#prompt request

[seafoamdew]

Attention-seeking behaviour or distributing wealth to the poor… Jack says why not both 🤷‍♂️

[maybankswhore]

WANNA BE YOURS ’ JJ MAYBANK.

summary: jj’s been avoiding you after your break up with john b , but not for the reason you think.

request from prompt list: “i can’t stay away from you.”

When you think back to your relationship with John B , you aren’t sure when it stopped being meaningful.

Of course the relationship had its moments. The ones that you could look back on and smile , cherish the memory. But it was different. Because you didn’t look back on those memories and feel sad. You didn’t cry that they were fleeting. You didn’t miss it.

It was more of a grateful feeling. A feeling of fulfillment and enjoyment. But not sad.

In the end , the both of you felt it. That connection wasn’t there. The relationship wasn’t growing. You weren’t falling in love with eachother , more so , falling into a friendship that the both of you were scared to let go.

He had become your person and vice versa. The comfort the both of you had gotten from eachother , how honest and vunerable the two of you were able to be was something special.

But the relationship ran its course and John B admitted that he had started developing feelings for Sarah Cameron.

You weren’t mad at him or upset. He cried , feeling ashamed and scared of what it meant: you held his hand , brushed his face and encouraged him to explore it.

Breaking the news to your friends were the hardest part. Pope and Kiara were all knowing , especially Pope who you had confided in once before. They were supportive , and promised that nothing would change in the Pogue’s dynamic.

JJ on the other hand , he looked like a deer in headlights. He fidgeted alot , kept glancing up at you to study your face. JJ could tell that you didn’t look upset and he wasn’t sure what that meant. He wanted to yell at John B , push him and curse him for taking something as beautiful as you for granted.

But he couldn’t.

In fact , he couldn’t even face you.

JJ had always been taken with you. Since the moment he met you on the beach , everything about you just left him speechless. He though you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and he remembered how he gushed to Pope about you , ranting and raving about the girl he met.

Imagine his surprise when you showed up at the Chateau two days later next to John B— grinning up at him with stars in your eyes. He was deflated. Hurt. But he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for not making a move that night.

For two years he watched you and John B be together. And in those two years he had gotten to know you. All of you. That didn’t help. He thought the feelings he had for you would disappear. Girl after girl came into his life until he realized , he looked for you in every girl he met.

Although it was hard for him and it hurt him to slowly fall in love with you while you were seemingly falling in love for his bestfriend , it was easier for him to accept the fact you were off limits because you were taken by said bestfriend. Now that you were single , free and John B was running off with the Kook Princess , JJ wasn’t confident that he could just. . . not make a move , not confess everything he had pent up all these years.

But God , did he love you.

JJ had made it a point to avoid you. Any time he saw you at the Wreck , he ducked and hoped you hadn’t seen him. When you were invited to the Chateau or to the marsh , JJ always found some excuse to give so he wouldn’t be there. So he wouldn’t have to see you.

It was killing him on the inside. He was itching to see you again. To finally touch you , feel you , be yours. But he was afraid. Afraid of rejection , how it would to his friends , how John B would feel especially.

It was too messy and he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t.

Eventually you had noticed JJ’s sudden change in behavior.

“Is it just me or does he like , suddenly hate me?” You mentioned to Kiara while the two of you sunbathed , JJ affectively avoiding you by staying in the water.

Kiara scoffed. “I wouldn’t say hate.”

You were confused by what she meant.

But days turned into weeks , and you couldn’t take it anymore. You missed him. It made you feel like he blamed you for the break up with John B or he resented you for whatever reason.

Your knuckles rapped on the door to his room where you knew he was staying in John B’s hallway. The other Pogue’s went surfing and told you JJ wasn’t coming because he was sick.

You finally had enough.

“JJ freaking Maybank! I know you’re in there so open up the damn door.” You yelled through the wood loudly , a fixated look on your face.

Nobody answered and you continued knocking on the door. “JJ! What the hell is your problem with me?” Your voice was just as loud. But after minutes of silence , you stopped knocking. Suddenly you felt all of your anger disappear. You felt small , and for some reason your chest began to hurt.

“JJ. . .” the anger was all gone , now your voice was soft and sad. Cracking at the end of his name. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

As if JJ’s own heart broke at the sound of your voice , he sighed heavily and got up from his place on the bed. The door flung open and in front of you stood a disheveled JJ. His hair was a mess , there were bags under his eyes and you could tell he had been crying. “I can’t stay away from you—”

“Really? Because it seems like that’s all you’ve been doing these past couple weeks is staying away from me.”

“I can’t stay away from you but I have to.” JJ finished his sentence. Scratching the back of his neck , he refused to meet your eyes. “I just need some time.”

You blinked confused. Your heart squeezing. “Are you mad at me? What did I do? Is this about John B?”

JJ groaned. “This isn’t about John B! Nothing about this is about John B right now.”

He snapped at you and it took you aback. Your eyes widened , not expecting that from him. It made you frown and you took a step closer to him. “JJ please. . . tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just— because I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I love you.” JJ blurted. Now he was fully looking at you. “Okay? I love you. Not in the friend way. Not in a Pogue way. The in love with you way—” JJ suddenly felt the world lift off of his shoulders. It all started coming out like word vomit and he couldn’t stop it , but he didn’t want to either. “I love the way your hair gets all knotted up in the saltwater and it takes you hours to comb it out. I love that you wake up every morning and eat the same exact breakfast and makes sure everyone else in the house eats before they leave. I love that you love the animals and you care about nature. I even like you stupid little romance books that I pretend I hate hearing about when secretly I wish we were in our own love story. . .” he took a deep breath.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I met you , sweetheart and I’m trying to make it go away but it’s not.”

You were stunned. It all hit you at once and you stared. Mouth agape , eyes wide , and your cheeks flushed pink. It was the sweetest confession you had ever gotten , and the way JJ looked at you like you were the only girl in the world only added to the butterflies now swarming in your stomach.

“Why did you—” you stuttered , trying to figure out the words to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have changed anything?” JJ said defeated.

“It would have changed everything.” You admitted.

You weren’t sure what was going to happen now or how to navigate the news. Though you did know that something changed. It would forever be changed.

And you were okay with that.

[cosmophoriia]

੭ — levels of intimacy.

ღ request from: @generousvintagevictorianeagle — hi!! can you please write some dialogue prompts about a relationship/ intimacy within partners/ and caring for each other type beat… fluff and maybe a little angst and smut… much appreciated!!

ღ warnings : some angst + smut mentioned!

"when’s the last time you ate something?"

“let me run you a nice soothing bath.”

“you look so beautiful, baby.” “babe, i just woke up.” “you’re always beautiful even if you just woke up.”

“let’s cuddle on the couch and watch your favorite movie.”

“i got you a present, i hope you like it.”

“why didn’t you just tell me you needed a break?”

“i’m sorry about what happened, i’m here if you ever need to talk about it.”

“hey… hey… why are you crying?”

“are you okay?”

“this is a great opportunity for you, i thought you would be happy but why do you look so sad?”

“you know you can tell me anything right?”

“can’t sleep.” “i tried absolute everything but nothing.” pulling you even closer as they say “you haven’t tried everything, i think i can get you to fall asleep”

“wanna take this to the bed?”

“we can take things slow if you want?”

“fuck… you’re so good.”

“please… go harder.”

“you look so pretty as you squirm under me.”

“let me clean you up.”

“such a good girl f’me.”

“is this okay?” character a ask before going any further and character b simply nods their head. “use your words baby.”

[ashyblondwaves]

How about Katniss starting to flirt again like she did at the quell chariots and finally getting to fluster Peeta for once.

Aww I love this! Thank you for sending it in! Here to go :)

Bloom

The kitchen smells of cinnamon and warmth. Like safety after a lifetime of uncertainty. I’m kneading another batch of flour and dough, sleeves rolled up above my elbows, when I hear Katniss enter the kitchen.

I know she thought she was being quiet, padding in while I’m occupied, but I know she’s there. Anyone else may not have heard her, but after two stints in the arena and time being poked and prodded by the Capitol, my ears are always on high alert. 

The first batch of cinnamon bread just came out of the oven, golden and split at the top, and I’m slicing it carefully, more for the rhythm than for any actual reason, when she speaks up. 

“You know,” Katniss says from behind me, “if your plan is to fatten me up, it’s working.”

I flinch, not because she startled me, I always know when she’s around. It’s more in the way that she says it. Light. Teasing. Almost… playful?

I glance over my shoulder. She’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, hair messy in a way that makes her look impossibly soft. She’s watching me with that unreadable expression of hers that she wears like an armor, but there’s a glint in her eye. Something new. Or maybe something old that I haven’t seen in far too long. 

“I, uh…” I blink, trying not to fumble the knife. “You haven’t been eating much. I thought maybe this would help.”

“It’s helping,” she says, her lips twitching. 

I stop slicing. Just… stop. Because now, I can’t tell if this is just her being kind, or if it’s something else. My brain scrambles for solid ground and lands on, Don’t stare. Don’t stare. Definitely don’t blush.

“If… if that’s a request,” I stammer, focusing on the loaf in front of me. “I’ll keep making it.” 

She walks toward me. Not quickly. Just enough that I can hear the quiet tap of her socked feet on the wood floor and feel my pulse jump. Her hand reaches out, fingers brushing the counter, and for one second I think she’s going to touch my hand.

She doesn’t, but the space between us feels thinner. Warmer. 

“It might be a bribe,” she says, and she’s closer now. She’s close enough that I can see the faint constellation of freckles on her nose, the ones I used to draw in my head back in the Capitol to remind myself what home looked like, before they took that away from me, too. 

“A bribe?” I asked, my throat feeling suddenly' dry. “For what?”

“Guess you’ll have to keep baking to find out,” She says, and shrugs like she’s bored, but the corner of her mouth lifts.

My heart skips. It actually skips, then starts hammering against my chest. For a second, I’m scared I might pass out into the cinnamon bread. 

“Katniss,” I say, setting the knife down because my hands are starting to shake. “Are you… are you flirting with me?” It comes out too fast. Too breathless and eager. 

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t look away. 

“I’m trying to,” she says, her volume a little lower, like she might be embarrassed now. 

And I don’t know what to do with that. My brain stutters, trying to reboot, because I thought she was gone. I thought whatever we had before the war had been buried under ash and fear and everything we never said.

“Okay,” I say quietly, a smile forming. I see her shoulders relax, and it gives me the courage to flirt back. “Try harder.”

She blinks at that. Try harder. She wasn’t expecting me to push back. She hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Okay,” she says, after a beat. “Then maybe I’ll help you taste-test the next batch.”

“Yeah?” I ask, genuinely intrigued on where she’s going with this. 

“Yeah.” She looks down at the bread, then up at me again. “I like it best warm. Fresh out of the oven.”

She’s not talking about the bread. I know that much.

And just like that, something shifts. Not loudly, and not with fireworks. But like a door clicking open, soft and sure.

She reaches past me, takes a slice of bread from the cutting board, and tears off a corner with her fingers. Before she eats it, she glances up and adds, almost shyly, “You can sit with me. If you want.”

I nod, already moving to grab the tea I’d forgotten I steeped.

“I always want,” I say.

[voxmortuus]

Hi baby. Saw the prompt list. 😎 May I have #5 ☆ { calling } them late at night to come over for Jax Teller, please?

Thank you. ♥

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Jax Teller x F!Reader ⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ Sons of Anarchy ⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 1.1k ⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Fluff | Smut | Jax and his filthy mouth (language) | Foreplay | P-i-V | Pull-out Method | More fluff | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ⇘ NOTES:⇙ Sorry if this is total ass... but I hope this brings you some joy. ⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa ⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ This was found through Google and is not my GIF, if this is your GIF or know whose it is, please inbox me, so I can credit the creator. Thank you! ⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

It was just one of those nights, there's only so much scrolling you can do before things become repetitive, and boring in your feeds. Flipping between Tumblr, Reddit, and Facebook, things were becoming boring, and nothing was helping you fall asleep. Tapping the side of your phone, you flip through old photos, smiling now and again looking over Jax's face. Sitting up in bed, you check the time, 12:24 a.m. Sighing, you decide to give it a shot, chances are Jax was up anyway, so why not.

Scrolling down and finding his name, you hit the call button, and wait. Ringing you groan, maybe he was --

"Hey, Darlin'. You alright? What's up?" he asks, you can tell there's a smile on his face.

"Hey, Baby. I know it's kinda late, but would you mind coming over... I can't sleep... and I could use the company." you bite your lip a bit.

"Yeah, sure, I'll be over in 15." he stated.

After the brief conversation and a quick I love you and a hangup, you go unlock your door, knowing he'll lock it when he gets here.

Hearing the motorcycle approach, and the engine turn off, you feel this bubble of excitement pulse through you. It was a matter of time before you heard your front door open, close, lock, and the sound of boots headed your way.

Peeking his head in, he looks over you, and you smile, moving over you pat the empty space in your bed and gesture for him to join you. Taking the hint, he makes his way over, slipping off his vest and coat, tossing his hat on the table, and kicking off his boots and socks, he slips into bed.

"Your pants... your shirt... are in the way." you smirk.

He chuckles and standing back up he takes them off, dropping them to the floor before climbing back in under the covers. You scoot yourself closer, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close.

"Can't sleep?" he asked you.

Nodding, your fingers move over his chest as you look up at him and smile. "Thank you for coming over."

"It's nothin' Darlin'. I've always told you I'm a call away." he kisses the top of your head.

A soft smile graces your lips as you scoot a little closer to him and let out a small satisfied smile. But you seem you can't keep your hands from wandering on him. Slipping under the blanket, you keep your gaze on him as you move over his boxers. Smiling, you bite at your lip and kiss him sweetly.

A slight chuckle escapes his lips as he pulls you closer to him, his hand roaming your figure as he moves you to lay on top of him, holding you close, his hips move upward a bit, kissing you deeply, and he slips the shirt from your body and tosses it to the floor along with his clothes.

Pressing yourself against him, your hands move up along his sides and find your way to get tangled in that love head of golden locks. The kissing gets a little heavier between you two, the touching, how you press your hips against him, feeling him harden against you. You move your hand between your legs as you grip him through his boxers. He groans against your lips as he grips your breast, pulling you closer, and kissing you deeper.

The kissing, the touching, the grunts, and the groans were enough to send you into a feral mind. Moving his boxers down, you slip him right between your lips, your hips press yourself down, pressing him deeper inside you. You both end up groaning in unison.

His grip on your hips is tight, his fingers pressing hard against your flesh, indenting as he thrusts upward just enough to finish that last little bit you wanted to slip inside you. The streetlights are the only thing illuminating the room, your shadow cast on the walls. Looking over, he watches your shadow as you brace yourself against his chest and begin to move up and down on his cock.

Holding your thighs in his hands, he watches the way you move against him, your hands pressing into his chest as he moves his own up your body, feeling your flesh under his hands was a sort of high for him. He presses a hand against your chest, between your breasts, as he slowly guides your motions as he thrusts upward.

As you are being guided with a hand on your chest, one on your hip, and his cock between your legs, your head falls back as you let out a loud, long, drawn-out moan. Your body trembles as you pick up on the sounds, the smells, the way the air tastes. Listening to him grunt and your own moans fill the air. It's all palpable. Erotic. Addicting.

The way you both work against and with each other, it sends these shockwaves through both of you, a genuine quickie, you feel yourself building, but of course, it doesn't help with his own buildup, you can tell in his tone, in how frequent his groans become, in how his breath smells. Leaning forward, you moan against his lips. And that's when he tells you to finish with him. He lifts you up, and you grip his cock as he works your bud.

Before you know it, your whole body trembles, feeling those hot ribbons of white pour against you. Whimpering and trembling against him, you begin to pant. Achieving your desired goal, he leans against the pillow but grabs something to clean you up.

There was hardly anything spoken between you two. But you lay there, holding him close, you look up at him as he stares down at you.

"You feel good." you chuckle.

"What even was that?" he chuckles.

"I think it's called a quickie. You should be used to those." you poke.

"Ohh, is that what that was? I like those... but next time... we do a longie... not a quickie," he smirks.

"I'll play with your longie." you chuckle.

"No, Darlin', we call it a cock, longie.... please no." he chuckles. "Besides, I like the way the word cock escapes your lips." he smirked.

"You like your cock between my lips Jax..." you joust.

Gasping he chuckles. "That is true... gotta say, you're a good cocksucker." he winks.

The night continued into the morning, and eventually, you had both fallen asleep. His arms wrapped around you, his face in your hair, and you clung to him like your entire life depended on it. You were glad you called him over, much needed, and the sleep was much better with him there.

[sunraies]

can you do mean!rafe x crybaby reader with the prompt “I could just use a hug”. & he turns all soft because he feels bad?? 😭💗

Sure thing, honey bun. I tried 😊

3. I could just use a hug

Prompt List

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Rafe huffed as he swirled the little whiskey that was left around in his glass. Watching as the golden liquid sloshed. It had been a long day, and he just needed five minutes to think, so when footsteps started down the corridor and the door slowly opened after a tentative knock, he snapped without thought.

"What the fuck do you want?" His tone so cold, it made you sleepy smile drop and you body freeze in the doorway.

"I-I was just wondering if you were coming to bed?" You stuttered, looking at the floor. Never had he been like this with you. You'd seen it over the years to other people.

"I have a fucking mess to sort out" He finished his drink before topping it up again, gesturing to the paperwork around him.

"Could I help?" You started towards the desk, but his small cruel huff of laugh stopped you.

"You'll just mess it up even more, princess. I have enough shit to deal with"

"Right...well," You hummed, fighting back the tears that were bringing to form.

"Anything else? Or you just going to stand there distracting me"

He looked you up and down seeing you in your cozy dressing gown, the first time noticing how you were dressed, ready for bed. How your hands fiddled with the tie to your robe, and you couldn't look up at him.

"I could just use a hug" You muttered, trying to hide a sniffle as tears began to fall.

Rafe quickly put his glass down and shot up from his desk. It only took him a few strides to get to you.

"Of course I can give you a hug, princess" He engulfed you in his arms and kissed the top of your head as you sobbed into his chest "My girl, always so caught up in her feelings, hm?"

He smiled at your little whimper and nod as he rested his chin on your head. "I've got you" He cooed as you calmed down.

When you were ready to pull away, he gently wiped your cheeks. "You good?" He asked softly. "Words, sweetheart" He prompted as you gave a nod.

"Good" you said quietly as you looked at him puffy eyes.

"Give me five minutes, and I'll be up to bed"

He quickly closed his computer down and bundled up the paperwork before bounding up the stairs after you.

[srue-on-fire]

These High Walls

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Derek Hale Words: 1500 Rating: General Audiences Prompt: #23. Do you even realize what you mean to me? Title: Louis Tomlinson's Walls prompt list 🩶 read on ao3

🐺.✨

Derek’s standing at the loft window, arms crossed, staring out into the rain. His expression is blank. Distant. Like none of this matters. Like he doesn’t matter.

That hurts more than any wound Stiles has ever taken.

His shoulders are locked up, tension running through his body like a live wire —the kind that makes Stiles want to march over and shake him. Or hug him. Maybe both.

Instead, Stiles settles for the next best thing he can do —yelling at him.

"What the fuck, Derek?" he snaps, voice sharper than he intended. It echoes through the loft, bouncing off the high ceilings and hitting Derek square in the back. His voice trembles —not with fear, but with frustration, with anger, with something so raw it burns in his throat.

Derek stiffens but doesn’t turn around. Of course he doesn’t. The guy has mastered the art of being emotionally unavailable, like it’s an Olympic sport and he’s in it for the gold. He stays exactly as he is, staring out at nothing, like he didn’t just nearly die for Stiles a few hours ago. Like he didn’t bleed out black in the dirt while Stiles begged him to stay awake, fingers slipping through too much blood.

He was too pale, too still. For a terrifying moment, Stiles thought he was really gone.

He takes a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. He’s been holding this in for too long, letting Derek get away with his usual brand of self-sacrificial brooding. But not this time.

"You threw yourself in front of me," Stiles continues, voice shaking, goading. "Like I was some helpless little human who needed saving."

Derek finally turns. His face is as closed off as ever, but his eyes —God, his eyes. There’s something there, something unreadable and infuriating and so DerekDerekDerek.

"You are human, Stiles," he says, like that explains everything. Like it fucking justifies what he did.

"Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “But newsflash, Derek, I’m not helpless. And even if I was, that doesn’t mean you get to put yourself in the line of fire for me. That’s not how this works."

Derek's jaw tightens. "It was the right call."

“I had a bulletproof vest!” Stiles yells. “You knew it!”

“I didn’t,” Derek says casually.

Years ago, when Stiles was still a little scared and got hot and bothered by Derek, he would’ve believed it. But now, Stiles knows when he lies. He knows what that eyebrow twitch means. He knows when that tone is used. 

“You knew,” he puts his foot down. “You knew and don’t lie to my fucking face, Derek.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t deny it again, doesn’t argue, just holds Stiles’ gaze like he’s waiting for him to run out of steam. Like this is just another one of their fights, like Stiles isn’t standing here trying to shake some goddamn sense into him.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most. The way Derek looks at him like he expects Stiles to give up. Like he’s already made peace with whatever reckless, self-sacrificing fate he’s doomed himself to.

"Jesus Christ," Stiles breathes out, raking both hands through his hair. "You knew I had a vest. You knew, and you still—" He cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before forcing himself to look at Derek again. "Why?"

Derek shifts, barely perceptible, but Stiles catches it. The way his fingers flex against his biceps, the way his throat moves like he's swallowing back words.

"It was instinct," Derek finally mutters.

"Bullshit!" Stiles snaps again. "Absolute, grade-A, werewolf martyr bullshit. That’s not instinct, Derek. That’s a goddamn death wish."

Derek flinches, and Stiles immediately feels sick.

Because he knows. He knows exactly what Derek thinks of himself, what he’s spent years believing. He knows the weight Derek carries, the guilt that wraps around him like chains, the conviction that his life is worth less than everyone else’s.

Stiles exhales sharply, shaking his head. "No. Instinct is dodging a punch or ducking for cover. Instinct is survival," he glares, stepping closer. "That wasn’t survival, Derek. That was you deciding I was worth more than you."

Derek’s jaw tightens. His shoulders go rigid, like he’s bracing for a blow. But he still doesn’t argue.

And that —that makes Stiles’ chest ache.

"Why do you do this?" His voice wavers, but he doesn’t care. "Why do you act like your life is disposable? Like you don’t—" he swallows hard, trying to get the words out. "Like you don’t fucking matter."

Derek exhales, slow and measured, but his fingers twitch against his arms, and Stiles knows him well enough to see the cracks.

"It’s different with you," Derek says, finally.

The words knock the breath from Stiles’ lungs.

Derek swallows, like he regrets saying it, but he doesn’t take it back. He just shifts on his feet and looks away, jaw clenching.

"You’re not—" his voice falters, then steadies again. "I don’t think about it. When it’s you, I just— move. It’s not a choice."

Stiles stares at him, heart hammering. "Derek."

Derek shakes his head, letting out a breath that sounds like defeat. "It’s instinct", he repeats.

There’s a whole new meaning to it. A whole new value that Stiles only came to know now.

It’s not about self-worth, not really. It’s not some calculated decision where Derek weighs his life against Stiles’ and finds himself lacking. It’s deeper than that. It’s his body, his blood, his bones —everything in him telling him to move, to take the hit, to protect Stiles no matter what it costs.

And Stiles— God, Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that.

"You can’t—" his throat tightens, panic and hope rising in his chest. "You can’t just—"

Derek looks back at him then, eyes dark and steady. "I can’t stop it, Stiles." His voice is quiet. "I don’t want to."

And that— that’s what makes Stiles’ stomach swoop and heart skip a beat.

Because Derek isn’t saying this like some tragic martyr. He isn’t throwing himself on the sword just to make a point.

He’s saying this is who he is.

This is how he loves.

Stiles breathes in, breathes out, and suddenly he’s moving. His fingers curl around Derek’s wrist, dragging his hand away from where he’s gripping his own arms, lacing their fingers together like it’s the only thing keeping him steady.

"I don’t care if you think this is your job," Stiles whispers, raw with emotion. "I don’t care if you think you’re supposed to protect me, or the pack, or the whole damn world. Because at the end of the day, Derek, I need you more than I need to be safe. So stop acting like your life is worth less than mine. Stop acting like —like losing you would be anything less than a goddamn tragedy of my life."

Derek’s eyes meet his eyes again, so vulnerable that Stiles just wants to wrap him in a blanket and hide him away from this world of pain.

"You think I’d be okay if you died?" His voice shakes, and his eyes water and he hates it, but he doesn’t stop. There are no walls between them anymore. "You think I’d just —what? Walk away? Go back to my life like losing you wouldn’t wreck me? Do you even realize what you mean to me?"

“Stiles”, Derek says, pleading and praying. 

“Derek,” Stiles replies, just as imploringly. “Derek, please.”

Silence stretched over them for a long moment. Then, finally, barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to do this any other way."

"How to do what?" Stiles asks, already knowing the answer.

Derek clenches his jaw. "I don’t know how to not protect you."

"Then learn," he says, voice softer now. "Learn to protect yourself too. Learn to fight for you the way you fight for me. Not just as the guy who saves my ass when things go sideways. I need you, Derek. Alive. Here. With me. Because I swear to God, Derek, if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll—" His breath catches. "I can’t lose you."

Derek’s fingers twitch in Stiles’ grasp, and for a second, Stiles thinks he might pull away.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he grips Stiles’ hand tighter, like he’s grounding himself, like maybe —for the first time —he’s listening.

"Okay," Derek murmurs, voice rough. "I’ll try."

Stiles exhales, shaky, and lets his forehead drop against Derek’s shoulder. He’ll take it. Derek doesn’t make empty promises, not to him at least. So, he’ll take it. They can start with trying.

"Good,” he presses his nose against his shoulder. “Because if you ever scare me like that again, I swear to God, I’ll find a way to haunt your ghost and make your afterlife miserable."

Derek actually huffs out a small, reluctant laugh, a hand coming up to pull him closer. 

It’s enough.

For now. 

🐺.✨

A/N: dear anon, hope you liked this one. Thanks for reading! I'm starting a taglist. Drop a 🤪 in the comments if you wanna be added to it and know whenever I drop a new fic post!

[paperclips37]

so it's frank's first day back at the pitt, right? what if he has a breakdown during his shift and mel is there for him? 🥺🥺

Is it bad that I found this one fun?

Sorry Frank! Thanks @mateo-diaz!

---

Somewhere between the 3 random drug searches, constant disapproval and suspicion from Robby and the smell of burn flesh Frank doesn’t so much snap and dissolves.

There had been a massive fireworks related fire downtown because of course it had to happen today.

A self hating part of Frank’s brain wondered if Robby had set July 4th as his return date just to break him entirely. His final humiliation.

Over 150 people with a wide variety of burns, spanning the hole spectrum of possible burns. Santos had even vomited at the sixth degree burn. He’d followed suit. Somehow that had felt like a bonding moment. She’d only looked at him with mild pity.

It was the kid.

Same age as Tanner, same hair and friendship bracelet who would be lucky to survive the night that has him loosing touch with reality.

Frank sees that one of the nurses – newer ones – Dana, Princess and Perlah would never- has left the drug dispensing unit open and unlocked on the screen. And him all alone with it.

It would be so easy. The Pitt was an absolute circus, people screaming and crying. The team yelling medical orders back and forth. He could go get what every dark part of his brain was screaming for.

Relief.

Wash away his pain like a baptism.

It takes everything in him to not move. He can’t move away. But he takes that as a very hollow victory.

‘Langdon?’ He can hear someone looking for him. ‘Has anyone seen Langdon? I have a Le Fort Fracture and he is always the best with those fuckers.’ Frank is frozen. Unblinking staring at the cart. Was the universe telling him there was no hope? That no matter how hard he fought to stay sober he was going to get sucker punched with a trigger. The voice is only mildly irritated. Not dismissive or angry. Just annoyed that they can't find him.

‘He was here a moment ago. I’ll find him.’ Weirdly something in him defrosts slightly. The other voice, familiar and deep. These two voices lack the suspicion and horror at his presence that he’s dealt with from almost everyone else today.

‘Good and get him to walk you through the reset King.’ Abbot. The slightly heavier gait registers.

‘Doctor Langdon?’ His hands twitch. The only part of him able to move. Her voice is quiet, doing her best not to draw attention to her search. The curtain slips open, but just enough for her to slip in.

‘Doctor Langdon?’ Mel steps up next to him, not touching him but close enough that he can feel her warmth. ‘Is everything okay?’ She knows it not. He can feel the sweat soaking through his scrubs. With his thawed arm he pointed at the cart. Mel adjusts her glasses as she examines the open and unlocked device.

She steps over and closes everything quietly. His next tox screen was due. He wouldn’t blame Mel if she went and got someone immediately. She doesn’t. Mel turns to him a genuinely sweet but a little sad smile. It’s like she seen this before. Not for the first time he wonders about his former mentees life outside of this place.

‘I didn’t... I swear to god I didn’t....’ The panic attacks hits him like a freight train. The change from the slightly hesitant, easily overwhelmed young doctor to this much more self assured and decisive woman doesn’t take him by surprise. Her instant handling of him. Quite literally grabbing him by the elbow and guiding him towards the staff room.

People would talk. Let them.

‘Doctor Langdon, just take some deep breaths okay. Just breathe.’ Her hand gently guides him to a chair. Mindful of his still aching back. Gripping his shoulder. ‘You are perfectly safe.’

‘I could have- Jesus how I wanted to take and-’ A sob cuts through his chest. Would this be the rest of his life? Just waiting to see if he ever falls off that ledge? Maybe he should have left medicine.

‘But you didn’t.’ That broke through his fog. Blinking back to reality. Mel is kneeling in front of him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Her dark eyes meeting his head on. There was something in her eyes. Something he hadn’t seen in anyone in almost a year.

Trust.

Mel King trusts him.

Even after he has violated almost every rule, any standard held for medical professionals and she still trusts him.

Just who the fuck is Mel King?

Frank hopes he gets a long time in her orbit to figure that question out. And to live up to this faith she has in him.

Maybe even grow to deserve it.

[temptacioun]

yandere ! fushiguro toji

requested by anon

prompts: “i know it hurts, baby. but that’s what happens if you don’t do as i say.” “you’re so cute when you’re struggling.”

toji fucking loved this.

loved watching your brows cinch together tightly, grasping the bedsheets underneath you tightly while he watches you from his position between your thighs. you sure are a tiny thing, even more so underneath his massive build and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hot to see you struggling to take his cock.

he’s barely in halfway and you’re already crying for a break. “i— i’m sorry, toji, please—” with hiccups on your lips and gasping for air, wriggling your hips in his grasp. it’s almost grotesque how much stronger he is than you, how easily his big hands fit around your waist ; you can’t even see past his broad shoulders when you stare up at him. “you’re so cute when you’re struggling.”

toji was a big man, it was no wonder you felt like he was splitting you in half, could feel him poking at your stomach and he wasn’t even close to done with you. “please stop— it hurts!” god, your voice sounded so sweet when laced with pain and terror. he leans down with a grin, cupping your face in his big palm and patting your cheek with fake sympathy.

“i know it hurts, baby. but that’s what happens if you don’t do as i say.” you should’ve known by now, but whenever toji gets that special glint in his eyes you can’t help but flee. but you never get far ; his arms easily wrap around your waist and haul you over his shoulder with a slap to your rear.

that had been maybe two hours ago, and you were still crying for him to stop. he should’ve bought that ball gag when he saw it at the store the other day, but then again, he did love hearing you cry for him. “c’mon love, it’s not the first time. quit being such a spoilsport.” he murmurs, leaning back slightly and his fingers dig into the fat of your thighs and hook your legs over his shoulders with ease — manhandling you into a pretty little mating press underneath him and he sinks right into your tight wet heat with a guttural groan.

“fuck— see? you were made for me, little one. made for my cock.” you wish you weren’t.

[itzsephig5]

Fluff Prompt List

You can request one or two of these prompts and I will write a one-shot for it! The characters that I write for is on my masterlist

My Masterlist

Can we just stay in bed?

You make me so proud; you know that right?

Let me kiss it better

Give me a hug

You make me feel brave

You remembered

I can't believe I married you

I got you your favorite

I'll always choose you

I've been in love with you since we were kids

I like my shirt on you. It looks cute

Can you stay? I don't want to be alone right now

You don't have to pretend around me

You look pretty today

Are you wearing my shirt/hoodie/jacket?

I'll walk you home

I got coffee. This is your favorite, right?

Hey... you've been crying

Shh, stop fussing. I'm just braiding your hair

Don't get up, I'll do it

I know you haven't been feeling great, so I picked up a few of your favorite things (snack, drinks, etc.)

Wow. You look... you look amazing

Hey, are you okay?

Let it all out. I'm here for you

You don't have to tell me anything, but I'm here for you

You're safe now. I promise

A kiss here. A kiss there... Ah! There's the smile I've been hoping to see

Quit stealing all the pillows

Have a nice nap?

Don't be silly. I want to stay up with you

I know you said about getting a dog/cat... so I got you one

I'm so proud to be your mom/dad

You're getting a little brother/sister

I know I can never replace your mom/dad, but I want to be here for you whenever you need it

You are the best brother/sister EVER

[twola]

i know arthur is a giver but sometimes i think he’d like being cruel. i have this image of him leaned back in a chair taking a drag out of his cigarette with reader writhing on his lap with tears in her eyes practically begging for him to do anything to her while he watches with feign indifference

Hooo boy. Okay, this is my first shot at a true low honor Arthur.

Lookin' for Trouble

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

The afternoon light was more than enough for you to finally get to reading after getting Grimshaw’s list of chores done. Finally, you’d be able to crack open this book that Hosea lent you all those weeks ago.

All of a sudden, the light is obscured over the pages of your book, and when you look up, you place a hand over your eyes to see the mountain of a man before you, peering down at you with a cigarette hanging off his lips.

“Oh, Arthur, I didn’t realize you’d be back so quick.” You smile up to him, closing the book and moving to your knees to stand up.

An outstretched hand juts into your view, “Ain’t nothin’ interesting in that backwater town.”

You take it and allow him to pull you up, but you frown up at him and don’t let go, turning both of your hands so that his knuckles face the two of you. The skin is broken and oozing a small amount of blood.

“Oh dear, let me clean that up for you in your tent.”

You drop his hand and he follows, smoking that cigarette without a reply. On its head, it must be a funny sight, the grizzled outlaw following your small frame back to his tent so dutifully. 

He pulls the canvas down after the two of you enter the tent, tall enough being built off his wagon. The perks of being the enforcer of the group. You make yourself busy looking in the chest at the foot of his cot for some alcohol as you pull a handkerchief from the pocket of your skirt.

Arthur sits down on the edge of the cot, taking that old black hat from his head and dropping it atop the pillow that had seen better days.

“Here we go,” you dab your handkerchief with a bottle of god-knows-what and move back toward where Arthur sits.

He places the still-lit cigarette in the little glass tray at his bedside, the end of it continuing to smolder as he blows smoke toward the top of the tent, away from you.

You frown, twisting your head to change your view of his outstretched knuckles. “It’s an awkward angle, I-”

He cuts you off by making you yelp as his free hand shoots around your hip and pulls you down, your rear colliding with his firm thigh, his hand on your hip balancing you as you regain your composure.

“Oh… thanks…” you blush slightly, having been caught off guard. You return to dabbing at the broken skin of his knuckles, his large hand outstretched and dwarfing yours, as you perch upon his thigh, your back flush to his barrel chest.

“How did this happen?” You ask softly as you pick at the dirt in his inflamed, broken skin. 

“Y’know, a bit of this, bit of that.”

You sigh, “I really hope you ain't out pickin’ fights, Arthur.”

Arthur hums dismissively in response, jostling you slightly on his thigh. He props the cigarette between his teeth and his free hand moves forward and begins bunching your skirts up, the hem of your dress being pulled higher and higher.

“Arthur-” You go to scold, but his searching hand gravitates right over where he’s looking for, pressing against your cunt through your bloomers. You give another yelp as his finger digs at the cotton, prodding and stroking and petting.

“A-Arthur, I’m tryin’ to-”

As you go to grip his forearm with both hands, his injured hand darts downward, grasping both of your wrists and holding them away from your body, essentially binding you and leaving you unable to stop his ministrations.

A low, satisfied noise rumbles out through his chest as you pant, his fingers edging the leg of your bloomers open and touching your bare skin. Just barely touching, teasing, as you squirm in his lap, his hold on your wrists as strong as iron. 

You honest-to-god whine, tears welling behind your eyes as you squirm in his lap, trying to break free of his hold on your hands, trying to jut your hips into his hand more.

“A-Arthur- god, please-” you gasp aloud, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as you beg. He removes his hand entirely and you nearly sob at the loss.

Cracking your eyes open, you see him pull the cigarette from his mouth and place it in that glass tray, mashing the butt into the ash as he puts it out. He bounces his thigh as his hand returns to your cunt, chuckling darkly as you continue to squirm.

“Ain’t you just the prettiest little thing when you’re all needy like this?”

A fresh set of tears burst from your eyes as his hand snakes into your bloomers again to rub at you.

“P-please-”

“Please what, what d’ya need darlin’?”

He cups your cunt fully and helps you roll your hips over his thigh bone, and it’s all you can do not to sob loudly at the frustration.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Arthur please, please god, please touch me.”

“I am touchin’ ya’.” He responds, pleased with himself as you struggle against his grip, iron-like in its strength.

“In-inside-” you pant, continuing to squirm against him.

“Hmm, like this?”

You are able to bite back the scream you nearly let out as Arthur slides his trigger finger into your dripping cunt. He curls it with a practiced precision, and you buck in his lap, throwing your head back against the curve of his shoulder. Your temple brushes against his days-old beard before he leans in against you.

“There’s my girl,” he nips at your earlobe with haughty pride, fully taking satisfaction with the way you writhe atop him, “Makin’ them noises like a whore.”

There’s no snapping back at him, no retort back at his dry, teasing humor. You are able to do nothing but give a breathy sigh, almost agreeing with his statement.

Arthur grabs your hips and hoists you up to stand, quickly following and pushing you two stumbling steps to the table where a few of his guns are spread out. One sweep of his arm and the guns clatter into the grass before you're abruptly bent at the waist and spread out on the table.

“Arthur-”

One of his large hands splays across your lower back as he fiddles with the buttons of his pants. Essentially keeping you pinned down on the table, you have no option but to lay there and take whatever he is going to give you.

Arthur pulls your skirts up, tossing them over your hips before yanking your bloomers down and over the swell of your ass. His hand is between your legs quicker than you can sputter in indignation, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning as he strokes his thick fingers in and out of your wetness. Your eyes tightly shut as you breathe out your nose, and for a moment, you’re empty as he pulls away.

The hot, blunt head of his cock prods your entrance before he pushes himself inside you, in one strong thrust. Your fingers clamp on the edge of the table as you clench your teeth at the intrusion, fluttering on the edge of pain as his thick cock stretches you. It’s always like this, he’s not much of a gentle man. 

“Tha’s it, what a good girl you are, takin’ everything I give ya.” Arthur drawls as he begins to buck his hips forward into yours, unflinchingly setting a rough, fast pace.

You’re unable to last after all the stimulation before, and it’s not long into the slamming of him into you that you begin to get that feeling that your release was imminent.

“A-Arthur-” you gasp out as you reel toward completion, the table squealing beneath you as he rocks his hips into yours faster, harder - punishing - all six foot of him hunches over you as he fucks you into a wet, messy orgasm, you pressing your forehead into the table as you clench around him.

He grunts, jerking his hips backward as his hands clamp harshly around your hips, squeezing so hard you’re sure there will be bruises in the morning. You feel the hot splatter of his spend on your rear as he lets out a long breath through his nose, trying himself to be quiet within the confines of the tent.

You pant, still bent over the small table, your skirts flipped over your hips as your knees shake. You hear Arthur fiddle with his pants before returning to you, his hands grasping at your thighs greedily before pulling at your skirts to right them.

He swats, albeit gently, at your rear before your skin disappears under your skirts. 

“You gonna let me finish cleaning you up?” You ask, leaning over slightly to pick up your discarded bloomers from the ground, tucking them into your pocket.

Arthur sits back on his cot, his pants still unbuttoned and open unapologetically, as a sly smile creeps across his face.

“If yer really gonna clean me up, I think there’s a lot less clothing involved.”

[seafoamdew]

Good soup 👌🏼

[littlejuicebox]

Hi! I'm not sure if you take requests so if you don't, please ignore this and I hope you had a wonderful Christmas.

I just read your Astarion X Tav fanfic where Astarion proposes. It is said that the ring he got glows whenever Astarion thinks of Tav. I was just wondering if you could write a slice of life about the ring glowing at the most random times. Maybe during a stealth mission where Tav has to stay hidden or when he is smiling in his sleep and the ring glows. I just thought it would be cute and fun to write about. You can get creative with it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, whether you end up doing this request or not. I hope you had an amazing Christmas and I hope you will have an amazing New Year's!

Hi Anon! I don’t think this is quite what you were asking for but… this is what came out! 🤷‍♀️ The smut gods blessed me and I cannot deny their gifts. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Smut below the cut.

If you haven’t read my other work and would like context, Anon is referencing a two part mini story I wrote. Click here for part 1, and click here for part 2.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only please, smut, masturbation, sex pollen, swearing/cursing, game spoilers

Word Count: 1.5K

-----

“I think we’re just… a bit out of practice, darling. It has been nearly a year since we were down here last, you know.” Astarion whispers, crouched next to you behind a Funguswood tree. He’s wiping bits of dirt, twigs, and mushroom pollen off himself with a handkerchief.

“Admit it, Astarion. You just weren’t fast enough.” You respond with a small, teasing poke of your tongue as you rearrange your weaponry and count your arrows.

The pale elf finishes wiping off the debris, and you return your attentions to the mission. You’d been contracted to scout out the vampire stronghold in the Underdark and report your findings back to Wyll and the Flaming Fists. Rumor was that the vampire hoard had wreaked absolute havoc on the Underdark; the city feared the creatures would soon return to the surface if they could not find sustenance here.

“Would you have preferred I let that wild Rothé ram you into those mushrooms in my stead?!” Astarion hisses in return while rubbing his hand over his arm, which now felt unbelievably tingly and was starting to radiate significant warmth, “Hells, what mushrooms were those, anyway?!”

You stifle a chuckle, knowing your fiancé is already past his limits of patience. You two need to get to the scouting point, set up camp, and hunker down for a few days… all while avoiding detection from the vampires or any other nefarious creatures in the Underdark. Best to do it without an ornery Astarion by your side.

“I don’t know what mushrooms those were. I’ve never seen them before.” You admit with a small shrug, “Come on my love, not much further now and then we can get you properly cleaned up.”

Astarion follows behind you in silence, apart from the occasional cursing and swiping at his skin. Gods, the heat had spread up his entire arm now. The scratching seemed to make it worse, but by the hells, he couldn’t stop no matter how much he wanted to. The two of you finally got to the cragged rock that led to a small cave where you would make camp, and he never felt more relieved in his life. He couldn’t wait to clean himself properly and be done with this burning sensation.

You glance at him briefly and then begin climbing the rock. Astarion remains below to keep you covered in case anything decides to attack while you’re left defenseless. He looks up to watch your progress and cannot help but to notice the overwhelmingly attractive curve of your bottom. It was always attractive, of course, but something about it in this moment was entirely… irresistible. Had you been working out recently in preparation for the wedding?

You’re halfway through climbing the rock when your engagement ring bursts into a spray of light. It often glows significantly at the surface, but in the blackness of the Underdark, you’re practically a beacon. Your stomach drops. Gods, how had you forgotten to take it off?

“Astarion!” You hiss in a panicked whisper, “Cut it out! Every being in all of the Underdark will know our position.”

Astarion had realized the issue as soon as the light had flared, of course. He was trying desperately to avoid thinking of you and all the delicious things he wanted to do when you two made camp, but gods he couldn’t control it. What in the hells was wrong with him? He wanted to stop, to ensure your safety, but your plump, perfect ass was practically calling his name, begging for his attention, and he wanted nothing more than to bend you over and—

He shakes his head, trying to rattle the lewd fantasies from his psyche, “I’m trying, my love! I don’t know what’s come over me I just—“

Hags. Hideous shoes. Ghouls. Manual labor. Gale.

The pale elf tries to think of all the most grotesque, unsexy things he can and push you entirely from his mind. You continue to climb, hoping to quickly reach the top and take off your ring as soon as possible. The ring is still glowing like a single star in the blackest night.

Ogres. The smell of Araj’s blood. Rats. Gale.

Gods, it was useless.

Finally, you reach the top. You rip the ring off your finger and shove it in your pack as soon as your limbs land on the surface of the cave. Astarion quickly scales the rock behind you, and when he reaches the top, you’re positively glaring at him.

“Darling, I’m sorry! I really tried. It’s just— gods damn these mushrooms!” The vampire is ripping off his shirt and scratching at his skin as the two of you walk into the little cave. Before long he’s down to his knickers and cursing as he rubs desperately at his flesh.

You’re trying to ignore your fiancé and quickly pitch the tent so you can handle whatever the hells is going on with him. A sideways glance to your pack reveals that the ring is still glowing quite intensely… perhaps more than it ever has before. Was that even possible? At any rate, you can’t get closer to the stronghold with it glowing like that.

“Astarion, I don’t know what—“ You spin around, and you’re surprised to see the elf fully nude on his blanket, doing perhaps the most provocative thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Astarion is beaded in sweat by now, and his hands are wandering over himself, chasing the burning tingle as it travels through his body. Gods, the feeling was becoming absolutely unbearable. He kept seeing visions of you and him in the throes of passion in his mind.

He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Did he want to stop? He couldn’t decide. All he knew was the intense tingling and burning coursing through his veins and the wonderful fantasies filling his brain. He needed release from this torture; his limbs were on fire and the sensation was spreading to his groin.

The elf knows by the throbbing pulse in his cock that his erection is at full capacity, and he feels the dribbles of precum slowly sliding from the head, down the shaft. Astarion is, admittedly embarrassed knowing you are mere feet away and witnessing such an erratic show, but he grabs his own cock regardless— gods, it felt like being possessed. He needed release and he needed it now.

As his fingers wrap around his shaft, a burst of relief travels through his body. The tingling ceases for a moment. But then, it flares again and he’s consumed by the burning feeling and vulgar thoughts of the two of you once more. He pumps his hand a few times, bucking into the sensation, and once again the torturous tingle halts.

What in the hells?

Astarion is now rolling his hips towards his own hand, groaning in pure ecstasy at the relief from the burn as well as the delicious sensation of his hands stroking his uncharacteristically sensitive member. His eyes are clasped closed, and his other hand is still wandering over his torso, chasing that burning itch.

Through panting, shaking breaths he murmurs, “Darling, is it— oh gods, is possible that those— fuck — mushrooms contained sex pollen? I’ve never— mmh, fuck.”

You’d been so enraptured by the vision of your lover touching himself in such an uninhibited display of lust that you almost didn’t hear what Astarion asked. The slickness of your arousal was starting to become apparent as you instinctively squeezed your thighs together.

“I’m… I’m not sure, my love. I’ve read of such things but I’ve never come across it… until, perhaps, now I suppose.”

Astarion isn’t really listening. Instead, he’s bucking wildly into his own hand, chasing his own release. He falls apart in front of you, with his limbs tensed and mouth agape in pure, unadulterated pleasure, clasping tightly onto his own length. The gasping, strangled moan of relief that escapes him as he reaches his climax and shoots sticky streams of hot white seed onto his abdomen ignites a fire in your groin. He’s shuddering with the rippling aftershocks of his orgasm and you feel yourself dripping with arousal as you rub your thighs together once more. This display was entirely feral.

For a few moments the vampire is breathing contentedly, eyes still shut. He’s still holding his cock, which continues to twitch insistently despite its significant spend. Your lover brings his unoccupied hand to his hair and rakes it through his disheveled, sweaty curls.

You flick your gaze to your pack and notice that it’s no longer emitting that ethereal glow. But then Astarion groans in dismay and you see light flare from your bag again. When your attention returns back to your fiancé, he’s already grasping wantonly at a second rapidly growing erection.

“Darling, I can smell you,” He hisses desperately, now slathering his own milky juices around the swollen, reddened tip of his thick cock. The veins in his arm and on his shaft are pulsing as he begins to stroke himself again, “Don’t be coy just— come over here and help me with this. Please.”

And by the gods, he asked so nicely, how could you say no?

[outsideratheart]

41 with Alexia

41 //looking at their lips as they talk// 

The sun shon bright in the Barcelona sky as you stood pitch side ready to report on the infamous El Classico. It was a match that you loved to play in but you picked up a serious ankle injury a couple of months ago and you weren’t quite fit to play or even to train yet.

5-0 was the end result yet throughout the halftime and post match media you tried your best to remain fair even though everybody knew you bled Blaugrana.

Like always the team did a lap of the pitch. You knew they were getting close as the fans behind the camera erupted, all of them wanting a shirt signed or a photo with their favourite player. So whilst you did expect to see one or maybe two of your team mates what you didn’t expect was to feel a hand of the small of your back and the sight of Alexia standing next to you. Here she was, the woman who hated doing media with every fibre of her being, voluntarily giving an interview.

“Ladies and Gentleman, La Reina herself”

The use of the nickname she loved to hate earned you a playful shove.

One of the official presenters made the most of having both you and Alexia in an interview given that you hadn’t done for in months. Much to you surprise Alexia was in a chatty mood and you spent most of the interview taking in her beauty. It wasn’t a huge secret that you and her were dating but you never got round to doing a hard launch so to say.

You notice some of Alexia’s hair fall in front of her face so as if by instinct you place it gently behind her ear. This earns you a look off Alexia as if saying are you going to do what happens next when you do this at home. It’s safe to say the thought did cross your mind but you knew now wasn’t the time or place. It didn’t stop you from glancing down at her lips as she spoke about how proud she is of the team. Her passion is one of the things you loved most about her and you know the look in your eyes will show this but you didn’t mind.

Alexia’s hand squeezes your hip, an act which she knows will earn a reaction given you’re ticklish.

“Que?”

“La pregunta?”

You turn your attention to the presenter and it’s clear she asked you question.

“Lo siento” your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Don’t apologise. Alexia gave us everything we need about the game and I’m sure you gave us enough material to make the fans happy”

You both thank the presenter and Alexia waits whilst you give back your mic pack. The two of you are some of the last players on the pitch and walk into the tunnel together. Even though you weren’t playing you did plan on joining in on the locker room celebration but just before you reach the door Alexia grabs your wrist and pulls you back to her.

“What?”

“I thought maybe you wanted to look at my lips some more seen as though you refused to look at anything else out there”

“Why you got to call me out like that?”

“I’m not. I’m simply giving you a chance to do something other than stare”

Alexia’s lips was on yours before you had to chance to reply. She has you pinned against the wall with no care in the world who could see you. Alexia rested one hand against the wall beside your head and her other grabbed your hip. Yours travelled up her back beneath her loosely fitted leather jacket.

For a brief moment you forget where you were and when you felt Alexia’s tongue brush against you lips you allowed her entry.

“Well well well, look what we have here. Our dear captains the celebration are in the locker room but I can see that you are having a very good time out here in the hallway” Mapi says rather smugly.

“Leave them alone Maria” Ingrid pushes her towards the locker room “Not that I want to interrupt but the rest of the team is on there way so you might want to go somewhere else if you want to continue”

All three of you begin laughing at the situation and whilst you wanted nothing more than to pick you where you were before getting interrupted, you knew that it was best to be done at home away from prying eyes and teasing team mates.

[ashyblondwaves]

Can you write Peeta giving katniss a bath after a particularly messy day in the woods and she comes home happy but muddy?

This is such a fun little prompt! I had a blast with this one, thank you!

Move Me, Darling

Rating: Soft M

I’m on the porch painting when she comes home with mud from her boots to her forehead, twigs in her hair, and the brightest smile I’ve seen in weeks. When I see a smile like that, I don’t even care if she tracks dirt across every surface in the house. 

I should’ve known the overnight storms would make for a muddy visit to the woods for Katniss today, but she insisted she go. Perfect conditions for finding mushrooms, she’d said. She must’ve found them, because her game bag is full, and she looks like the cat that caught the canary as she trudges up the cobblestone to our house. 

She stops at the edge of the porch and raises her eyebrows, as if daring me to say something. I set my brush down and give a smile back that matches hers.

“So,” I start, meeting her at the bottom of the first step. “Do I want to know what happened to the rest of the woods?”

“Well, most of it’s in my boots,” she says, plucking a twig from her braid. “And my hair.”

“Successful hunt, or did you roll down a hill for fun this time?” I ask with a smirk. 

“Both, actually,” she snorts, rocking back on her heels.

She looks so innocent. Younger, somehow. Like the girl I remember from school.  

“Should I get the hose or draw you a bath?” I finally ask. 

“Depends,” she grins. “Are you joining me?”

I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face. These days are few and far between, where Katniss is at ease with herself, carefree enough to just have fun in the woods, and truly be the young adult she actually is. 

“I think I can do that,” I say with a nod. 

She steps closer, reaches for me with her grubby fingers, and grins. Before I can dodge her, she presses a damp kiss to my cheek, leaving a perfect muddy handprint behind on my shirt

“There,” she says, walking past me and up the porch steps, undoing her braid as she moves. “Now you match me.”

I watch her disappear inside, one muddy boot already half-off and clunking against the floorboards as she goes. There’s a trail of damp footprints and tiny leaves in her wake, and I don’t care at all. Not when the culprit is a happy Katniss. 

I press my hand to the kiss she left on my cheek, but not too hard. I like the reminder.

By the time I head inside, she’s already peeled out of her jacket and is working on her shirt, dirty fingers made stiff by drying mud. 

“You’re leaving a path of destruction, you know,” I say, brushing past her toward the stairs. “At this rate, I’ll be scrubbing the floor until next week.”

“Then you better make the bath worth it,” she tosses back without looking up, her voice half-laugh, half-dare.

I’m already smiling as I take the steps two at a time.

The tub in the upstairs bathroom is old but deep, claw footed and charming. Just big enough for the two of us. I twist the tap, test the water with my fingers, and reach for the jar of mint leaves we keep under the sink. She likes those. She says they smell like early mornings.

The water’s steaming by the time I hear her pad up the stairs. I turn to find her in the doorway, shirt loose and hanging open, her breasts on display. Her cheeks flush from the way I am looking at her, but she stands her ground.

“You gonna gawk or get in?” she asks, arms crossing with a smirk that tells me she already knows the answer.

I extend my hand toward her, and she takes it willingly, shimmying out of her shirt and letting it drop to the floor as she moves closer to the aromatic bath. Once she’s out of her clothes, I take her hand again and help her step in. She hisses at the heat, but it’s followed by a soft moan as she sits and submerges her body in the water. 

“That good, huh?” I ask, watching the way her eyes flutter closed. Her head tips back against the porcelain.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Almost worth getting stuck in a landslide for.”

“You what?” I say.

“Nothing. Get in here,” she says, cracking one eye open.

I strip without ceremony, her gaze shameless as it drifts down my body and lingers. The water is hot when I dip my good leg in, waiting just a moment to acclimate myself before fully sitting down. The warmth soothes my joints immediately, and I can see why Katniss let out that sound. It feels good. 

She shifts, her legs brushing mine underwater. It could be accidental, but the look she gives me says otherwise.

“You smell like mint and mischief,” she murmurs, reaching to trail wet fingers along my jaw.

“You smell like forest and trouble,” I shoot back, dipping my head to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Irresistible.”

Luckily, the mud was contained mostly to her clothes, so the water is only slightly murky from what was on her hands. I use a wet wash cloth to rid her face of the mud, and she leans into my touch with every swipe, sighing in that way she does when she’s content, and with a new wash cloth, I move downward. 

I start with her shoulders, gliding the warm cloth over her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. The faint sheen of dirt lifts easily, revealing the soft skin beneath. She closes her eyes again, her head tilting just enough to give me better access to the slope of her neck.

“You’re going to spoil me,” she murmurs, her voice low and lazy.

“Good,” I whisper back, tracing the line of her collarbone. “You deserve it.”

Her breath catches when I move lower, the cloth passing over the swell of her breasts with the same reverence I might give something sacred. I don’t rush. I let my fingers linger as I rinse, the barest pressure guiding the warmth of the water down her sternum, between her ribs, across the plane of her stomach. Her skin twitches under my touch.

She doesn’t speak now. Doesn’t need to. Her body does, in the way she sinks a little deeper into the tub, in the way her legs shift slightly, brushing against mine under the surface.

I lift one of her arms, careful, like I’m handling something fragile, and run the cloth along its length. Then the other. Her hands rest on my knees now, grounding us both, the water lapping gently between our bodies.

“You cold?” I ask, my voice hushed.

“Not even close,” she says, opening her eyes.

“Good,” I smile and lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her damp temple. 

“Your turn next,” she says, turning her face toward me, her lips nearly brushing mine.

She shifts, the movement sending a small ripple through the water, and takes the cloth from my hand. Her fingers graze mine purposefully as she does, her eyes not leaving my face.

“Lean back,” she says softly.

I do as she asks, resting against the curve of the tub while she wrings out the cloth and begins her work. Her touch is different from mine, more teasing than reverent, but no less gentle. She starts at my neck, brushing away the sweat and faint trace of paint from earlier in the day that somehow always manages to get in places they shouldn’t. The cloth is warm, but it’s her hands I feel more than anything else. Sure, slow, unhurried.

“Oops, I missed a spot,” she says playfully, tapping the center of my chest.

“Oh? Better get it, then,” I murmur, keeping my eyes closed.

She presses the cloth there, dragging it down the line of my sternum with maddening precision. Her knuckles brush skin as she rinses, and I open my eyes, unable to help the small intake of breath that earns me a satisfied look.

“Hmm,” she murmurs, letting the cloth trail lower before shifting to my side, wrapping one arm around me for balance. Her breath is near my ear now. “You're flushed.”

“I’m in a hot bath with a beautiful woman,” I say, my voice lower than I intended. “Kind of inevitable.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, but I feel the way she presses closer, her chest against mine now, slick and warm and bold. The cloth floats, forgotten, as her hands settle instead against my shoulders, then trace lightly down my arms, curling at my wrists.

We sit like that for a long moment, the only sounds the gentle splash of water and the quiet stutter of our breathing as the heat wraps around us. There's no rush. There never is with her. Not in moments like these.

“Stay a while,” she whispers.

“Try and get rid of me,” I say with a nod, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. 

Her legs shift again beneath the water, draping over mine now, her knees bracketing my hips. Skin against skin. Warmth against warmth. She moves like she’s always known how to unravel me, and I let her, breath hitching as she settles more fully into my lap.

Her fingers slide up my chest again, this time without the cloth, tracing the line of muscle, the dips and rises she’s memorized in the moonlight, she now reacquaints herself with in daylight. The air between us crackles, but her movements stay slow, indulgent. Like she’s savoring. Like she wants to draw this out for as long as she can.

“You’re staring,” she says, voice soft but sultry, lips brushing just shy of mine.

“I’m memorizing,” I murmur back. “Every freckle. Every breath.”

She doesn’t argue, just tilts forward and kisses me, slow and deep, like we’ve got all the time in the world. And we do. The water laps against the porcelain with every shift, every gentle press of her body to mine. Her hands move again. First down my arms, then my sides, anchoring herself as she deepens the kiss, tongue brushing mine with a languid tease that makes my stomach clench and my fingers grip her hips beneath the water.

She gasps against my mouth when I pull her just a little closer, the slick heat of her skin sliding over mine, and for a breathless moment we just stay there, touching, tasting, breathing each other in.

Her forehead rests against mine, our noses brushing.

“We’re going to overflow the tub,” she whispers, smiling like she doesn’t care one bit.

“Let it overflow,” I say, catching her mouth again before she can respond.

The water has cooled by the time we pull apart, our breathing uneven, our skin flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with temperature anymore. She leans back just enough to look at me, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of heat.

“Come on,” she says, her voice husky and low as she stands, water cascading from her skin like silk. She doesn’t reach for a towel, she just holds out her hand, bold and bare and beautiful.

I take it without hesitation and let her help me from the tub.

We step carefully onto the mat, her fingers still wrapped around mine, leading me out of the bathroom and down the hall, dripping footprints in our wake. The bedroom is dim and warm, the sheets already rumpled from this morning. The scent of mint still clings to her skin, but it’s mixed now with something headier. Something wholly hers.

She turns to face me as we reach the bed. There’s no rush in the way she moves, just certainty. Just intent.

She brushes a hand along my jaw, tilting my face toward hers.

“No more interruptions,” she whispers. “Just us, here, together.”

“Just as it should be,” I murmur. 

And when she pulls me down with her, I follow willingly.

[jshkprompts]

Mitsukou and Terukane role and age swap, Kou is the eldest Minamoto son with Teru as his younger brother, Mitsuba is the clockkeeper of the present, and Akane died in his second year of middle school

❀ prompt by @nsthebrotherangstguy