complex spell.

“Y-yes. Like that,” you managed, each word coming out slightly unsteady. “And, uh, then you just…channel it gently, but with intention.” She tilted her head, leaning closer, following along with perfect focus.

Meanwhile, just behind her, Karlach was all but dying, barely containing her laughter as she watched you fumble. Her amusement was clearly at your expense, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glare at her. Your attention drifted back to Shadowheart just as she turned her attention to the final gesture of the spell.

Her hand rested over yours for a second too long, her voice soft as she asked, “Does this look right?”

You nodded dumbly, your brain too overloaded to form a coherent reply, and somehow muttered, “It’s, uh…very…graceful.” Internally, you cringed. Graceful?

Shadowheart, apparently too engrossed in the spell to notice your red cheeks, gave a small, content nod. She released your hand, oblivious to the way you quickly hid your trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” she said with a rare smile, her voice calm and warm. “I think I understand it now.”

She turned to leave, casting one last glance over her shoulder, which made you feel simultaneously light-headed and weak in the knees. You stared after her, still processing, trying to shake off the ridiculous butterflies. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until she was already out of earshot.

The second she was gone, Karlach burst out laughing, dropping her head back in utter delight.

“Gods! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were spellbound yourself,” she teased, unable to wipe the grin off her face. “That was one of the best things I’ve ever seen. Hopeless,” she declared, shaking her head at you with a mischievous gleam.

Heat flooded your face all over again as you groaned, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I know, okay? It’s…utterly hopeless,” you admitted, voice thick with defeat. Before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed her mug of beer straight from her hand and downed it in a few quick gulps, hoping it would somehow wash away the mortification you felt. Setting the empty mug down, you sighed deeply. “She didn’t even notice anything.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re very, very wrong,” Karlach countered, her smile twisting into something sly and secretive. She crossed her arms, leaning in as if sharing a precious secret. “Because she was definitely checking you out while you were showing her that spell.”

You froze, turning slowly to look at her, heart skipping a beat.

“You’re joking,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. There was a spark of hope, ridiculous but undeniable, blooming somewhere deep in your chest.

Karlach grinned wider, shaking her head. “Oh, no. She was stealing glances at you the entire time,” she said, sounding far too pleased with herself. “She’d peek up at you just when you weren’t looking, trying to act all serious, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. You might be as oblivious, but I’ve got eyes.” She winked, patting your shoulder in encouragement.

Your mind raced, playing the whole interaction back. You remembered how Shadowheart’s gaze had lingered, her voice soft, her questions coming slower, almost careful… Could Karlach really be right? Was it possible that Shadowheart had actually been…interested?

“Maybe there’s hope after all…” you mumbled, feeling that glimmer of excitement grow.

Karlach clapped you on the back with a laugh, nearly knocking the air out of you. “There you go! Just keep stuttering and blushing—seems to be working like a charm.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll just have to keep embarrassing myself, then,” you said, grinning despite yourself.

Karlach’s laughter echoed across the camp, but her eyes held a genuine warmth as she said, “Well at least it’s a start. You’ll get there.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira's gaze was focused, unrelenting as she adjusted your grip on the scimitar. Her hands, warm and confident, guided yours over the hilt, showing you the correct angle, the precise strength you should use. Every time her hand brushed yours, you felt your heart stammer. You hoped she didn’t notice your flushed cheeks or the way your breath caught every time she leaned closer.

“Here,” she said, her voice calm but commanding. She moved to your side, adjusting the angle of your stance with the barest brush of her hand along your back. “It’s not about brute force,” she murmured, her voice so close it felt like a whisper. “It’s about control, understanding where the balance lies in every movement.”

You nodded, barely able to find your voice, managing only a stuttered, “Y-yes, of course.” But you were far more focused on her proximity than any of her advice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Astarion lounging a few paces away, arms crossed and a devilish grin spreading across his face. He had noticed, of course—there was no hiding it from his all-too-keen gaze. Before you could silently beg him to go easy on you, he stepped closer, feigning a helpful tone.

“Stick your rear out more,” he suggested, his voice laced with amusement. “Helps with balance. And I’m sure Jaheira would agree.” He flashed you a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Your face flamed, and you shot him a withering look.

“Thanks, Astarion,” you muttered under your breath, attempting to ignore him. But his smirk only widened, and he continued to watch, pleased with himself.

Jaheira, still adjusting your stance, gave you a quick nod, oblivious to your flustered state and Astarion’s antics.

“There you go,” she said, stepping back just enough to observe your form. “Much better.” She gave a satisfied nod and went on to demonstrate a quick series of strikes, her movements fluid and sure, each slash a picture of precision and elegance.

You could barely pay attention, completely distracted by the grace with which she wielded her weapon, the easy strength in her every move. As she looked back at you, catching you gawking, you fumbled to regain focus.

“Uh—yes! Right, like that!” you stammered, hurriedly attempting to mimic her motions.

Jaheira gave a small, amused smile before nodding approvingly. “Keep practicing that sequence. It’ll help build your control.”

As she left the clearing, giving you one last nod of encouragement, you could hardly breathe. You waited until she was out of sight before collapsing against Astarion, running a hand through your hair with a groan.

“I’m hopeless,” you muttered, shaking your head. “She probably thinks I’m a complete mess.”

“Oh, she definitely does,” Astarion said, his grin impossibly smug as he gave you a playful shove. “But she won’t have to wonder about it for long.”

You shot him a look, eyebrow raised in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Astarion’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I may have left your journal in her tent. You know, the one with the little poems in the margins?” He waggled his eyebrows, feigning innocence.

Your eyes went wide, horror settling over you as you gaped at him.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, dread turning your stomach. The journal held every embarrassing thought, every scribbled confession, every starry-eyed rant about Jaheira that you hadn’t dared speak aloud.

“Oh, but I did.” Astarion’s voice was light, mocking even, but his eyes held a teasing warmth. “Look on the bright side. At least now she’ll know how much you ‘admire her scimitar technique.’ among other things..”

You shrieked in exasperation, though a traitorous part of you couldn’t help but feel the faintest spark of excitement at the idea. You shoved Astarion, who merely laughed, delighted with himself, as you stood there in helpless anticipation, wondering how you’d ever face Jaheira again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Trying to stay composed around Gale was becoming increasingly impossible. You could barely string together a coherent sentence whenever he was nearby, your cheeks burning and your heart racing so loudly you were sure he could hear it. It had gotten to the point that, during one of his magic lessons, you’d accidentally projected a very vivid thought about kissing him far into the Weave—and while he hadn’t directly addressed it, you had felt your face go scarlet the moment it happened.

Yet, despite that blunder and all your clumsy attempts to communicate the depths of your affection, Gale remained completely oblivious. And this state of suspended longing, this fruitless crush, was starting to drive you mad.

After another awkward lesson with Gale where you stumbled over your words and blushed at the mere brush of his hand over yours, you found yourself venting to Minthara, though you knew her to be an unlikely confidante. Her eyes held little sympathy, her arms crossed as she gave you a hard, skeptical look.

“Just grab the wizard and use him for your pleasure,” she suggested bluntly, as if it were the obvious solution. Her gaze was sharp and impatient. “You’re a warrior, not a blubbering fool.”

You shook your head quickly, horrified. “No, no, it’s not like that! I don’t just want him in some shallow way.” You sighed, your heart feeling tight. “I want to… to adore him. To look after him. To treasure everything about him, every small thing, every story he tells and every spell he casts. I want to worship him like he deserves.” You leaned into your words, almost forgetting who you were talking to in the rapture of your lovesick confession. “I want to make him feel like he’s the most cherished person in the world.”

Minthara recoiled as if you’d offended her sensibilities with such sentimentality, looking visibly revolted by your romantic ramblings. Her lips curled in distaste.

“By the darkness, are you even listening to yourself?” She gave an exasperated huff, then, with a roll of her eyes, she called across the camp, her voice clear as a bell. “Wizard!” she yelled, her tone commanding and fierce. “They want to go on their knees for you—are you going to do something about it, or will I have to rip out their tongue to stop their endless lovesick whining?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and before you could process the horror, Gale turned, an expression of curiosity mixed with surprise crossing his face as he started to walk over. You immediately whacked Minthara on the arm, panic rising as you whispered, “What are you doing?!”

Minthara looked at you with a smug indifference, ignoring your frantic scolding as if she’d done you the greatest favor.

“A strange way to show your gratitude,” she remarked drily, “given how much assistance I just rendered.”

By then, Gale had reached you both, his brows lifted in confusion, a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“What’s all this about… someone going on their knees?” he asked, looking between you and Minthara, though his gaze lingered on you. His voice was gentle, though you could see the glimmer of curiosity—and something else—in his eyes.

You shot Minthara a glare, your face flaming, then took a steadying breath, turning to Gale.

“I—um,” you stammered, realizing there was no dignified way to explain this away. “I think… what Minthara was so eloquently trying to say is that I… might, uh, harbor feelings for you.” You paused, swallowing. “Quite a few of them, actually.”

Gale’s face softened, and a warm smile played at his lips, his hand reaching to touch yours with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, “it’s wonderful to know I’m not the only one who’s felt that spark.”

Minthara turned away, clearly satisfied, muttering something about lesser beings and their foolish emotions, but you hardly noticed her departure as your heart beat out of your touch, your greatest fantasies finally coming true.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Dinner had been an ordeal. Astarion sat beside you, closer than usual, his presence a tangible, almost overwhelming warmth. Every time he reached for something or murmured a comment, you felt yourself freeze, stumbling over your responses, blushing so furiously you’d started to worry it was noticeable. You could barely bring yourself to eat, much less speak, and by the end of the meal, you were sure you’d only embarrassed yourself.

That might have been manageable if it ended there. But just hours later, as the party approached a fortress with heavy guards stationed at the gates, Astarion took the lead, slipping into his charming, roguish element. He approached the security with a smooth, confident swagger, flashing that insouciant smile of his, every word a practiced melody of flattery and wit. He left them captivated, helpless to deny him as he led the party in with ease, his charm so intoxicating it almost felt like magic.

And while the others chuckled at his skillful maneuvering, you felt an unexpected ache in your chest. Watching him sway them so effortlessly stirred a pang of jealousy you hadn’t expected. Did he even notice the way you pined for him? The way every stray touch or knowing look from him seemed to linger long after he’d moved on?

Caught in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Gale was watching you with a raised brow. He leaned over, studying your expression with mild amusement and maybe a bit of pity.

“You look,” he began in a soft murmur, “like someone just killed a displacer kitten right in front of you.”

Startled, you forced a tight smile, trying to wave him off. “It’s nothing, Gale.”

“Nothing?” He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Please, you’ve been fawning over Astarion for ages now, your heart practically on display.”

There was a pause as you grappled with the admission, your face heating up, but at last, the dam broke, and you began to pour out your feelings in a quiet, hushed ramble.

“It’s just… my heart beats for him, Gale. Every time he speaks, I hang on his every word. I want nothing more than to just reach over, brush his hair back, and listen to him talk about all his little grievances—his so-called ‘inconveniences,’ his charms, all of it.”

Gale nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. And then his lips curled into a wry smile as he leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, I suppose your dilemma is solved, then.”

Confused, you blinked, feeling a twist of dread. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” he said, chuckling, “just that you happened to be projecting that over the tadpole connection. Quite eloquently, I might add. The entire party heard every word by my predictions.”

You froze, horror dawning as you processed what Gale had just said. Every word, you realized, echoing faintly through the magical thread you shared. You dared a glance at the others, only to see Karlach giving you an encouraging thumbs-up and Shadowheart hiding a smirk behind her hand.

Then, to your ultimate mortification, Astarion strolled past, pausing just long enough to catch your eye. A sly grin played on his lips as he gave you a long, lingering look, his gaze glinting with amusement.

“Not to worry, darling,” he murmured, a teasing warmth in his voice, “I have plenty of inconveniences—and a few conveniences—to tell you all about. Shall we start tonight?”

His words sent a rush of heat up your spine, leaving you speechless as he gave a little wave, disappearing down the hallway. Gale patted your shoulder with a grin.

“See?” he said cheerfully. “All handled.”

You were left rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe, knowing that somehow you’d been caught, exposed—and that Astarion was, indeed, fully aware of the fact that your heart belonged to him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll’s presence seemed to have a gravitational pull all its own. Every time he smiled at you, every chivalrous gesture—offering his hand to help you up a steep path, or casually brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face—felt like a dream. A warmth filled your chest, so intense you could hardly look him in the eye, your words dissolving into stammered half-thoughts that trailed into silence. Each interaction left you breathless, embarrassed, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he noticed how flustered he made you.

Training, however, was another story. Lae’zel was as intense as ever, barely giving you time to catch your breath between strikes. She was quick, sharp, and relentless, and it would have been more manageable—if you could actually focus. But each time she demanded your attention, your eyes kept wandering back to Wyll, who was a few feet away, talking to Shadowheart as he polished his sword. The way he moved, the way he spoke, that disarmingly warm smile…

It was only a matter of time before Lae'zel had enough.

She stepped back, arms crossed, leveling you with a look that could freeze lava.

“You’re distracted. Useless,” she declared, throwing down her sword with an exasperated sigh. “You pine like a hatchling, and it disrupts our sparring.”

You flushed, scrambling to come up with an excuse, but Lae’zel was already stomping off toward Wyll. You moved to intercept her, knowing she was the absolute last person who should reveal any of this. “Wait—Lae’zel, don’t!”

Lae’zel ignored you, her voice booming as she closed in on a bewildered Wyll.

“You,” she pointed at him, “this one wants to share their body with you.”

Wyll blinked, his eyes widening as he looked between you and Lae’zel, clearly trying to make sense of what she’d just said.

“I—what?” He looked at you, a blush rising to his cheeks as he fumbled for words. “I mean, I didn’t—wasn’t aware—”

Mortified, you didn’t think, you just acted, flinging yourself at Lae’zel with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. You tackled her to the ground, landing with a clumsy thud, and slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Not…what I meant!” you stammered, trying to laugh it off to Wyll, who was still looking down at the both of you in complete bafflement. “What she means is—uh, we’re just, um, sparring partners! She’s…dramatic.”

Lae’zel raised an eyebrow, and with her typical stoicism, she bit down—hard—on the hand you’d used to cover her mouth. You yelped, jerking your hand back, and Lae’zel smirked, a silent satisfaction in her gaze as she sat up, looking entirely unapologetic.

Wyll was still staring, one eyebrow raised, lips quirking slightly in what looked like a restrained grin.

“I’m… not entirely sure I understand what’s going on here,” he said, his eyes bright with amusement. “But whatever it is, I’m flattered.”

You scrambled to your feet, rubbing your bitten hand, and tried to put together a coherent explanation, but every time you met his gaze, words seemed to fail you.

“Well… right,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your face as you threw a quick glare at Lae’zel, who simply shrugged, as if completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

Wyll’s expression softened as he watched you struggle to speak, and he smiled gently.

“It’s alright,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you and Lae'zel.”

That simple gesture—his kindness, the warmth in his voice—made you feel as if you’d forgotten how to breathe. You managed a nod, barely holding onto your composure, while he looked at you with that disarming sincerity that always left you reeling.

Lae’zel, watching the exchange with an air of smug victory, dusted herself off. “There. See? Problem solved. Now maybe you’ll stop sparring like a weakling.”

You shot her a glare, but Wyll chuckled softly, meeting your eyes with a spark of curiosity.

“If you ever want to train together,” he said, his voice low and warm, “you need only ask.”

And with that, he gave you a wink, leaving you in a breathless, heart-pounding daze as he walked back to his gear.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Every time you were around Halsin, it was like the ground slipped out from beneath you. His voice, that low, warm rumble, made your heart pound, and every casual touch seemed to ignite sparks across your skin. He was utterly unaware, of course; his gentle smiles and steady hands never betrayed a hint of understanding that he sent you reeling. You were sure that was the only reason you hadn’t completely given yourself away.

So when you returned to camp with an injury—a jagged cut on your arm from a goblin's arrow—you hoped it might go unnoticed. Shadowheart was busy, deep in her meditation as she restored her energy, and you thought you could handle the wound alone. But Jaheira spotted the blood trailing down your arm almost immediately. She arched a brow, her eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and amusement as she approached.

“Let’s have a look,” she said, but as she examined your arm, she shook her head with a soft sigh. “This needs a proper healer. Come on.”

Before you could protest, she’d already begun steering you toward Halsin’s corner of camp. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and a familiar warmth crept up your face. “Jaheira, no, really, I’m fine. It’s not even that deep. You could probably just—”

“Are you afraid of a little attention from the First Druid?” she teased, smirking as you stammered. “If you’re so sure you can handle it alone, why is your face turning as red as a blood hawk?”

You barely managed a protest before she’d called out to Halsin, who looked up from his work, his eyes sharpening with concern the moment he saw the blood seeping through your sleeve.

“Come here,” he said, his voice a blend of calm authority and quiet worry. He rose to meet you, his eyes never leaving the wound as he reached out, guiding you to sit down on a low stool beside him. His hands were warm, gentle but firm, and you felt heat flush up your neck and into your cheeks as he examined the wound.

Jaheira, leaning against a tent post with her arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with an amused glint in her eyes, a smile curving her lips as you struggled to steady your breathing. But Halsin didn’t notice; his focus was fully on your arm, his brow furrowed with concentration as his fingers brushed softly along the edges of the wound, checking its depth.

“It isn’t too deep,” he murmured in his gentle, rumbling voice. “But we don’t want to risk infection. I’ll clean it and make a poultice to help it heal.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the feeling of his hands—steady, reassuring, and just a little too close—sent your mind reeling. “Y-yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.”

Halsin gave you a soft smile, the kind that seemed to reach into your chest and make your heart skip.

“Are you feeling alright otherwise? You look a bit flushed.” His eyes studied your face, brow creased in genuine concern. “Are you feverish?”

You blinked, thrown off by the question, and felt your face grow impossibly hotter. “No! No, not at all. I’m… I’m perfectly fine. Really. Just, um… It’s just… the wound.”

Jaheira couldn’t contain her amusement any longer; she snorted softly and rolled her eyes, muttering, “It’s certainly not the wound that has you blushing.”

You shot her a quick, desperate glare, but she only smirked, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“A shame that our healer here clearly can’t see that particular ailment,” she added, just loud enough for you to hear.

Halsin looked between you and Jaheira, a slight confusion flickering in his eyes before he turned back to you with a gentle, almost affectionate smile. “Well, you should rest nonetheless. Even a small wound can bring on a fever if not treated with care.”

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his thumb tracing light circles just above your collarbone as if to soothe you. It was a simple, instinctive gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you, and you fought the urge to lean into his touch, to linger in the quiet strength he offered.

“Let me just…” His voice was soft, his attention focused on preparing the poultice as he worked with deft hands. But every so often, he’d glance up, catching your gaze with that calm, reassuring smile that made your heart race all over again.

Beside you, Jaheira leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He truly has no idea, does he?”

You felt a flicker of panic, but there was no use hiding it now. You muttered, barely audible, “Not the faintest clue.”

She chuckled, shaking her head with a mix of sympathy and sarcasm. “To be fair, you’re not making it particularly obvious.”

Before you could retort, Halsin returned with the poultice, carefully applying it to your wound with practiced gentleness. The sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin, his hands steady and warm, sent another wave of nervous energy through you. He worked in silence for a moment, his gaze focused, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“There,” he said softly, finishing the bandage. “That should hold for now. And I’ll make more of the poultice tonight to ensure it heals properly.”

You managed a shaky nod, trying to form words but only managing a faint, “Th-thank you.”

Halsin’s smile deepened, and he placed a final, reassuring hand on your arm. “It’s my pleasure to help. But if you do start feeling feverish, promise you’ll come to me immediately.”

“Yes. Of course,” you stammered, hardly able to meet his gaze. Jaheira watched you, her smile widening as she shook her head in mock exasperation.

“I think it’s safe to say you’re sick with something,” she muttered, just loud enough for Halsin to hear.

Halsin’s brow furrowed in mild concern, and he tilted his head toward her, curious. “Sick with what, precisely?”

You shot Jaheira a desperate look, but she only shrugged, that teasing glint in her eye.

“Nothing a nice cold dip in the river can't fix.,” she said, her voice laced with amusement as she turned to walk away, leaving you to face Halsin’s warm, questioning gaze.

“If you’re certain you’re well…” he said, his thumb brushing lightly along your hand in a final gesture of reassurance before he let go. “But do take it easy tonight. I’ll check in on you later, just to be sure.”

As he stood and walked away, you sat there, still reeling, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. You wanted to stay in that moment forever. Perhaps during his check in later, you would actually do something about it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was actually so cute to write aha, I hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

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[half-of-a-gay]

i’ve never done this before clearly but : rugby player sevika x teams manager reader , PLEASE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!

my first request 🤭🤩🤗

Links: pt. 2, pt. 3

Rugby player!Sevika x Team manager!Reader

PART 1:

Sevika was a force on the field—unstoppable, relentless, a powerhouse in every sense of the word. She was the kind of player who made opponents hesitate before getting in her way, and the kind of teammate who turned a losing game into a victory with sheer determination. She had the scars to prove it, the muscle to back it up, and the confidence that made her damn near impossible to ignore.

Except when it came to you.

You, the team manager who kept things running smoothly—ordering equipment, organizing travel schedules, making sure their bruised and battered bodies had ice packs and painkillers ready after every brutal game. The one person Sevika, the unshakable, unbreakable rugby star, could barely string two sentences together around.

It was ridiculous, really. She could trash-talk a 200-pound forward without flinching, could carry half the team on her back if needed, but the second you looked at her with that easy smile, clipboard in hand, asking how her shoulder was doing after last week’s game, Sevika forgot how to function.

She wasn’t the kind of person who talked about things.

Not about her injuries. Not about how exhausted she was. And definitely not about the way she felt whenever you so much as looked at her.

So she kept quiet. It was easier that way.

You, on the other hand, were everywhere—on the sidelines, running the team like a well-oiled machine. But Sevika noticed the small things, too. How you hooked your pen on the collar of your shirt when you weren’t taking notes. The way you chewed your lip when you were deep in thought. The fact that, no matter how chaotic things got, you always checked in on her first.

And that terrified Sevika. Because if she let herself believe you cared more about her than just another player on the team, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from wanting more. So she buried it.

Or at least, she tried.

She had survived another week of avoiding you at all costs. But the universe clearly had other plans.

"Sevika."

Your voice cut through the noise of the locker room, sharp and unrelenting, and she froze mid-step. She considered pretending not to hear you, but based on the look on your face when she turned around, that probably would’ve gotten her killed.

Shit. Caught.

Slowly, she faced you, schooling her expression into something bored, as if you weren’t standing there, arms crossed, looking at her like she was one wrong answer away from getting her ass handed to her.

"Yeah?" she drawled, leaning against the row of lockers with the kind of forced, lazy confidence that was supposed to hide the fact that you scared the shit out of her—and that she was, in fact, internally panicking.

"You’ve been ignoring my messages about your rehab schedule."

Damn. She knew she should’ve responded to those.

"I’ve been busy."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Too busy to let me know if your shoulder is still wrecked? That’s funny, because I saw you benching twice your weight in the gym yesterday."

Sevika exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. "It’s fine."

"It won’t be if you keep being stupid," you shot back, stepping closer.

Sevika tensed.

You were too close—close enough that she could smell your perfume, something soft, completely at odds with the sweat and adrenaline that clung to her skin.

Her brain short-circuited. She was not built for this.

"I—I’ll do the rehab, alright?" she muttered, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on the floor. "I’ll text you back."

"You better."

You held her gaze for a second longer before stepping back, giving her just enough room to breathe again. But then—

"You do realize we have an away game next week, right?" you said, arms still crossed.

Sevika blinked. "Yeah?"

"And that you’re a starter."

"…Yeah?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose like she was the biggest headache of your entire existence.

"Sevika, we need you at full strength. We're all counting on you." Your voice softened, just barely.

Oh.

Sevika swallowed, her pulse skipping in her throat. You didn’t say it like the coach. Didn’t say it like she was just another player.

You said it like it meant something more, like she meant something.

Fuck.

Her chest tightened, words sticking to the roof of her mouth. "…I’ll take it easy," she finally muttered. "No promises, but—I’ll try."

You tilted your head, considering. Then, after a beat— "That’s the best I’m gonna get, huh?"

"Pretty much."

You sighed, shaking your head, but you were smiling—just a little.

"Fine," you said, turning to leave. But just as you reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, smirking.

"Also, if you're gonna keep staring at me during practice, at least try to be subtle about it."

Sevika felt her heart stop.

You were already walking away, leaving her standing there like a complete idiot, blood roaring in her ears.

She was so screwed.

---

Sevika couldn’t stop replaying that moment in her head.

You knew she’d been staring. Had you known for a while? Were you just messing with her? Or— worst case scenario—were you dropping a hint because you wanted her to do something about it?

That thought lingered in her head all week, crawling under her skin in a way that no brutal tackle or grueling practice could. She spent every spare second convincing herself she should just make a move already.

And with the away game coming up—two nights out of town, stuck in a hotel together. Perfect opportunity. She could finally say something. Maybe ask you to grab coffee. Or a drink. Or hell, just talk to you like a normal person.

Yeah. She could do this.

Probably...

---

The away game was brutal. Hard hits. Fast plays. The kind of match that left blood on jerseys and bruises on ribs. Sevika played like she had something to prove—not to the opposing team, not to her coach, but to you.

She tackled harder. Ran faster. Every time she did something impressive, she flicked her gaze toward you, trying to catch a reaction.

And she did.

She saw the way you leaned forward when she broke through the defensive line. Saw how your fingers tightened around your clipboard when she slammed an opponent into the ground. You didn’t cheer, but you didn’t have to. Sevika wasn’t an idiot—she knew you were paying attention.

By the time the whistle blew, declaring their victory, she was covered in sweat and aching all over. But she barely felt it.

Because when she looked up, she caught the smallest smile on your lips.

And that? That made it all worth it.

The players were cheering, laughing, slinging arms over each other’s shoulders as they trudged off the field. You were waiting by the locker room entrance, already running through logistics in your head.

"Bus leaves at ten sharp," you reminded them. "Anyone late buys breakfast for the whole team."

Groans and grumbles followed, but Sevika barely registered them. She was already working through her next move.

This was it. Now or never.

---

Sevika liked to take the edge off with a drink after games. But she could handle her alcohol. She always kept her control—anything to keep the world from getting too close.

But tonight? Tonight, she let go.

Because the opportunities had been there. Moments to make a move, to say something, to do something. The bus ride, when you sat next to her, your knee brushing against hers. The hotel check-in, when you nudged her playfully after handing her room key. The post-game celebration, when you stood right there, close enough that she could've just—

But she hadn't.

Every single time, she hesitated, choking on the words before they could leave her mouth.

So, instead of dealing with that fact, she drowned it.

One drink turned into two. Two turned into five and more.

Which was how she found herself outside your hotel room door at 1 a.m., one hand braced against the frame, the other knocking—too soft at first, then a little more insistent when you didn’t answer right away.

When the door finally swung open, you were standing there, sleepy and so unfairly cute, wearing an oversized sleep shirt that hit mid-thigh. Your hair was messy, your voice groggy when you muttered:

"Sevika?"

She swallowed hard. Was she always this warm, or was that the alcohol?

"You gotta help me," she said, blinking slowly.

You sighed, already rubbing your temples. "Are you drunk?"

"My shoulder hurts," she said instead, leaning against the doorframe a little more, tilting her head at you.

"Sevika—"

"Can I come in?" She blinked up at you, purposefully softening her expression, just a little. "Please?"

You exhaled through your nose, stepping aside. "Five minutes."

That was a mistake.

Because the second she was inside, Sevika collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto her side with a dramatic groan.

You sighed, closing the door behind you. "I swear to God, Sevika—"

"Bed’s nice," she muttered into your pillow, voice way too soft for someone usually so gruff. She rolled onto her back, blinking up at you. "You’re nice."

You crossed your arms. "You said your shoulder hurt."

"It does," she whined, stretching her arms over her head, shamelessly putting her toned stomach on display beneath her hoodie. She peered up at you, smirking. "You gonna fix me up or what?"

You shot her a dry look. "You’re so full of shit."

"But you like me," she countered, her grin lazy, lopsided. "Don’t deny it."

You crossed your arms, raising an unimpressed brow. "Are you flirting with me right now?"

She smirked, slow and lazy. "Depends. Is it working?"

"Not even a little."

She pouted—actually pouted—before shifting to one side and patting the empty space next to her.

"Come here."

You scoffed. "Not happening."

"But my shoulder hurts," she whined, drawing out the last word like a sulky child. "And you’re all warm."

"You are not cuddling me, Sevika."

She huffed, rolling onto her stomach, muffling her next words into your blanket. "You’re cruel."

She peeked up at you, her hair falling over her face, her lips set in a dramatic little pout. "Please?"

"No."

She groaned again, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. "Ugh, fine. I’ll just die from shoulder pain. Right here. In your bed. Tragic, really."

You snorted. "You’ll be fine."

"You don’t know that," she grumbled, dropping her arm just enough to peek at you. "What if I wake up and it’s worse?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Sevika—"

"Just let me hold you for, like, five minutes," she bargained, voice pitiful. "It’s for medical reasons."

"Oh my God."

"Please?" she tried again, giving you the best puppy-dog eyes she could muster.

Not even you can resist those big gray eyes. So you fold. Of course you do. You pointed a finger at her. "You get one minute."

Before you could even finish sitting down, Sevika grabbed your wrist and pulled—not hard, just enough to throw you slightly off balance.

"Sevika—"

But before you could protest, she was already maneuvering you, shifting so that when you finally settled, her head was resting firmly against your chest, arms draped lazily around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She let out a content sigh, her breath warm against your collarbone.

You stiffened, praying she doesn't notice now hard your heart is pounding against your chest. "This is not happening. Get off."

"Shh." She nuzzled in closer, completely unbothered. "Shoulder hurts. This helps."

"I should’ve just let you suffer. You are so lucky you’re drunk," you muttered, glaring down at her.

She just sighed happily, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. Her grip tightening ever so slightly. "You smell so good," she murmured. "Like…flowers or something."

Your face heated. "Sevika—"

"Soft," she mumbled.

"I swear—"

"Mm." She hummed, already half-asleep.

You should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve made her move to her own bed.

But as her breathing slowed, as her body relaxed against yours, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

You just shook your head, turning off the lamp, very aware of the fact that Sevika—stoic, untouchable, intimidating Sevika—was currently curled up on your chest, sighing like she’d never been more comfortable in her life.

[luvrxbunny]

sweet

pairing: bf!Eddie Munson x f!reader

summary: Eddie is trying to see what it takes for you to ask him for help.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, praise kink, dry humping, cum in pants (lmk if i forgot anything)

wc: 2.2k

a/n: i blacked out after two sentences i have no clue where the rest came from. apparently i was too horny to give a proper ending?

Eddie can see your hyper-focus on your hands, his heart is melting at the way you’re trying so hard to follow what he showed you even though he knows you can’t focus when you’re high. 

It’s 10:37 pm, you and Eddie are high and he’s been trying to teach you the chords to his new song for 20 minutes now. He’s chuckling quietly as your fingers fumble over the strings again, drawing a frustrated whine from your mouth. 

“Aww, It’s okay, baby. You’re doing much better than you were earlier! You’re actually picking this up way faster than I thought you would.” Eddie is genuine when he says it but it’s your reaction that changes that.. that changes his intentions. He watches your face as he praises you, he watches your eyes glaze over, and your lips part gently as a soft smile spreads over your face. 

“Th- Thank you, Eddie. That’s so nice of you, thank you.” You sound so out of it. It shocks Eddie for a moment but makes perfect sense. He thinks of all the time you ask him for help with your studies, even though he knows you know the material. He thinks of all the time he cheers for you after getting the right answer, how he praises you and calls you his smart girl. He thinks of all the times you bake for him, asking for him to taste test them even though you’ve made the recipe a million times, he thinks about his exaggerated moans of delight, how he would get on his knees and beg you to make him a batch. 

He thinks about times exactly like this one, when he’s playing his guitar for you and you beg him to teach you. He thinks about how quickly you pick them up and how you beam at him when you finally get it. The only difference now is that you’re higher than he’s ever seen you. 

You wanted to celebrate for midterms so Eddie rolled you a blunt instead of his usual joints. Of course, his little lightweight got high out of her mind. You got so soft and cuddly that he could’ve never denied you when you asked him real nice to teach you the new chords. 

He comes out of his thoughts just in time for him to hear you nail the part you’ve been struggling with, perfectly. His blood rushes to his cock when he notices the way you look up at him, expectantly, almost… desperately. “Such a good job, baby.” It comes out more sultry than he meant it to but he’s never been able to hide his emotions with you. 

He watches your eyebrows, twitch in confusion but you don’t break his gaze. You’re waiting for more. He has to take a deep breath as his sensitive tip presses against the zipper of his jeans. His hands are twitching at his sides as he gets up, leaving his desk and making his way to where you sit on his bed. “That was amazing, honey. You’re better than I am, you’re perfect.”

He watches your thighs tense, trying to rub together as your hips lift to press you against his guitar as you get a faraway look in your eyes. You’re looking right at him as you grind yourself into his guitar, he doesn’t think you even realize you’re doing it. He lays down next to you, watching your bottom lip tuck under your teeth as you shake your head with a small smile. “No, not better than you, Eds. I could never beat the best, baby.” 

Eddie has to actively bite back a moan at the pet name, he feels like he’s gonna fucking pass out as all his blood rushes south. He knows you’re trying, he knows you’re trying to turn him on, asking him to make you feel good without actually saying the words. 

He’s told you time and time again how hot your pet names get him, he knows it’s silly but he cannot help it. Every time you speak to him with any ounce of sweetness he’s fattening up in his jeans. “But you’re perfect then?” He presses his hips forward, loving the pressure your plush thighs provide against his throbbing cock. His eyes almost roll back as he watches a silent moan fall from your mouth as your hips twitch, forward first against his guitar but back again to press into his boner. 

He smiles and raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you. You never initiate. He knows you’re shy, he knows it’s hard for you. He knows he’s all of your firsts but he needs— he craves to hear you beg him- to hear you ask him to touch you. He’s insecure, he can’t have this be so one-sided. He wants to see how far he has to push you before you say something. 

You’re nodding at him desperately. “Yes- Yes, I’m perfect.” He’s smiling so fondly at your agreement, his dick twitching painfully in his pants. He knows you feel it by the way your hips twitch, pathetically confused and you whine. It’s short and cut off as you turn to put his guitar away, placing it gently on the ground. You brush his cock and give him a beautiful view of your ass in the process. He’s silently begging you to say something, he doesn’t know how long he can keep this up. 

You turn back around and just stare at him, waiting for him to say something. He watches confusion bloom over your face, your head tilting like a puppy. He mimics your action with a teasing smile. “Do you have something to ask me, baby?” He watches realization and dread spread over your features. 

“Eddie…” Your thighs are rubbing together, nervously or for friction. He doesn’t falter, just looks at you expectantly as you pout. His hips are subconsciously thrusting up into the air, getting hot under your gaze. You press your hand to your forehead, astonishingly stressed at this seemingly simple task. Eddie considers letting up as he analyzes the distress on your face but you speak up. 

“Eddie can you-” You whine and avert your gaze. “Can you make me feel good? I—“ You huff out a breath of embarrassment. “I want you to make me cum… please.” His heart bursts at how nicely you ask. He’s taking a slow deep breath, trying to calm himself before answering you but you take his silence as a demand for more. “Eddie please!” You sound so upset, it's so cute. It makes him so hard. “Please, I- I need it. I need you, Eddie, please.” You’re still not looking at him as you whine. 

Eddie turns your head and smashes his lips into yours just to shut you up. If you had kept rambling about how bad you need him he would’ve cum in his pants. “Yeah. Yeah, I can make you feel good, baby. What do you wanna do, pretty girl? We can do whatever you want. You asked me so nicely, honey. You’re so sweet.” 

He’s desperate and all over you as he speaks. His hands are in your hair as he kisses all over your face and down your neck. You feel like you could suffocate in his need for you, it rushes over you and makes you need him more. “Your- Can we- Eddie.” 

He’s biting into your neck as you try to answer. You can feel him smirking in your neck as you struggle to answer him. “ ‘M sorry, baby. Go on, talk. You’re doing so well, honey.” He pulls himself closer to you so he can press his bulge into you again, his eyes fully rolling back at the pressure this time. “I want you to…. fingermeplease?” He moans at the way you rush out the last part of the sentence but still manage to use your manners. 

“You want me to finger you, baby? Fuck, yeah. I can do that. Mhm. You wanna sit between my legs? Let me open you up and play?” You’re nodding frantically and whining against his face as he lets filth spill from his lips. “Yeah? Will ‘ya squirm, honey? No, no I bet you’ll stay put like a good girl, huh?” 

He pummels you with his embarrassingly arousing words as he gets up to take his pants off (as you do the same), leaving his boxers and situating himself against the headboard. His thick thighs spread wide over his bed, leaving room for you to crawl between them. You don’t move though, you’re too mesmerized by the way his cock is pressing against the fabric, leaking into it and leaving a rapidly spreading dark spot. It can’t help but twitch as you admire him, he can’t take it; the hungry yet somehow innocent look in your eyes as you crawl towards him. 

Normally this is the part where you turn around, your legs spread and trembling over his as he shoves his fingers in your pretty pussy over and over until you’re quivering around his fingers, moaning and gripping his hair behind you desperately. Normally this is the part when he presses his boner to your lower back, thrusting against you in time with his fingers, imagining that it’s actually his cock inside you and willing himself not to cum when he pictures it for too long. 

Instead, you lift yourself to your knees. His face becomes level with your panties, his hips thrusting into the air as he groans at the pink bow resting on the band. You put your hands on his shoulder and slowly lower yourself onto his lap, letting out the sweetest moan as his soaked cock pushes into your dripping lips. His hands come up to your hips and force you down to him rougher than he meant to when he hears the sweetest whimper of “Oh, Eddie” slip from your throat. 

“Oh my fucking god, baby. You feel incredible, so fucking perfect. I can’t take it. Mm- Oh— What happened? I- I thought you wanted my fingers, sweetheart?” He’s throwing his head back and groaning when you collapse into him, leaning your weight on his bulge. You’re huffing out like you’re gonna cum, looking up at him with your pretty, glazed over, fucked out, high as fuck eyes. 

“I dunno, Eddie. I- It looked like he was- like he was crying for me.” Your hips stutter with a moan as your eyes roll back, Eddie’s hard cock rubbing against your clit perfectly. He feels like he’s gonna cum as you confess. It confounding to him; how you can say the most whorish things in the sweetest way. 

“You are in-fucking-credible, my love. I have no clue how you do this to me. I’m already so close, baby. You’re so amazing, so soft for me, love.” His eyes roll back and he’s losing it.

“You’re gonna make me cum— fuck. Holy shit—faster. Oh-h f-fuck me faster, baby. I love you so much. I- I’m gonna cum so hard. I- dammit. I wanna make you cum first. L-lemme make you cum first- shi-itt.”

You’re rabid against him, your hips moving at a pace that has him weak. You have him questioning who’s in control. He’s wound even tighter when he feels your hips falter, losing their rhythm as your mini whines evolve into desperate moans. “H-Help- Ed—” 

Your breathing is scattered as you whine and twitch against him. “Yeah, I’ve got you, baby.” He grabs your hips and grinds you against him, lifting his hips to meet your heavenly pussy and pressing magnificently into your clit. It has your hands digging into his shoulders, dropping down to his waist as you hug yourself to him. You’re moaning into his ear as he feels your thighs tensing on his sides.

“T-tell me-” You whine higher, more pathetically than he’s heard all night, his cock pulses, spurting out a dangerous amount of pre-cum into his boxers. “Tell me I’m good. T-Tell me I’m pretty—” You cut yourself off with a gasp as you buck your hips against him, a newfound energy coursing through you. “Oh- please- please tell me I’m pretty.”

Eddie’s right on the edge, moaning so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole trailer park heard him. “YES- Yes, oh my god. You’re so beautiful, my love. You’re a fucking goddess among peasants. You’re a flower in a field of fucking hay, you’re my dream. You’re my soulmate.” He dissolves into a whine as you cum against him. You’re moaning into his shoulder, trying to muffle yourself in his shirt but you’re too loud. 

“There you go, fuck yes. Good girl— Oh shit. I’m gonna-” His eyes are in the back of his skull before he can finish. His hips twitching insanely and spurting out an outrageous amount of cum into the fabric of your panties. He’s panting as he tries to come down but you’re deliriously humping him. Forcing more ropes of cum into his boxers, he just can’t seem to stop. 

“Oh. Oh my god- I- I can’t stop. You’re such a good girl. Mine. My good girl. Askin’ me to make you feel good, takin’ what you need. God-” A ragged moan bubbles out of him as his cock finally stops drenching your poor panties. 

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist!

[starglitterz]

♡ SPICY. // PART TWO

❝ tell me what you see when you look at me, 'cause i am a ten out of ten, honestly. ❞ // attractive things the genshin men do <3

✧ feat ; albedo, dainsleif, gorou, itto, kazuha, lyney, neuvillette, scaramouche, tighnari, zhongli x gn!reader

✧ warning(s) ; fluff, suggestive, (kinda???) modern au for itto, extremely suggestive for itto + neuvi

✧ a/n ; woahhh it's been like ten thousand years since the release of part one but here's part 2 finally ! i doubt anyone was actively waiting for this LOL but regardless i hope you enjoy it!

part one︱part two

✦ as an alchemist, you’d expect ALBEDO to always be in a white lab coat stained with all manner of chemicals, but he’s the opposite – he’s always dressed to the nines in formalwear, with his trademark coat layered on top of it to keep him from freezing in dragonspine. he only ever removes it when he’s visiting you in mondstadt. in the quiet of your peaceful apartment, albedo will be busy preparing dinner, and you feel like a starving victorian man when you see him roll his sleeves up, exposing the rare sight of his pale wrists. his fingers are long and slender too, but there’s something about the way the white fabric of his dress shirts clings to his forearms, emphasising his lean muscle and making you wonder if you’re drooling. you’re pretty sure he’s caught you staring way too many times, but he always just gives you a soft smile – he can’t understand why you’d admire him like this when you’re the one he’s always believed to be a masterpiece.

✦ dating DAINSLEIF is a quiet affair. he’s not one for over-the-top gestures or grand proclamations of his love, but he never fails to make it known that he absolutely adores you with his whole heart. between the two of you, you’re the one who always talks more, always chattering away endlessly about your latest fancy. but no matter what you’re prattling on about, dainsleif will always tilt his head and gaze at you as if you’re giving a speech on the most interesting topic in the world. he’ll even have a small smile gracing his lips, his usually stern expression now softening into one far more gentle. he’ll even nod and ask all the right questions, proving that he was paying attention the entire time. and if you ever feel guilty for talking so much, he’ll instantly reassure you that your voice is music to his ears, and if he could he’d listen to it forever. 

✦ some days, it’s like GOROU can’t even believe he’s dating you. he’s just so adorable, getting incredibly flustered whenever you even breathe in his direction. his face turns bright red and he starts stumbling over his words, barely able to string together words into coherent sentences. or if by some miracle he manages to keep his composure, his tail is a dead giveaway – it’ll be wagging at the speed of light whenever you praise him. you could be doing the most mundane tasks like laundry or washing dishes, and he’d still look at you with heart eyes as if you hung the very stars in the sky. 

✦ without a doubt, ITTO has no clue how attractive he is. once you move in together, he’ll just always walk around shirtless, even though you squeal in surprise whenever you see him. i mean c’mon, who could blame you? the oni is ripped thanks to all the hours he spends at the gym, and when you see his muscles flexing, showing off the gleaming red tattoos illustrated across his back and torso, you have to excuse yourself because you swear you’re seriously about to start barking. to make things worse, he always pairs it with those stupid baggy grey sweatpants that make you actually want to pounce on him – it’s always a struggle to keep your eyes on his face. you’re beginning to think he knows the effect though, because you always end up in the bedroom together when he wears them. 

✦ KAZUHA is the type of boyfriend who adores casual skinship. wherever you are, he’ll always find some way to touch you – whether it’s an arm wrapped around your waist, his head leaning on your shoulder, his fingers intertwined with yours… the list is endless. but his absolute favourite has to be when you wear shorts. one of his hands somehow always ends up on your thigh, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. it isn’t necessarily heated, it’s just comforting for him to know you’re there beside him. but you’re aware of his intentions whenever he starts doing it under the table in public, merely tilting his head to give you a playful smirk and a wink that’s imperceptible to anyone else. 

✦ the entirety of fontaine knows that LYNEY is a flirtatious rascal. yet with you, he thinks he’s met his match. the two of you are constantly bantering, attempting to outdo one another in gifts and pick-up lines and dates – lynette says you both are more like competitors than partners. however, it’s just the way the both of you show affection. but there’s one move that LYNEY knows will always guarantee him the win. you’ll be chattering away, planning out your next date, and suddenly his magician hands are at your waist, fingers slipping into your belt loops to tug you closer before pressing a mischievous kiss on your lips. your shocked and flustered expression always makes his day. 

✦ as the iudex of fontaine, it makes sense that NEUVILLETTE is not one for tomfoolery. but when it comes from you, he always seems to accept whatever pranks or teasing you throw his way. but sometimes, if you’re acting up too much in public, all it takes is one look from him to set you back in line. his dark blue eyes narrow as he glances at you, lifting one brow as if to ask if you’re really willing to keep going like this. that decision is up to you – will you continue misbehaving, crossing the line to see just what he’ll do? or will you be good and quiet down in the hopes that he’ll reward you? 

✦ everybody knows that SCARAMOUCHE is a brat. that doesn’t change when he somehow becomes your boyfriend. he likes pushing your buttons, always wondering when you’re going to tip over the edge. even just simple requests will prompt him to reply ‘“oh yeah?” “make me.” “mhmm.”’ and it drives you up the wall. not just because it’s annoying, but also because it’s strangely attractive to see the way he raises his eyebrow and leans back in his seat, a smug smirk playing about his lips. but fear not, the easiest way to get him to behave is just by grabbing his collar and pulling him into a kiss. he’ll be so surprised that he’ll instantly go do whatever you told him to just so that you don’t see his blushing face.

✦ it’s 100% a green flag when men are willing to explain things to you instead of assuming you wouldn’t be able to grasp the concept, and TIGHNARI is a shining example of this. as the chief of the forest rangers, he’s extremely well-versed on everything related to sumeru’s jungles, and this extends to skills outside of foraging, as he’s also talented at cooking and preparing medicines. if you’re curious or eager to learn, he’ll always explain it to you in a way that makes it easy for you to understand, and even if you don’t, he’s very patient, and will answer every single one of your questions no matter how dumb you may think they are until you get it. seeing the proud smile on his face once you successfully achieve whatever he taught you is more than enough incentive for you to rush to learn even more from your beloved boyfriend.

✦ ZHONGLI is the type of lover that comes once in a millenia (which is probably how long he’s been alive too). he’s the whole package; sweet, caring, smart, not to mention handsome! (the only problem is that he’s constantly broke…) you’re lucky to have him as your boyfriend, and the first time you realised this was when the two of you were walking through a busy crowd in liyue’s bustling harbour while trying to run some errands. upon sensing your discomfort at how the strangers were unintentionally jostling you and bumping into the two of you, ZHONGLI wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him to put more space between you and everyone else walking past. once the crowd thins out, he’ll guide you with his hand on the small of your back, the warmth a gentle reminder that he’ll always be there for you. 

yeah sorry i deserve to be sent to horny jail for some of these 😭 HAHAHA js be glad cyno was in part one bc the things i want to do to that man... Unspeakable

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