#ruby needs to be put down too.

[princeizuku]

hey alexa, play “good luck, babe!” by chappell roan

[shubbzebubs]

On my knees, begging ppl of the opposite taste of mine to not give me lip about my taste for big men...... Different tastes different flavors and all

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lipstick stains.

reader decides to dabble with art using several lipstick as her tools and sylus' sleeping face as her canvas.

fluff. inspired by one of sylus' texts in the game (included down below near the end). no warnings, just little kisses and reader having a little fun <3

It's two in the afternoon and there's nothing to do until sunset, when it's time to get ready for a date with your lover who's currently sleeping.

No... maybe there is something you could do.

A certain someone recently just bought you several new shades of lipstick from the brand that you love. Maybe now is a good idea to see which color would suit your outfit best for your date.

You wore a sly grin as you gathered all of your new lipstick and tiptoed your way inside Sylus' bedroom.

He's still in the same position as when you put him to bed: mostly on his back, though his upper body's slightly on a higher level due to the fluffy cold pillow supporting his shoulders.

He's wearing his satin burgundy robe, which had gotten a little loose to expose a portion of his chest. You were tempted to rest your head against it, but you can't afford to be distracted right now. You have a mission.

You're going to test the shades of your new lipstick with Sylus' help.

First up is cherry.

You put on a single layer of that color on your lips, then you carefully leaned down towards Sylus' face and softly kissed his forehead. You made sure it was as light as a feather so he doesn't wake up and end your fun so soon.

Next: rose.

You painted your lips with the brighter shade and pecked Sylus' left cheek. It gave a similar result as the previous contender: it looks great, but this particular color probably won't match your outfit tonight.

Third candidate is: wine

This one went to his right cheek and your gaze lingered on it for a little longer than the rest, as the color seemed so fitting on Sylus' face. The stain of wine always did compliment him, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

Up next is blood-red.

It's darker than wine and you also love its velvety texture. More importantly, the kiss mark of its hue looks wonderful on Sylus' left jawline.

Following that is blush.

This one's brighter and more on the pink side. Even though you like it, tonight won't be the night when you'd wear it. Nonetheless, it certainly looks lovely on your lover's chin, which twitched for a second after you kissed it.

Next one is apple.

You kissed the right side of Sylus' jaw and awed at its surprisingly vibrant tone. This one might work quite well with your outfit.

There's the shade called merlot, too.

It's more on the darker side, but you're not sure if it'll look good with your outfit tonight. On the other hand, it's cute on Sylus' nose.

Last but not least: ruby

This one seems like it's in the middle of the palette in terms of saturation, and it appears to have an appealing texture as well. To test it out, you put it on your lips and left a mark on the little spot just above his lips.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Sylus stirred all of a sudden, so you ended up kissing him on the lips.

From the very moment your lips touched, your face heated up and you backed away in panic.

You've kissed him plenty of times. You've kissed him on the lips and on spots that are not his lips. You've done way more than kissing. And yet still, your heart raced at the thought of him catching you stealing kisses from him while he sleeps.

It's still a little early for him to wake up, so you decided to leave him alone for now. You took all of your lipstick with you and ran out before he could detect your presence.

//////////

Your mouth drops at the text message you just received.

"I need to hide, quickly! You guys better not snitch on me! Especially you, Mephie!" You glared at the crow before leaving Luke and Kieran, suddenly ending your game of Kitty Cards.

You fled to look for a hiding spot, but it's too late. Your face planted against a strong chest.

You swore you heard a cough from behind you, followed by the sound of someone's phone clicking for a picture.

It didn't matter though because Sylus spared no attention to Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto as his eyes are completely focused on you.

"Sylus....." you laughed nervously. "Good afternoon. Had a nice dream?"

"Mhmm." He crossed his arms, giving you a raised brow. "In my dream, I was being attacked by a mischievous kitten while I was asleep."

"...."

"You're coming with me." He took one step towards you and leaned down to whisper to your ear. "You have to be punished for your crimes."

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and retreated back to his bedroom.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other.

"Did you get the picture?"

"Yeah."

[missdynamighttt]

feining for frat boy katsuki…

it was hot. loud. half the girls were already screaming over shirtless frat boys grinding against windshields. your friend dragged you out with a “come on, it’s for charity!” and now you’re standing in the corner with a lukewarm lemonade and zero expectations.

you didn’t even want to come to this stupid fraternity fundraiser.

your roommate dragged you out with the promise of half-naked frat boys, but all you’ve seen so far are drenched freshmen trying to flex their way into a hernia.

but then you see him.

he’s got his back turned at first—lean muscle, golden skin, red swim trunks slung way too low on his hips. sunlight catches the water dripping down his back like it’s staged. and when he turns around?

game over. he’s gorgeous.

sharp jaw, wild blonde hair flattened from water, a cocky little smirk on his face as he wrings a sponge out over his head, totally aware of the stares.

and he sees you. right away. ruby eyes locked with yours and gives the most arrogant little up-nod like, yeah. you’re next.

you try to act unaffected. fail immediately.

he saunters over, sudsy bucket in one hand, water dripping down his abs like it’s a fucking calvin klein ad. stops right in front of you, eyeing your car, then you, then your car again. “you the one drivin’ this piece of shit?”

you blink. “excuse me?!”

he shrugs but you can see a little grin tugging on the corner of his mouth, smug and unbothered. “relax. i’ll make it look brand new.”

he puts the bucket down, saunters over, and damn—he’s even hotter up close. tall. muscles for days. and that little scar on his cheek? unfair.

then, leaning closer, voice low: “the name's katsuki bakugo. what’s yours, sweet girl?”

you tell him. maybe a little breathless.

he repeats it once—slow, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “hm. yeah. i like that.”

and then he goes to work. but not just on the car.

katsuki bakugo washes that car like he’s auditioning for the dirtiest boy band you’ve ever seen. dropping the sponge just to bend over in front of you, ass on full display. making eye contact when he slides his hand over the hood like he’s caressing it. watering himself down with a hose and shaking his hair out like he’s in a shampoo commercial from hell.

by the time he’s done, your car is sparkling. and so are you—flushed, flustered.

he tosses the sponge into the bucket, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. “lemme know if you need a private wash sometime.”

and then he walks away, with you watching the water dripping down the curve of his spine, no better than a teenage boy ogling the back of a girl's bikini. you swear you black out for a second too.

it’s only a few hours after the car wash before he slides in your dms, smooth but dirty. you’re in your room, still reeling from whatever the hell that was, when your phone buzzes.

king.explosionmurder has sent you a message.

(yeah. that’s his actual handle. because of course it is.) then, you open it.

king.explosionmurder:

can't stop thinking about the girl with the shittiest car and the cutest fuckin’ face.

you stare. then another message pops up.

king.explosionmurder:

u free tonight?

or maybe you're too busy being adorable somewhere else?

your heart does a thing. you type out a reply—something just barely cocky enough to match him:

you:

depends

you always this forward?

king.explosionmurder:

only for girls with shitty taste in cars

so, only you

let me buy you a drink, sweet girl?

you:

fine

you can buy me a drink, frat boy

but for the record?

my taste in cars is not that shitty

king.explosionmurder:

whatever you say beautiful

8 pm, sunset bar down 5th ave

don't be late

katsuki shows up five minutes early, in a black tee that clings to his chest and jeans that should be illegal. hair still messy from his post-car-wash shower. when you walk in, his eyes track you like you’re the only person in the room.

“tch. thought you were gonna flake.”

you roll your eyes. “you’d cry if i did.”

his mouth twitches. “like a damn baby.”

then the date just... hits different. it wasn't what you expected. sure, it’s packed with college students and frat bros, but in the back corner booth? with him?

it’s quiet. comfortable. almost… intimate.

he’s not much of a talker, but with you? he tries. you ask about his major—he’s an aspiring pro-hero, of course—and he asks about yours, grumbling when you light up talking about it, because “fuck, that smile’s gonna kill me.”

and even though he’d die before saying it out loud, the minute you take a sip of your drink and laugh at something dumb he says? he’s gone. head over heels.

he walks you back to your dorm with his hand on the small of your back, even though it’s barely a ten-minute walk. says “text me when you’re in” even though he literally watched you unlock your door. stands there, gruff and gorgeous, waiting.

“gonna invite me?” he asks, tone teasing.

you shake your head, grinning. “not on the first date, i'm not.”

he groans dramatically. “damn. fuckin’ killin’ me here.”

you grin. “goodnight, frat boy.”

but he doesn’t move right away.

just stands there under the warm porch light, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work off the ache of not touching you again. his shirt clings to him in the summer heat, his jaw sharp in the glow, but it’s his eyes that freeze you in place.

not hard. not sharp. not the glare he usually levels at the world.

but soft. heavy. like you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs and he doesn’t even want it back.

he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

he takes one small step closer, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his chest, close enough that if either of you moved just an inch, you’d be kissing.

“goodnight, sweet girl,” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel laced with honey.

it hits you somewhere deep. like he’s branding the words into you.

and then—he actually smiles. a real one. lopsided, shy, the kind of smile you’d never expect from someone who threatens to body slam people over couch cushions.

then he turns and walks away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head down, like if he looks back even once, he’ll do something stupid like run back and kiss you senseless.

you close the door behind you, heart thudding so hard you swear your roommate can hear it.

you’re screwed. so screwed.

because things after that? they move fast.

to everyone else, he was the guy who'd scream if you left dishes in the sink, throw a beer can at you if you sat on his side of the couch, and threaten to body slam you if you so much as breathe near him.

but the entire frat house knew that their loud, grumpy, terrifyingly efficient frat dad—had a soft spot the size of a planet. and that soft spot? was for you.

you’re the only person allowed in his room during his grumpy post-practice naps. the only one who can touch his hair without him flinching. he’d grumble when you flick his forehead when he was being dramatic but he'd let you.

he might curse under his breath, but when you’d slide onto his lap during movie night, he'd wrap an arm around you like it was instinct. like protecting you came as naturally as breathing.

he had snacks stocked in the mini fridge (not for him, you liked them). he hands you your favorite snack and grumbles, “was on sale. don’t get used to it,” even though it’s never on sale but he bought six of them anyway.

and when finals week hits? he’s a damn soldier for you.

caffeine runs. your favorite takeout. quiet growls at anyone who tries to talk to you in the library. he reads your flashcards like they’re enemy coordinates and quizzing you becomes his personal mission.

but the best part? the tiny, quiet moments in between.

like when he’s losing at mario kart and you’d sit in his lap while he played, steal his fries, kiss his cheek mid-rant just to shut him up.

or when you were too tired to walk back to your place, you just curl up in his bed. not only does he let you, he tucks the blanket around you and kisses your forehead so soft it makes your chest ache.

and somehow, all of that was like magic.

sure, he might’ve acted like the world’s most chaotic, aggressive frat president, but when it came to you? he was all bark, all bite… and all heart.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[arolesbianism]

The sadness and agony that emerges everytime I start a new oni save and am forced to remember what it's like to have a dupe without a hat only to put them in a hat because I think they'd look cute only to remember hats make half of them look bald but I spent this long maxing out a skill for them so Im too stubborn to back down and remove the hat

[syluses]

thinking of sylus comforting his wife reader!!

content: insecurity, comfort, fluff, soft sylus, slight possessiveness, suggestive content

sidenote: whaaaaat a fluffy drabble?? ( ᵒ̴̶̷̤◦ᵒ̴̶̷̤ ) yes ignore me yall it’s just about that time of the month u feel me 😞 taking preemptive measures to cope with pms which means writing small comfy lads drabbles :] dunno if anybody will fw this cuz it’s purely self indulgent LOL but yeah ♡ short n sweet (1.7k 🌝)

You haven’t left the full-body mirror for several minutes, now.

No, see- there’s just something about your reflection that’s keeping you rooted in place there.

Sylus has slipped in and out of the bedroom as he gathers his things to go, his black card the last accessory needed for the evening out- tucked safely in his pocket- but now, he settles into a lazy lean against the doorway.

Watching.

There’s a slight notch in his brow as he stands there, arms folded, and lets out a forbearing sigh.

“Sweetie: You look nothing short of captivating. You’re breathtaking,” he arches an inquisitive brow, “You know that.”

Wide-eyed, held prisoner by your own portrait staring back at you— no. You don’t.

You don’t know that, and fuck if that doesn’t gut him a little on the inside, but for all the efforts he’s made to remind you of your beauty (though, that’s putting it in gentler terms; he’s inculcated you, really. Drilled it in (and in more ways than one)), your insecurities are very much built with the intent to last.

Throughout much of your relationship, they have.

Sometimes they’re a quieter thing, manageable. Other times, they stick their foot in between you both and rear their despotic heads, bent on tearing you down- and if he’s left as ruin as well in the fallout, they don’t even care.

Those wheedling, rotten voices make compelling arguments sometimes, but they eventually lose out to the greater thing: your love for Sylus, and his for you.

…That’s not to say that the battle isn’t ever close, though...

Now is one of those times where it’s advancing on you, and fast.

Right now, stuffed in your glittering, cocktail dress, with its slip in the thigh and its low-cut cleavage a hair’s width from scandalous— it’s meant to be elegant, but you feel like a fool.

A whore, even. A cheap, low-end girl insinuating herself into a space where she doesn’t belong- a world full of class and finery you were truthfully never tailored for. You’re like a bull in a china shop or a sore thumb.

Your breasts are snug, your curves are embraced by the silk, and the makeup you’d spent over an hour perfecting- your done-up hair, too- is impressive even to the most critical part of your brain.

But still, your body- it’s….

Sylus, now propping off the doorframe, eyes tracking your every expression all the while, moves to slide up behind you when your gaze flutters to the floor no different than ash and remains there. Your chest heaving with the beginnings of a mini breakdown.

Whatever it is, whatever you are— you can’t bear to look. You don’t want to. You- You won’t.

You aren’t his graceful, sophisticated trophy wife- or even half the effortlessly beautiful model you’d seen depicted in the centerfold Sylus saw you originally fawning over, the one that spurred this rash purchase on in the first place- no, what you are is ridiculous.

Your glossy eyes flit up again.

It’s all awful. But like a bad car crash, you just can’t find it in you to really look away.

He brushes aside your hair with a lithe, broad hand, exposing your neck looped with fine gold and diamond (nothing you’re deserving of, either), and stoops down to kiss your shoulder. The ruby red eyes pinned to your crestfallen face never stray far from it though, even as you close your palm over the back of his while he clasps your waist, crooning in your ear with a heavy breath.

“Kitten, what’s troubling you?”

Like he doesn’t know.

“Everything,” you shake out, tears pricking at your lashline. All that keeps you from bursting out into waterworks like a child right this very moment is the knowing that your meticulously-applied mascara will wash down your cheeks in black rivulets, effectively ruining your foundation and eyeshadow in their paths.

“E-Everything’s troubling- just look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” he hums gently, breath warm agaisnt your skin where his chin is perched on you. “And I promise you, Sweetie, I’m not seeing the same thing that you are. Tell me,” he murmurs, pasting down another chaste, lingering kiss- to the exposed nape of your neck this time- for good measure, “Do I have any reason to lie to you?”

A muscle in your cheek jumps. Your lashes flutter down. “N-No…”

“You know,” he murmurs. “Loving you’s easier than you think.”

Hesitantly, you twine your little fingers around Sylus’s forearm, his wristwatch catching a blocky highlight from the dim, flax sheen of the light fixture behind you.

“You’re gorgeous. How perfect you are—“ he mumbles at your ear, voice low and velvety as ever, composed. And yet the undertone of desperation is there; woven like fine threads throughout- it’s like a broadcasting of his eagerness. “That’s all I can see,” he breathes. “But I want you to say it, though. What do you see?”

Your answer comes quick: the first of a few others of its kind. “A whore.”

In the full-body mirror, his brow quirks in subtle, slow motion. His lips draw back from the smooth column of your dazzling neck. “What?”

A whore? …That much is new to him.

“And I feel stupid- I… I feel gross in this dress. They’d think I’m some concubine hanging off your shoulder-“ the frantically spewed words and the growing tremble in your voice is the mark of a ramble, and yet you cut yourself short. Swallowing it down as you dip your head, eyes screwing shut.

He’d preach a whole sermon if he could for all the faith he has in you. Your self-consciousness and those silly, yet disastrous little things you hold near and dear to your heart— that dictate your life while you sit back and watch— would be dismantled as soon as he got behind the podium.

…But you just don’t hear a word he says, do you? You don’t hear to begin with.

Yes- Sylus has long understood that it’s not always as easy as that. That words can fall short. He’s always considered himself a man of action, but sometimes even then it’s hard to get through to you when you shyly evade his touch and weasel out of his arms before they can even wrap around you.

Stubborn woman.

Obstinate woman.

Make him break his neck while sticking it out for you, woman.

But oh he’d lift his hand to do anything for you, woman.

The day will come where he’s made you see it.

“Concubine,” he scoffs, laughing dryly. You don’t hear that often from him, that level of bitterness, but it’s there in bounds when he huffs in your ear and turns you around to look at him, lifting your jaw up in one graceful motion.

“Let me clear this up for you, Sweetie. When people see you, their first thought they have is not that you’re some… gaudy sidepiece. The opposite. And if there’s any lingering doubts in their mind,” he explains smoothly, taking your hand in his to kiss the back of it, holding your uncertain stare all the while. “This ring puts them all to rest.”

Scarlet pools ripple with warmth, an almost playful edge to them as he attempts to lighten your mood- but you don’t quite miss the flash of woundedness that passes through.

“Besides…”

Adoration, reverence, the resolve to make you understand these truths (that you’re beautiful; pure in his sight)- a little bit of exasperation and a little bit of vulnerability— they blur together on him like winded vanes of a pinwheel. Too fast to color, too fast to catalogue.

But evidently not fast enough to pass you by completely. And so as your heart squeezes painfully in your chest—

“Does your husband’s opinion not matter to you the most?”

You bluster, “It does,” doing your damage-control as you wrap your arm around his neck and pull him impossibly closer, a hand on his jaw to cradle it reassuringly. The flutter of something so briefly small in his eyes hauls you into reality, grounds you.

“It’s all I care about, Sylus,” you implore, “But don’t you understand that if they think poorly of me, it’ll just tie back to you in their heads? They’ll think lower of you if your wife isn’t—“

“Isn’t what?” He snips back, but leans into your touch.

You fall silent.

Eyes fiery, they search yours, his breath warm and minty against your parted, floundering lips. “What they want? Well, kitten, let me be perfectly honest with you,” he chuckles lowly, tone scraping the bottom of something undeniably possessive, “I don’t want any of them to want you…. It’s pretty reasonable that the idea of somebody craving what’s mine would upset me, no?”

Not providing him with an answer- frankly unable to- he again fills the space where you can’t.

“But I like you in this dress,” he states, gaze dropping down to rake over you in a few strained breaths. Your wine lipstick. Your décolletage and the jewels draped there, blinding, hanging over the valley of your breast.

…A hickey you did a half decent job at covering, he smugly supposes.

“Much more than like, even. So if they stare, what does it matter? Let them. Like I said,… they won’t be thinking anything poor of you-“ he offers a small, blithe chuckle, “the worst will be a jealous woman or two. Nothing worthy of ruining our night out, however.”

You take a moment to ponder all of his words. Not just this evening’s- but the countless that came before, too.

You weigh your options— stubbornly continue on in your self-sabotaging ways, thoroughly exhausting yourself and Sylus out in the process; or caving to his reassurances and choosing to believe them— and then weigh your eyes shut.

Slumping into his broad chest to let him hold you, you stand against the miniature insurrection happening inside you and go for the latter.

“You really don’t mind?”

A warm hand smooths down your back; the other, petting your hair in a featherlight hover to not ruin its style, pauses for a second. “Mind what?”

You huff. “You know. Me in this dress.” Earning a longsuffering sigh on his end.

“Why do you doubt yourself? I told you. You look breathtaking in it. You act like it’s such a problematic thing, Kitten, but I only know of one person who will want to have a word with you about it…”

“O-Oh yeah? Who?”

When your husband pulls back some just to stare at you, your hands resting on either of his broad shoulders as your heart hiccups in your chest, all that keeps you from erupting in another small bout of panic and dread is the daring little quirk of his brow— the barest of grins tugging at one end of his cupid-bow lips.

As an answer, he dips his head in and angles it just so to graze his mouth over yours, the tip of his bumped nose poking your cheek as he moors you to him by the small of your back and taunts,

“Perhaps you’ll just have to find out for yourself tonight, hm?”

Something’s in his pocket, you realize as he embraces you— semi-hard, just a little insistent against your tummy— and no, it is not his credit card.

[katsukiizmoon]

*coughs* as the number one katsuki with a kindle supporter... I. I just. Hnngh.

Katsuki grunts on the couch from his spot. He uses his thumb to flick to the next page on his Kindle and chews his bottom lip. And you're... turned on.

He's so comfortable splayed out on the couch, topless and in sweats. Blonde locks of hair fluffed up and messy from a recent nap. A small blanket is draped over his lap. The low hum of the AC fills the house but if you listen quietly enough you can hear him breathing or adjusting from time to time.

Katsuki's gotten so.. so beefy in the past few months. He's bulking— some shit to do with the gym. What it really means is that your big, hot, pro hero lover is eating his fill. And oh god it is doing things to you.

He's been so relaxed lately. There's something about the little pouch of chub over his lower tummy. The way his chest and arms look. Probably the best part about all of this is that the doctor said he's actually healthier this way. Being too lean puts strain on the body.

Your feet wiggle in their place as you gawk at him. Previously you'd trotted your way across the cool flooring and into the kitchen for a water bottle refill. But it seems that your mind has.. other ideas.

Katsuki swipes to the next page and you slink into the living room, water bottle forgotten to mingle with the counter. You come to an abrupt halt and let out a strangled noise when you face him. If you thought he looked hot from in the other room.. fuck.

There's a pair of reading glasses he bitched about getting perched on the bridge of his nose. Ruby red eyes sleepy and half lidded, yet his lips are slick and glistening from his tongue. He glances up and raises an amused brow.

"Can i help you?" Katsuki drawls, kindle now resting against his knee.

You're on him like butter on bread. You plant yourself on across his lap and kiss him silly. There's no need to hesitate, lips parting to swipe your tongue over the seam of his. He's startled at first and puffs out a laugh into it before he falls back. Your hands firmly press on the expanse of his large chest, then slide their way down the sides of his ribs.

You pull away, both gasping for air.

"You are just. God." You huff out, flushed and warm all over.

"I'm god?" Katsuki snickers, hands finding their way to your hips. He gets a kick out of this, you think.

"You're – yeah, something like that. Just-" you moan "- baby you're gonna be the death of me." You finish. You're going to kiss the fuck out of him again as soon as you get ahold of yourself.

[ravenclaw-jojo]

Fandom: LaDS Pairings: Caleb x afab!reader Tags: Possessive love,  graphic smut, very ‘touch her and die’ vibes, breeding kink, Caleb is jealous of Xavier, light impact play, overstimulation, creampie (be safe ya’ll). MINORS DNI. WC: 2.5k

Description: You were a little late returning home from the Hunter’s Association. A/N: For @laddelulu30 who put breeding on my mind xD Also dedicated to @unintentionalseductress because well, Caleb :3

✦ . 　⁺ �� . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You said you’d be out late. He already expected that. Yet something about the whole situation still made him uneasy. 

“There’s a pair of agents that just got back from their interrogation. We’re debriefing and then planning our schedules for the next few days. I promise, if it’s later than midnight, I’ll call you to pick me up.” You reassured him over video call. 

Caleb couldn’t protest, not when your eyes are staring back at him with sincerity he’s known for the better part of your lives — it was the same look you fixed him when you wanted an extra five minutes of his time to play whatever game you’d come up with that day. 

“Alright, alright, fine. Just promise to text me.” Caleb relented, the muscles in his jaw tightening despite the smile he tried to fix on his lips. 

“I will.” 

That was over two hours ago.  Thanks to the lifestyle app that you had suggested you download onto your phones, you were able to see each other’s general location on the map, and the speeds at which your phone was traveling at. Of course this only worked if you had your phone on you and the location was only accurate up to a 3-miles radius…and that wasn’t acceptable for him. No, he needed to know where you are at all times, down to the last step.

There’s a secret app on Caleb’s work cell, one he clicked open to reveal your precise location (the Hunter’s Association building, third floor, in one of the meeting rooms that’s in the south-eastern wing). This app was connected to the tracker embedded in the ruby gemstone of the dainty gold anklet he’d gifted you. You didn’t know about the tracker’s existence of course, and if you did… well that stirred a different feeling in Caleb that he was all too happy to entertain, if his focus wasn’t already fixated on your location. 

When the hour struck 10 and you still hadn’t called, he needed to take matters into his own hands.

“C’mon pip-squeak…pick up the phone.” He muttered as the video call attempted to connect. 

“Caleb? Why are you calling me silly?” Your laughter made the imaginary claws around his heart retract by a few centimeters. Despite trying to maintain some semblance of restraint, the reproachful tone in his voice reverberated through his sentence. 

“You said you’d call if you were staying later than midnight.” 

“And it isn’t midnight.” 

Caleb snorted. “Just like you to rely a little too much on technicalities.” 

Your laughter made his fingers pause mid-strum against the arm of your sofa. “It isn’t technicalities, it’s the truth. Clock has yet to strike midnight, Mr Caleb.” Your teasing tone doesn't go unnoticed. 

He chuckled, “It’ll be past midnight by the time you get here. Let me pick you up from work.” 

“Caleb, I’m not a little girl anymore. Trust me, I’ve made the walk home a dozen times before with no problem-”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? The pure coincidence that you haven’t been attacked by some stalker?”

Oh, it was certainly rich of him to say this. But you didn’t know that. You didn’t know how he was practically on edge right now, the sound of your laughter, the gentle curve of your lips…. 

“Stop that.” He commanded before he could stop himself, startling not just you but himself. It wasn’t like him to lose his control like this. 

“What?” You questioned with furrowed brows. 

“Biting your lip. Stop biting your lip, I want to do that.” Caleb said, his voice dropping into that gruff tone that made your thighs clench. Torn between surprise and a sudden rush of arousal, you licked your upper lip, brain trying to grasp at the thoughts that rushed through your mind from his authoritarian tone. “I…I wasn’t aware I was doing it. Sorry.” 

Caleb shook his head, locks of his hair curtaining his purple gaze. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Just be careful coming home.” He told you in a gentler tone. The soft smile didn’t reach his eyes and you wondered what could’ve possibly changed… Caleb was no stranger to you working late, especially when it came to a case that had spanned months of tracking and intel gathering. 

“I will be.” You answered. You will be. Caleb thought to himself, watching the little red dot move along the map of his work phone, muscles on the back of his neck slowly relaxing when the very same dot started to move towards the building’s exit. He felt better knowing your exact location at all times.

Your fingerprint unlocked the door to your apartment and you were pleasantly surprised by the scent of good food wafting from your barely used kitchen – outside of baking, the kitchen was only functioning when Zayne happened to drop by. Though the doctor much preferred to spend time at his apartment or experiencing the service of an actual chef in a restaurant. Caleb however, had long since made himself at home in your kitchen. There was something oddly intimate about how he knew where you kept all your cups and plates, which drawer stored the utensils versus the designated junk drawer – drawerS, if we were being truthful. 

“Perfect timing, the rice just finished cooking..” He gestured towards the tasty food and dinner setting that waited for them at the table. You closed the door behind you, hanging your coat with an air of playful suspicion. “What did you do Caleb?” You asked. 

His easy chuckle softened your heart, while he led you to the table, the warm touch of his fingers easily breaking down said suspicions. This is Caleb. Your Caleb. “I’m not trying to butter you up pip-squeak. I promise. Juuuust making sure you’re eating, even if it isn’t really on time.” He pulled back a chair for her to sit down, before taking his own seat. You picked up on his pointed tone. 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t like I intended to stay that late, I swear.” You said watching as he picked up your plate and started to arrange the home-cooked meal on it. His gaze met yours over the food, his scrutiny a little gentler than before. “Who else was there?” He asked.

You cocked your head, accepting the plate he offered. “The usual crowd, you’ve met Tara before. Then Simone was there to give a debriefing…”

“And what about that guy?” 

You suddenly had flashbacks of being a preteen and Caleb’s presence scaring away any and all potential crushes. Picking at your food, you raised an innocent eyebrow. “You mean Xavier?” His silence spoke more than his words ever could. 

“He hasn’t been around. Out on another mission by himself. And even if he wasn’t, do you honestly believe you have anything to be worried about?” You challenged him with a smile – one that immediately made his pants feel a little too tight. Caleb glowered back at you, “It’s not you I don’t trust, pip-squeak. Let’s make that clear. It’s other people I have little faith in.” He watched as you stood up from your seat, walking over to him. There was a glimmer in your eyes, something that hinted at mischief. Given your history, he was all too familiar with that look of yours. You had something up your sleeve. 

“You know, you’ve got to start working on your expressions if you’re ever going to go undercover, y/n.” He teased, your fingers trailing across his broad shoulders. He kept his focus on you as you walked around his chair and with a gentle nudge of your hip, had him push it backwards to provide you with just enough room to sit on his lap. 

You weren’t as amused by his jab, pouting up at him in a way that made his heart rate pick up. “I got a high score in ‘stealth and disguise’ thank you very much.” You retorted, arms going around his neck. Your fingers begin to play with the sterling silver chain of his dog tag, savoring the warmth of it between your fingertips. “Are you going to be a meanie all night just because you made dinner?”

His chuckle is followed by his arms cradling you, “Well I wasn’t going to say anything but since you pointed it out-...” His grip on you tightened before he stood up and carried you from the dining table. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

If he were being honest, he’d lost count of the number of orgasms he gave you. All he knew was that he’d never get tired of the way you look beneath him, the way the silver apple charm and dog tag clinked against his chest with each thrust he makes, and he’d especially never get tired of the way you moaned his name like you were begging for repentance from a god.  “Where do you think you’re going pip-squeak? Don’t tell me you’re done taking cock? You were so desperate for it earlier.” His voice took on a darker edge, his evol thickening in the air, the fine hairs on your body standing on end at the gravity change in your environment. Your hips that had unconsciously tried to pull away are forced back onto his, forcing him in an angle that made you feel so full. “Caleb…” You whined, walls tight as you accommodated his hard, almost manic thrusts – like he just wanted to see how much he could pull out of you, how big of a puddle he could make on the hardwood floor of your living room. 

“Love hearing you say my name like that.” He muttered, rolling his hips in figure 8’s just to further blur the lines between insanity and pleasure. “What do you think about recording it one day for me, hmm? Give me the pleasure of listening to you moaning over and over again when you send me texts.” Caleb’s smirk is replaced with a sudden darkening of his lavender eyes. “Then again, that would mean risking other people hearing your beautiful, needy voice. And I like knowing that this is all for me.” His hand slid into your hair, grasping a handful in a rough ponytail and tugging you back to focus on him. You wanted to say something but half your face is still pushed into the couch cushions, his hand keeping you in place. 

SMACK.

Fuck. Your mind was blanking out, the world narrowing down to the strain of your legs while Caleb continued rutting into you like a man possessed. The sharp sting of his palm against your ass cheek only sent more heat to your groin. More… “Aww you’re so cute like this pip-squeak. Look how wet you’re getting when I treat you like the good little slut I knew you always were. I wonder how many times your colleagues fantasize about you, wonder if they know just how depraved and dirty you really like it… All hidden behind this sweet face.” He released your hair, fingers sliding around to squeeze your round cheeks, forcing your lips to purse while his eyes drank in your features. 

Without so much as a warning, Caleb is suddenly pulling out of you – the disappointing emptiness only lasting for a fraction of a second before he flipped you over and with the help of his evol, pinned you down into a mean mating press – his favorite position with you. Caleb loved to watch the way your pupils dilate into lust-blown hearts when his cock stretches you, loved even more when your legs hook over his shoulders so he could leave gentle kisses along your calf, which honestly used to be his favorite part about fucking you like this. That quickly changed when he gifted that anklet to you – yes, the one with the tracker embedded in the matching apple charm – he’d also had the foresight to include another addition to the anklet: his initials. He’d only ever admit this to himself; something about the way he watched the letter ‘C’ bounce against your ankle in the same fast-paced rhythm he’d started, made his cock twitch. It was another way to mark you, filling him with prideful arrogance when he knew he’s the only privileged bastard to have their initials around your ankle. The same ankle he could hold onto when you have your legs on his shoulders. Well that was the situation until you said the very words that made the last thread of his restraint snap. 

“Breed me Caleb.” You pant, his pendant and chain pooling on your sternum. 

His hips stuttered, hand slamming down beside your head on the cushion while he steadied himself. “What did you say?” 

It wasn’t that he didn’t catch it the first time. The burning desire within Caleb had everything to do with needing to hear it again. 

The sting of your fingernails leaving angry red marks on his back made his irregular breathing heavier, especially when you’re staring straight into his eyes with that expression that practically begged him. “Breed me, please.”

“With fucking pleasure, pip-squeak.” Instincts took over when Caleb leaned down to nip on your luscious lower lip, making good on his promise from before.  Once upon a time, you’d have sworn the noises escaping your lips were fake – no way those videos across the Internet could be onto something – Caleb, however, knew everything about your body, knew precisely how to break you down just to take his sweet time putting you together again. “Caleb-...”

“Louder. I want the whole building to hear who you belong to.” His voice is husky, fingers tight enough to leave bruises against the back of your thighs. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock between your heated, velvety walls-

“Caleb!” 

He was thrusting into you with blind need, the scent of your lovemaking thick in the air punctuated by the sodden thwack thwack thwack of your bodies.

Your vision is filled with a white sunburst, your body giving into your pleasure while you keened for him. The noises you made, the expression on your face, that vulnerability of how your chest seemed to flutter while you caught your breath…his. He was going to make you his. To breed you is to claim you in the most basest sense possible, no one would mistake who could’ve possibly made you swollen…the cadence of your voice begging him to breed you rang in his mind again further weakening the battle of wills he’d been having with himself – the need to drag this on as long as possible, or to fill you up to the brim with ropes and ropes of his-

“Fuuuuck…” You purred, overwhelmed from the feel of his warm cum spilling and smearing against your inner thighs.

“Y/n…” The crack in his voice instinctually made you grind against him, forcing another needy moan from Caleb. You both remained that way for a few beats, catching your breath while the white ring around the base of his cock slowly dripped along his balls. He pressed his cheek against your ankle, lips brushing against the curve of the ‘C’ from your anklet. His. You. Are. His.  

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ravenclaw-jojo™️2025 writing | No copying, plagiarizing or translations without expressed permission.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

WHO CHOSE PENNY

WHO WOULD DARE SAYMY GIRL IS THE WROST

YOU'RE PICKING A FIGHT MOTHERFUCKER

THAT BETTER HAVE BEEN AN ACCIDENT

Be honest.

[itty-bitty-dancer]

Fem!reader who is going through their lipstick collection and testing how they transfer to determine which ones to keep.

She sets them out on the coffee table and plonks down next to Eddie on the couch.

Putting on one shade, a warm nude, using a small compact mirror, she kisses the back of her hand once, twice, three times, until there’s no more colour coming off her lips.

Eddie can’t help but glance at her each time he hears the smack of her kiss.

She checks her pout in the mirror again. Satisfied, she puts it in the ‘keep’ pile.

Next is red. She applies it in the compact mirror and Eddie is transfixed on the precise swipe that paints her lips a bright ruby. Once happy, she looks at the back of her hands to find them full of her previous lip prints and frowns.

A lightbulb goes off and then she’s turning to Eddie, cupping his face in soft hands and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Then a little higher up. Then his jaw. All until no colour apart from his furious blush is appearing on his face.

She checks her reflection, smiles, and adds that lipstick to the ‘keep’ pile too.

A deeper shade of red is next and the process continues— using Eddies face as her personal blotting sheet.

Twenty five minutes later and Eddie has just about sunk into the couch cushions, completely blissed out and feeling a little drunk. He has a wonky, lovesick grin on his face and his eyes feel heavy as he happily plays guinea pig for her little experiment— his skin a marbled pattern of reds and pinks from his hairline, right down to his collarbone and beginning spread to his chest.

“Sorry, Eds.” She manages to mumble as she focuses on applying the next shade.

“Only three more.”

He needs to buy her more lipstick.

[gay-dorito-dust]

One piece men and the one thing you can get away with doing excessively.

Zoro - sleeping on his chest when he naps

Zoro preferred alone time, preferred his naps undisturbed, and his peaceful sleep unbroken.

Yet he couldn’t seem to ever bring himself to wave you away, especially whenever he would see you from the corner of his eye coming over with a light blanket clutched in your hand, eyes practically sparkling as a warm smile splayed itself across your face.

He didn’t find it reasonable to push you off of him when you made yourself comfortable on his chest, clinging onto him as though he’d slip between your fingers, before tracing patterns and words into the exposed skin of his chest as per your routine that Zoro had now memorised even with his eye closed.

It was practically ingrained within his head: He’d settle down for a nap -ready to drift off- when he hears you coming towards him, knowing that you’ve brought the same blanket that you always brought when he was about to have a nap, you settle down next to him and rest your head upon his chest while cuddling his side like he was some glorified plush toy of yours.

Despite wanting to sleep alone, undisturbed, Zoro couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips as he brings his arms to hold you close to him, tuck you under his chin almost and find himself out like a light soon after. Your weight is welcoming for Zoro, something for him to ground himself when he drifts from dream to dream and find comfort in knowing you’d be there, safe and sound when he awakes like you always should be.

Law - touches

Law wasn’t exactly against physical touch, it was just that he never allowed himself into situations where he could drop the ghosts of his past and reach out, as though something within him was holding him back from doing so.

It wasn’t like he didn’t like touch, secretly he craved it more then anything, but yet he felt as though he had to put a good deal of distance between himself and others, allowing only the briefest of contact to exist and leave him like a ghost.

So when you touch him -even if it’s a brief pat on his bicep- he didn’t feel the need to move away but instead to lean in to your touch, to your affection and allow himself to be greedy with it, hold your hands to his cheek and hum low in his throat as his eyes closed and just breath.

Though these moments would have to be confined within his room, where he could fully let the moment sink in, to let himself latch onto your warmth and comfort as his thumbs slowly caress your inner wrists, to let himself unravel and bare himself to you in this quirt moment of vulnerability. He may steal hearts but you were the first to have stolen his, kept it safe against your own as though it was the most sacred treasure you could ever come across.

Law found his mind has gone silent when your finger massages the furrow in his brow until his face is completely relaxed, only to then trace his jaw and the nearest tattoos within your reach as though you were admiring a work of art, appreciating what made him Law and respecting the things he’s went through without needing words to do so. He melts under your touch as if he was made of pure butter, he can’t help it as he had went without for far too long, and a smile would creep up on his lips too as he fully indulged in something he could call his own.

Buggy - kiss his nose

Buggy isn’t fond of his nose, not one bit, hates it even and has developed massive insecurities over it as well as a not so flashy image of himself.

He gets incredibly defensive over it or just hearing the word like ‘nosy’ or anything that might’ve easily gotten misinterpreted for ‘nose’ within his overthinking mind, making him quick to bristle up like a cat and lash out at whoever he thought was taking the piss about his ruby nose.

Yet when you grant it gentle kisses, holding his face as though you were honoured to hold him, caressing his cheeks and whispering sweet words about him and his supposed handsomeness. Sure he was a little against it at first, it’s a natrual reaction of his at this point, almost as though it if was muscle memory that he couldn’t get rid of even if he tried.

Yet in due time Buggy found himself melting against your affection, smiling softly as your lips met his makeup free face as though you couldn’t bring yourself to stop kissing him, or his nose for that fact as it was the main thing you often bombarded with an abundance of love and appreciation.

He grows addicted to the feeling of unconditional love that even on his worst days you were doing all you could to make him smile -even if it was a little- while peppering his face in kisses and words that only spoke of your true feelings towards him, and yet Buggy felt as though he hasn’t seen the bulk of it and this was merely a small percentage of how much you actually love him; that thought alone was enough to have poor Buggy as red as cherries and flustered to high heavens.

[miange1]

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 — domestic life

tw: male reader, they have a kid(you can determine if the reader had mpreg, adopted, or is ftm), uraume is still a servant just domesticated, based off of trin's videos on tiktok, sukuna calls reader 'husband' never by his name(unless during sex then why not, sukuna is still a cursed being just humanizing himself

note: fun fact: on my first tumblr account sukuna was my first fic i ever wrote digitally

there were a lot of sounds sukuna hated. people talking, babies crying, constant nagging, complaining, people chewing far too loud. but even as much as he hated it, he heard it almost everyday.

sukuna's arms stayed wrapped around you tightly, he was a clingy sleeper whether he would admit it or not. his face tucked underneath your chin, breathing in your scent and listening to your heart beat with each calm breath you took.

then there was that blasted alarm, the loud sound of feet pitter pattering onto the hardwood floors and the door bursting open.

"dad! dad! wake up! today's my game today!" right, suko had his baseball game today. the kid was probably up all night just to do that.

"wake up, wake up!" he climbed onto the bed, his little body pushing with all its might to bounce on the two half asleep figures.

"alright, alright! enough suko, you're going to give your father more back issues." there it was, your lovely voice he just adored, especially in the mornings. he hated those other noises, but yours is what he would listen to all day even after death.

sukuna grumbled, his eyes officially opening so he could see your face. perfect. absolutely perfect. "you are far too close, move away." as perfect as he found you, he would never admit it.

you snorted, detangling yourself from his embrace. "you say that but you're the one who refuses to let me move." he shook his head, sitting up with you. "untrue."

another sound of footsteps was heard, the white haired figure of uraume coming to take suko from the bed. "i apologize for letting him loose," they spoke as if he was some wild animal, which was a valid comparison.

"i looked away for one moment while cooking breakfast and he was shooting from his seat." suko seemed to whine as he was dragged out of the room. it was like he wanted to starve the rest of the day.

it was somewhat silent, just the two of you. your body weight shifted the bed as you slid over to him, your arms wrapped along his shoulders and your lips kissing at his cheek.

"good morning," his head would lean into the small kiss, returning it to your lips. what a sweet thing. you got off the bed, putting some reasonable clothes on so you could go eat at the table.

"also, i'll need you to pick up suko's new bat from the store, and some snacks as well." his brows furrowed in annoyance, he didn't want to do that.

"husband, that's a foolish task. why must i do it?" you blinked slowly, your head snapping over to him. that told him all he needed to know.

the store was hot and humid, too many people. he just needed to get the bat, and have zero distractions– "excuse me?" he paused, hearing a woman's voice. for some reason, he already felt what was going to happen.

he looked down, eyes squinting with agitation. the woman had her phone in her hand, he could see the phone dial app open and a faint blush on her cheeks. god save him.

he didn't want to waste time and get yelled at if he was late. not only would his son be upset if he had no baseball bat and missed his game, but you absolutely would not pleasure him after this very very long day.

"i am happily married. move out of my way." it was like she didn't see the ruby ring on his finger that could be bigger than someone's eye.

he shoved past the woman, and pulled out his own phone. when you answered, he was already speaking before you could say hello. "husband, where are the bats."

you paused for a moment, then your voice came through. "sukuna, are you in the sports section?" he looked around..no. no, he wasn't. "goodbye." why would you send him off to buy things if he never even knew what section they would be in. modern stores just got on his last nerve.

on the way home, he went to a snack store and got much more snacks than you intended. but what's wrong with going a little overboard?

finally, what felt like hours he was home. the smell of it hit him first, then the warmth and the sight of you sitting on the couch with suko on your lap with a cartoon playing on the big screen sat on the large dresser.

suko's head turned to the door, and he was instantly up on his feet running to his dad(more so the bat in his hand). "welcome back sukuna," your lips touched his in a loving kiss, and you had taken the bags of snacks to go put them away.

"you got the one that i wanted!" suko exclaimed excitedly, swinging it around as if to try it out. his eyes were wide with happiness, a big smile on his face.

"do not swing it around in the house! that vase costs over five-hundred dollars, go outside." his large hand came to his son's head to lead him outdoors. "uraume, go outside and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

then, his attention was only to you. he went behind you, grabbing at your waist tightly to embrace you in what was a loving hug. at least to him. it was just a little too tight for you, but you didn't mind it.

so sure, he hated the noises, the ridiculously hyper child, the constant errands he had to run. but this is maybe, just maybe what he needed to be truly at peace.

[rubys-domain]

bruh...

i still need 250 more reputation exp to unlock the bounties. and the second act alone took over an hour to finish. this is gonna take forever...

[chellestrash]

Eat your young

Remmick x Female!Reader

summary: He chooses to pay you a visit, knowing that since you allowed him inside on that fateful night, you've been longing to see him again. warnings: blood, mentions of animal death, mentions of smut, slight religious trauma word count: 3.4k a/n: Hiyaaaaa its meee, so...idk if I would've ever guessed that apparently, the cure for my very severe writer's block is a super old Irish vampire loser, but you know what? Looking at my track record, it makes sense. Idk how good this is, idk if it's good at all, but i can not explain to you all how good it feels to have something written again, so i hope you'll enjoy it. This is a bit of an AU I guess where the vampires escape and separate, moving between different towns and regions, and the people who survived need to adapt, learn how to fight back, how to kill, and how to protect themselves. C: something like that

You stand in the doorway of your parent’s wooden house, the warm summer night surrounding the vast land of the family farm. An evening so calm and quiet it could bring comfort to some folk. Folk from different parts of the country, from a different city, a place different from your home. But not you, not your city, not the people of the community that knew what lurked in the depths of the night. The people watched the crimson plague flood this cursed soil.

Your eyes trace over the property’s edge, as far as you can see, up to the small dirt road right in front of the cornfield. The soft wind picks up, dancing with the wind chimes hanging at the edge of the porch, for what feels like seconds before the breeze disappears, taking the sound with it.

The night falls quiet, too quiet, silent almost, and you clutch onto the heavy shotgun in your hand. Your senses, forced by the silence and darkness, heighten, focusing on the quiet sounds beyond the silence. Not the trees nor the fields dare to interrupt the quiet distant melody of an old Irish song, and as you recognize the familiar tune your body trembles. Not in fear but anticipation. He decided to pay you a visit tonight. 

The melody grows louder as a figure emerges from the treeline, the red eyes glow like embers in the darkness of the deep navy of the night. A good distance still between you and the man, and even then, there is no mistaking him for anyone else.

Focused on the two red points as he approaches the house, slowly you recognize the thrilling shiver that travels from the very top of your head, right through your center and down to the feet. 

There is no fear in you, yet the pounding in your chest grows as the sound of his voice reached your ears.

He walks slowly, step after step, taking his time to assess the situation. He searches for lights in the house and then the barn, any signs that indicated trouble, any signs that would confirm you tonight, you stayed at the property alone. His eyes scan the buildings, the fields, the fence and trees as he makes his way over to the very edge of the porch. The soft sounds of the folk song pausing only as he finally lays his ruby red eyes directly on your figure. 

You stand in the silence of this dreadful night, the feeling you learned to accept, one that intrigued you over time. A feeling that put you at risk, strengthening your want to understand the unknown, the mysterious, the forbidden. Those eyes, they pierce through your clothes, your skin and bones, awakening something deep within you, something only you and him knew. 

“Told you not to come ‘round here.”

You choose to speak first, and the man smirks at the slightly threatening tone of your voice. The sharp pearly white teeth shine in the moonlight while he watches you look over him from behind the threshold of the old house.

“Now, Darlin.”

He starts softly, the sarcastic frown follows his words while he pulls on the string of the banjo, moving the instrument behind his back.

“That how you greet a guest?”

He teases, wide smile never leaving his face, sharp teeth almost as if on display for you to admire.

“You ain't a guest, and told you not to come here.”

You repeat, standing your ground, shotgun in hand, a heavy wooden spike fastened to the belt gathering your dress. His eyes drop to the weapons for merely a second before they meet yours once more.

“You told me I ain’t welcome. Never told me not to come round, sweet pea.”

He points out innocently, using your own words against you with complete ease, taking pleasure in every second of it.

“Two completely separate things.” 

Bearing his teeth in a wide smile, once again the vampire stands in front of you, eyes shining crimson red, the hunger inside him so deep you can feel it in your own body.

Yet your hands don’t shake, your voice doesn't hitch uncertainly when you choose your words as you address him. Your palms don't sweat around the handle of the gun and your legs don’t bend under his piercing gaze.

There is no fear. Of the others, yes, but not of him. 

Over time the town learned about the creatures, the people learned how to protect themselves, how to act, what was allowed and what wasn't. How the outside was no longer safe at night, how the only place where safety was certain was your own house, and even that wasn’t always true. The creatures had abilities, able to read into the memories of people once close to you, able to read thoughts of the souls they claimed. Survival was a challenge but some people chose to persist, not give up, live among the creatures and fight for what was theirs. 

You knew what to do, took precautions, listed off the steps in your head: hung garlic around the house, spread salt and holy water around it, you owned weapons, had rules that had to be followed. However, in all that, your greatest advance proved to be the questionable feeling that grew between you and the vampire stood outside your porch. Advantage, that, twisted into your greeted weakness.

“Your Pa home?” 

Remmick starts again, nodding toward the windows, staring into the darkness hiding the insides of your house.

“Now wouldn’t you wanna know.” 

You answer dismissively and watch his face turn back to you. His cocky smirk as if permanently fixed onto his lips while he addresses you. 

“I do know, Sweet thing. Been keeping an eye on you since sundown.”

You know he's not lying, it wouldn't be the first time he watched you through the night, keeping watch, almost as if to ready to defend his self-proclaimed property.

“Then why you askin'?”

You point out, eyebrows pulled together in a frown, hand on your hip as you look him up and down, knowing god-damn well why he came to you.

“Just tryin’ to make conversation. Pardon me, that not allowed, Miss?”

He teases, glancing down at the wooden steps of the porch right in front of him. Instinctively, you wrap your other hand on the barrel of the shotgun, pulling it up and closer to your chest.

“Now, now girl, there ain't no need for all that.”

“Or there ain't? A vampire on my porch ain't a reason for a gun?”

“Ahhh, you really gotta call me that, sweet thing? It's just me, you know me…probly’ bit more than you wanna admit, ain't that right?”

He toys with you, and the smile turns into a sinister grin, but you see through the games, the words, through all the ways he attempts to call you to him again. Standing up taller, you look down onto the man below you, not a sign of fear in your eyes, not a word falling through your mouth as you fight with the shame of the desire to know him better. 

“That thing really loaded, Darlin?”

The question for an answer to the silence you throw upon him.

You cock the shotgun, and a deep, guttural laugh cuts through the warm air. He applauds you, impressed as shakes his head, tongue brushing over the long fangs. It feels almost like a challenge, as if he doesn't believe you, as if he's daring you to prove it.

“Pure silver.”

He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Blessed by the preacher, too.”

You explain, knowing deep inside he's praising your widths, the ways you were always ready, more thorough, more prepared than a lot of people around the old town. Part of him was proud, proud of how you took notes of his instructions, his suggestions, the things he'd explain to you, the things he taught you over time, the things that have now proven to work not only on the others but on him as well. Blessing and a curse.

“You listen well, Sweetpea.”

He admits, nodding as he swallows hard as the hunger of the night grows inside him.

“Got a decent teacher, he's a pain tho.”

You point out and Remmick chuckles, staring up at you before glancing down at the stairs once again.

“You can come up. Not inside. Up on the porch.”

Making sure the instructions are clear and there is nothing that could be taken for something else, you let the man approach you. Still not allowed to enter your home, to touch you, not even to reach out to you over the threshold. He climbs up the tall, wooden stairs. The old wood boards creek under his steps, again then again, interrupting the silence of the night for a moment before he stands in front of you. You tilt your head up, staring right into the crimson of his pupils, not moving back an inch, understanding well what he can and can not do. What he could, but will not do. He stands only inches apart from you, so close you could feel his breath on your skin if his body still required it. 

“Two words, my Darling.”

He whispers, picking up on the sound of your beating heart, of the blood, how it rushes down and between your legs as he speaks to you, addresses you with pet names, the same ones he whispered into your ear in the barn only days ago while your body clung to his. 

His lips part, tongue licking over them as he pants, lustful, hungry, desperately almost. Desperate for you, your blood, your soul, your flesh.

“I know the damn rules.”

You state, firmly, trying to read through him as well as you know he's reading through you. He knows how you want him, how your body wants him, how you miss the forbidden sense of his touch, longing for his body, his lips. He feels how you fight the desire inside you, how you push back the urges, deny yourself the pleasures he offers you. 

With his eyes never leaving you, you turn away towards the dark sky looming over the fields, allowing your hair to fall back, exposing your neck to him as it brushes over your skin ever so gently. A cruel payment for the way he toyed with you before.

“You’re hungry, ain't ya?”

Your voice gentle now, almost concerned, almost pitiful. And despite knowing your cruel inventions he gives in to the hunger.

“Starvin.”

He whispers, leaning forward, almost closing in on the space between you both. And he would, if you allowed him over the threshold. The scent of your blood, the memory of your body on top of his, your flesh around him spinning in his head, it feels like a curse. Like you've crushed him with this want, this need, this lust for you, that very night you first let him taste you as you nursed him back to health. When everyone else would've ended his existence in the very spot he was laying when you stumbled across his withering form.

Smart girl

He thought back to that very night, and many times after, same as tonight when he saw you ready, armed and waiting for him. Pretending not to long for him just as irresistibly as he longed for you.

The sound of your blood rushing through the veins of your neck, the scent of it, recognizable to him over any other. Your body, silently calling for him as your legs twitch slightly when you let your mind wander, he curses the power you wield over him, even now, as unaware of it as you are.

You watch how the thin string of drool drips down his chin and hold back, ignoring the intense warmth in your lower stomach, the tenderness between your legs, the throbbing of your body. You fight, not letting yourself reach up to his lips, not risking breaking the barrier, not risking the safety of your family.

“Will you help a starving man, Miss?”

He whispers again, words brushing over your ears, his voice desperate. For your blood or for you? He licks his lips, gaze dropping down your body, his hand hovering over the dress. 

If only it wasn't tonight, if you were truly alone, if you didn't have anything to lose, if only you could fully trust him.

The ever present smirk drops as Remmick feels the cool steel of the shotgun barrel press against the center of his chest. With a confused, almost offended frown, he leans back, glaring down at the weapon you now threaten him with. With his hands raised up in an innocent gesture, he awaits your next move. 

“One of the lambs in the barn is sick.”

You start, fighting against the lust filling your body as he laughs, loud into the night, understanding now that you made your decision. Tonight is not the night, he will not get to feel your warmth, he will not get to hold your body, he will not get to touch you, to fill that need that takes over his body and mind like a parasite—the lust for you, stronger than the hunger for your blood. Tonight, he will not be allowed inside.

“Deadly. Won't live till sunrise.”

You explain, and the man nods, slowly. Sighing loudly, defeated before clicking his tongue, looking back up with the same old smirk but unable to hide how his body starves because of you. The lack of you.

“Well damn.”

His head turns towards the old building in the depths of your father's property. The place when he had you last.

“Would be a shame if it went to waste.”

You nod, agreeing with his words, but he doesn't move an inch. Your bodies craving each other more, now that you denied yourself the sinful pleasure. 

“It would.”

There's a moment of silence, a moment that feels like an eternity when you attempt to, but can not, read his thoughts but somewhere deep inside you're almost certain he knows yours.

“Now you sure your daddy won't mind you givin’ up what's his to a man like me, Sweet thing?”

His hand twitches by his side, knowing exactly how he'd hold you right now if you only allowed him to.

“Not everything here is his to give.”

You answer, and he bares his teeth one more time in a satisfied grin.

“Smart girl.”

The praise falls from his lips, and you hesitate for a moment. Your body aching for more with every single pet name and praise that cut through the menacing silence of the night. Your chest rises as you breathe in the cool air deep into your lungs, making up your mind with an exhalation that does not go unnoticed. He observes, moving his head slowly, flowing to your eyes, not wanting you to look away. If it was any of the others, you'd say he's watching his prey.

“Go on now.”

Pushing the gun harder against his chest, you make your decision clear.

You order, and he listens, lifting his arms up in a defensive gesture once again. That damn smile never leaves his face before he takes a step back, then another and one more. Slowly stepping down from the porch, onto the dirt path leading to your house, his eyes on yours the entire time.

“I ain't looking for trouble, Miss.”

He toys with you, and you fight yourself with all the will left within your body, trying not to give in.

“Get your ass out of here before I shoot.”

The threatening tone followed, with a gesture towards the barn with the barrel of the shotgun. Watching him turn to walk away, you feel a conflicting wave of disappointment as your body craves him. A part of your soul within you that claws to the surface, aching for him, a voice inside that yells at you to step outside and a much quieter one screaming at you to shut the door. Your body trembles with desperation, but your feet stand firmly on the wooden floor of the old house. You know better, you're smart. He told you you were.

“One of them.”

His voice again, it stops the train of thought as you focus solely on his words now.

“One of these damn gorgeous nights, I will get to hear the words from those pretty lips of yours.” 

He proclaims, speaking louder than he should now, and you glance over your shoulder quickly inside the dark interior of the house, before he continues.

“One of those damn nights, you'll let me have you again, Darlin’... and that time, I might just wanna keep ya’.”

It takes every last bit of your will to hold yourself back, to not let him see, not let him feel the desperate cries of your body, exhausted from how you withhold the pleasure from it.

“In your dreams, boy.”

A firm answer, no trembling in your voice, no hesitation, and yet you feel like he saw through the act. He did, from the very beginning.

“No, no no. In yours, Sweet thing. Your dreams, I’ll be there, like any other night. As you beg of me to be.”

A rush runs through your body as the memories of the night flood your mind once again. The pounding of your heart picks up as your body remembers his cold touch on your skin. His hands, steady on your shaking hips, his eyes so fixed on yours, his tongue tracing over your skin worshiping the warmth of it. His arms that could hold you up for days, his legs pushing yours open, and the feeling, the feeling he spread inside of you when you offered yourself fully to the sinful pleasure, to him.

In his mind, you belonged to one another. He was yours and you were his. Nothing, except from you alone, could stand between that bond, that want, the need, that desperate desire that could never be truly fulfilled. 

You wait till he steps outside the barn minutes later. The collar and sleeves of the white shirt, now covered in the blood of an innocent lamb. His chin and neck drip with the dark, crimson liquid. His hands completely still as the thick drops fall onto the grass, burned dry by the scorching sun. A hypnotizing sight, so terrifying to some, so intriguing to you. The vampire’s glare catches yours for another moment, the sharp teeth peaking from behind his lips, his figure slumps slightly, eyes shinning red in the light of the porch lamp like an animal.

He bows as if ending a performance he put on, just for you, and you watch as the figure slowly disappears into the dark.

Unable to see him now, you listen to the silence, waiting and as the usual sounds of the night slowly return onto the property, the trees, the fields, only then you step back into the house, shutting the door behind you. 

Switching with your father once your shift finally ends, you make your way over to the small bedroom. Your eyes fall on the window above the bed, the darkness of the night looming behind the glass, calling your name so distinctly, so clearly you wonder if at this very moment someone stood by your side, could they be able to hear it?

While changing for bed you catch, just out of the corner of your eye, the two small red dots, somewhere outside. Never there when you turn back to look directly at them but back in your field of vision once you turn away. Once again, there’s no fear.

When you lay down in the big wooden bed, closing your eyes, you finally let yourself feel what you kept pushed so deep down in front of him. Your hand wanders down your body, slowly, as you strive to recreate the exact same way his hands touched you. The painfully disappointing attempt to make yourself feel the way he alone could make you feel.

And as the night drags on and your hands work over your anguished body, the small drops of sweat form at the surface of your skin and the quiet, desperate sounds of pleasure fall from your soft lips. You hope somewhere deep in the darkness he listens for you, hearing every little thing you whisper to him.  Exhausted but unfulfilled, you curse the ray of sunshine that falls into your room in the early morning hours, forcing you to wait for dark, for him, yet again.

[neckromantics]

Can we please talk about how often vampires are seen having infatuations with the living, simply because they’re… well, living? How Astarion's vampiric nature would have him frequently mesmerized by just how alive you are??

Pt1.

(nsfw warning. oops. It's mostly fluff tho. there is kinda breathplay in this. i didn't mean to, but-)

Astarion who, smitten as he is, rests his head against your chest during one of your regular lazy morning cuddles. He’s not so covertly listening in on the pounding of your heart. Bare skin sensitive to every brush of his fingertips as he traces them up and down the softness of your side, tapping along to each solid thud as it beats away for him. You try not to squirm too much in fear of jostling him out of whatever dreamlike state he’s fallen into, but you’ve no need to worry. Your soft breathing—the subsequent rise and fall of your belly— is only lulling him further and further into that rare state of tranquility.

After a while, he’ll relocate a little further down. One pointed ear presses tight to the tender skin of your ribs as he seeks to be even closer to the sound, and this time, you can’t stop yourself from squirming. It’s his hair that does you in. The pale curls at the back of his neck are so silky soft against your flesh that it just about tickles, and the goosebumps that start to crawl their way up your arms only get worse each time he readjusts. He sounds so drowsy when he shushes your giggles, and when you insist you can’t help it, that it's his fault, he shushes you a second time. As if the sound of your laughter isn’t precious to him all on its own.

Astarion, who often finds himself with his lips to your pulse point without really knowing how he got there. You’ll be sat by the fire having idle chit-chat, and the next thing you know, he’s pulling your joined hands up toward his mouth as it’s your turn to speak. The first time it’d happened, you thought maybe he wanted a bit of a snack or something (not that he’s really ever done so without asking, first. Even though you’ve said about one thousand times that the offer is always on the table), but when you turned to glance at him, there wasn’t an ounce of hunger in those ruby eyes of his. He was listening to you as intently as always. Even nodded to encourage you when your sentence trailed off a bit in your confusion.

You’re not entirely sure he knows he’s doing it, or why he’s doing it for that matter, but you couldn’t be more wrong.

There’s a general warmth radiating from you that, despite Astarion’s best efforts in the past, he’s always been magnetized to. But here? Where his mouth stays poised? It’s a heat like nothing else. The steady pulse of blood—of life—calls out to him like a siren song, and while the hunger is there (will always be there), there is also something else. Something more, perhaps? A feeling he can’t quite put a name to. It’s a comfort, maybe. An assurance, he reasons to himself. That steady thump of life beneath his lips is proof enough that you’re still here with him.

Anyway.

Conversations continue without a hitch now-a-days, despite his voice being a little more than muffled with his lips jammed against whatever pulse point he can find. But, you don’t mind because while you can’t see him smiling, you sure can feel it.

Astarion, who gets struck with such a strange, desperate need to feel your breath that he has to lift his hand to your lips as he sinks deep into your warmth. Mouth half-open from your previous slack-jawed whining, not even a moment passes before you’re pressing sloppy, wet kisses to the cool skin he’s offered up to you, lids heavy with lust as you try and fail to keep your eyes focused on your lover. It still baffles him how you never miss a beat—not with him, anyway—not even when he’s got the entire bottom half of your face cupped beneath a firm hand.

His own mouth can't stop exploring every inch of flesh it can reach. He says your name but it sounds more like a thank you, fangs pricking against the inside of the arm you've got wrapped around his neck as your heels dig into the meat of his ass to nudge him forward still. Your fingers curl into his hair, getting a good handful that you'd never dare to pull. It's a gentle guiding that drives him mad—the way you herd him ever closer with such a tender touch—as if he isn't pinning you into the mattress with the majority of his weight already.

While his breaths are unneeded, they quickly match pace with the ones you’re puffing against his hand. Hitching into a gasp that he can’t think to contain when your moaning sends vibrations all the way up to his elbow. Your quick gulps of air stutter beneath him as the two of you get your bearings, and your next exhale is so sharp as his hips jerk against yours that it practically whistles out between the spaces of his fingers.

Astarion doesn't think he's ever heard anything more perfect in all his undeath.

(Me quietly to myself: what kind of kink is this.)

[laccakes]

something about katsuki bakugou secretly loving to shower his pretty girlfriend with needed princess treatment is so precious.

leaving the prom’s party venue after a memorable night of mingling with fellow ua students and dancing with friends left your blisters forming blisters.

you walked alongside bakugou on the streetlight lit sidewalk, intertwined hands swinging as you guys walked. bakugou was too exhausted to protest the unnecessary childish movement. or maybe the sight of your smile and the melody of your soft laughs at his comments on the night captivated him into a trance he so desperately did not want to break free of. 

“hold on, kats.” you spoke in a whisper, reaching to adjust the heel on your foot. “my feet are killing me.”

bakugou rolled his sharp ruby eyes at your complaint. those same eyes that always seem to soften whenever he’d look at you. so, he’s been told countless times by kirishima and kaminari. 

“told you not to wear ‘em.” the blonde remarked, holding your hand as you continued fixing your hellish heels. “actually, your dumbass encouraged it.” 

bakugou smirked down at you, blond brows furrowing. his eyebrow piercing glistening in the warm hue of the streetlight. there was something about you picking up on his way of speaking that made his heart flutter the tiniest bit. the cruder the better he’d argue.

“who the hell are you calling a dumbass, dumbass?”

“you, asshole.” this whole trying to adjust your heels thing wasn’t working. next best thing, take those bitches off.

you huffed defeated, “lemme just take ‘em off.”

“c’mere.” bakugou spoke low and gravely, gesturing for you to put your foot on his thigh as he gently slipped the hellish heels off your feet. you held onto his broad shoulder in an attempt to steady yourself. when he finished, bakugou held your heels in his hand, fingers hooking the straps.

then with ease he hoisted you up on his shoulder with the other hand. his ring littered hand resting pretty on your waist, keeping you secure in place.

"don't need you whinin' bout pebbles and shit scratchin' your feet." bakugou huffed.

all this just to get to his car is kinda crazy.