#she is allowed to be stressed out and frustrated about it

[penelopehere]

How Rumi’s Parents Met HCs

a/n: Ryu is the name of Rumi’s mum

I personally believe her parents met when Ryu was by herself, patrolling the city when she spotted a demon lurking in an alleyway

Naturally she went to investigate, attacking instantly when she got close enough

However the demon didn’t fight back, merely defending itself and then disappearing as soon as it could

At first she thought it was strange, but just brushed it off as she went back to patrolling

However, when she spotted the same demon a couple days later, the exact same thing happened

She attacked, and he disappeared in an instant

This simultaneously confused and annoyed her, with Ryu now going out of her way to find that specific demon

She told her team about the unusual situation, but was reassured that he was nothing the hunters couldn’t handle

Regardless, Ryu still went out to get answers

It was weeks until she managed to corner the demon, pinning him against the wall with her blade to his throat 

She asked why he was in the human world, growing more frustrated as he remained quiet for a few moments

He then said if she was going to kill him that she should just get it over with, which threw Ryu off long enough for him to slip away and disappear

From there a pattern would emerge, with the two of them frequently crossing paths when Ryu was patrolling alone

Unbeknownst to her, the demon was actually seeking her out, wanting to talk more

She’d basically interrogate him about his life as a demon, trying to find his intentions for not attacking her

However, from these questions she’d learn he wasn’t loyal to Gwi-Ma, trying to escape his voice

While Ryu was sceptical at first, the two of them grew closer, with her even answering the demons questions about her

That’s when she realised she genuinely cared about the demon

Not knowing how to handle these feelings, she instantly went out of her way to not see him

Eventually she began seeing him everywhere; in the crowd during concerts, in the corner of her eye when she was on patrol, sometimes even outside her house

However, he’d manage to get Ryu by herself, asking why she’d just leave him and that if she wanted to end things she should say it to his face

They’d definitely argue, saying that whatever they had shouldn’t even have happened since they were so different

The demon would eventually leave, promising not to find her again if she really felt that way

Months would pass, with Ryu missing him more and more

Even the other members would notice, but she’d just say she was stressed about maintaining the Honmoon

She’d try and find the demon again when she was on patrol, with no success

Eventually, when she was alone, she’d start talking to herself; asking him to come back

The moment those words left her mouth, he’d appear; neither of them talking when they locked eyes

From there the two would confess their feelings for one another, despite the two being a demon and hunter, allowing for their relationship to properly start

She wanted to tell Celine, but anytime she brought up the topic of demons, she saw the anger and resentment in her eyes

So instead they kept their relationship a secret, dating for years as Ryu made sure the other hunters never found him

At some point they would get married, merely exchanging rings as a symbol of their union rather than doing anything official

However, when she fell pregnant, she knew she would have to come clean

I believe this caused a falling out with the hunters, with Ryu disappearing since she knew they would never accept her new lifestyle

She continued to hunt demons for as long as she could, doing it from the shadows so her former group couldn’t find her

Her husband would help her during this, using his demon abilities to his advantage and fully taking over when Ryu became too pregnant though

When Rumi was finally born, neither one of her parents knew how to raise such a unique child

At first they were cautious, meticulously noting down her demon attributes and any behaviours they thought were abnormal

However, they very quickly grew not to care about her differences and focused on making sure she was happy

Rumi lived a rather sheltered life with her parents, staying home most of the time until around the age of three

At this point I believe Gwi-Ma heard of a rogue demon that was helping a hunter, sending all his underlings to capture them

Their family remained hidden for a while, however the demons managed to track down the area and they lived in

Not wanting to leave the humans of their city in danger, and knowing that no matter where they went Gwi-Ma would find them, they tried coming up with a plan to defeat him

However, Rumi’s father knew that this was practically impossible, and decided to face the overlord alone

He quietly said goodbye to his family, leaving them in the middle of the night

Ryu knew exactly why he had gone when she realised he was missing, not knowing how to go after him while also protecting Rumi

Eventually, she’d run into Celine who had heard about the concentrated number of demons in the area

Seeing Rumi with her demon markings, everything clicked into place and Celine was horrified

Instead of explaining herself, Ryu pleaded with her to understand that Rumi was still her daughter

This managed to convince Celine to take care of the child while Ryu went to go look for her husband

I believe they would only reunite at the final battle, with demons trying to drag her husband back to the demon world

In the process, civilians were being killed as well, Gwi-Ma managing to slowly make his way topside because of the influx of souls

Here Ryu would do her best to protect everyone while saving her husband, the two of them reuniting amidst all the chaos

This would catch Gwi-Ma’s attention, with him directing all his resources towards capturing the hunter and her demon husband

The pair would manoeuvre around the city, trying to draw the mob away from the public

In the end though, they knew what they had to do

Charging to Gwi-Ma, they lured all of the demons back into his flames in an attempt to push him back in the underworld

This worked, however, at the cost of Ryu and her husband’s life

Celine witnessed the carnage, unable to stop Ryu’s sacrifice since she was taking care of Rumi and trying to direct all the civilians to safety

Celine blamed Ryu’s demon husband on all this, vowing to never let another corrupt those she loved

Therefore, despite being half demon herself, she raised Rumi to hide and despise her demon side

[painhungry]

I feel as if this is her attitude for practically the whole first act

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

Tw: gross TMI info

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

cw - stepcest, stepdad!toji x fem!reader, nsfw, mdni

< prev | next >

stepdad!toji who is pretty sure his dick is going to fall off if he didn’t sink it into someone soon, preferably his favorite little bartender who happens to live in his house now.

stepdad!toji who isn’t sure why he and his wife are trying to keep up a facade about their marriage. she wants people to believe it’s for love when it’s never been about that.

when she tries to seduce stepdad!toji with casual sex, he get up and leaves the bedroom, opting to sleep on the couch.

how could stepdad!toji want to have sex with his wife when her daughter is sleeping just a room down?

stepdad!toji who’s pretty sure he’s home alone. his wife is working. megumi is working, and you’re unfortunately working.

the only reason stepdad!toji isn’t at the bar right now with you is because he’s strapped for cash right now. adding two extra mouths to feed, even if you and your mom both work, hasn’t been the most frugal decision. he needs a hit.

a frustrated groan leaves stepdad!toji’s lips. he’s stressed, and his dick is painfully straining the grey fabric of his sweatpants. he’s not wearing any underwear, so the full outline of his dick is visible.

stepdad!toji who pulls out his phone and begins searching for porn videos. he types in your features, needing to get off to the closest thing he can to you.

stepdad!toji pulls down his sweatpants slightly, just enough for his fat cock to slap against his stomach. his tip is an angry, neglected shade of red, and it’s already drooling precum onto his shirt.

stepdad!toji settles into the couch, clicks on the video where the actress resembles you just enough to keep his attention, and he wraps his hand around his cock with a low hiss.

stepdad!toji who starts off slow. he imagines that he needs to be gentle with you. you’re a cute thing that he doesn’t want to ruin right off the bat. he imagines stretching out your pretty cunt, watching it slowly swallow him inch by inch while you whine and cry for him.

stepdad!toji who tilts his head back, only needing the porn video for audio assistance. his imagination is all he needs.

stepdad!toji begins to rut into his fist, picturing that he’s giving you your first dick down from a real man.

stepdad!toji doesn’t hear the sounds of footsteps approaching, but he definitely hears the little gasp. he groans. that’s exactly what you’d sound like when he’s hilted himself in your warm gooey cunt.

“t-toji..?”

stepdad!toji who nearly has a heart attack again because of you. he jolts slightly, covering himself in record timing, but the lewd moans continue sounding from his phone.

“jesus. do you have a death wish, girl?”

stepdad!toji who feels his cock throb when he looks at his stepdaughter, and the small part of him who still has some morals dies on the spot.

“why are you doing that in the living room..?”

“because i pay the goddamn bills in this house. i’ll beat my dick in any room in the house i pay for.”

stepdad!toji feels guilty immediately after snapping at you, but he fucking hates being caught off guard, especially while he was getting close to the relief he needs.

stepdad!toji who sees your eyes wander down to his dick standing up in his pants. his lips curl into a cocky smirk, and pride fills his chest instead. you’re curious about him, even while he’s your stepdad.

stepdad!toji pulls his sweatpants back down, allowing his dick to immediately spring free again. his hand resumes languidly pumping his length. “ya can either sit ‘n watch, or you can go back up to your room. i ain’t stopping.”

returning his attention back to his porn video, stepdad!toji feels a twinge of disappointment when he hears shuffling. he’s sure you went back upstairs to hide out in your room.

that’s until stepdad!toji sees his stepdaughter sitting on her knees in front of the couch.

locking his phone and practically throwing it aside, stepdad!toji rests his eyes on you, his real muse. he slings one of his arms behind his head as he takes on a more relaxed position.

“you curious, doll?”

his hand makes slick sounds from the amount of pre-cum oozing from his tip. he feels like a virgin teenager again.

“i vaguely remember a promise to be ruined the next time you saw me.”

stepdad!toji clicks his tongue, and he angles his dick towards your face, jerking off toward you.

“naughty girl. i bet you’d like that, huh? want me to split you open on my cock right here?”

stepdad!toji nearly blows his load right there as he watches you squirm a little, clenching your thighs together tightly. his words are clearly affecting you.

stepdad!toji, emboldened decides to buck his hips forward. his cock bumps against your lips, smearing his clear sticky fluid across your pretty lips.

“fuuuck, what a fuckin’ sight. marked up in my cum, just like you should be.”

stepdad!toji who sits up now and uses his hand to grab the top of your hair. his fingers tighten around the strands holding you in place.

“gotta be a good girl if you want me to give ya what you want. open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

stepdad!toji who’s surprised that you don’t even try to deny him. you do as you’re told, giving him a small “ahhh~”

stepdad!toji who can’t hold back any longer. his orgasm takes over by surprise, causing his dick to jerk and pulse. thick ribbons of cum hit your face one by one, primally marking you as his.

stepdad!toji’s hand releases your hair, and he pets your head dotingly. “look at you. such a good girl.”

when stepdad!toji gets up to get a towel to clean you up, he asks why you’re not at work.

“oh, i started my period and didn’t have the energy to get up out of my bed.”

stepdad!toji who doesn’t flinch even flinch from the word period. he’s a grown man who’s comfortable with whatever the human body does.

however, when you told stepbrother!megumi that you started your period and felt like you were dying this morning, he went a little pale in the face. he did offer to get you whatever you needed, but he was clearly a bit scared.

“ya feeling alright now, doll?” he asks, gently dragging the towel against your face to clean you up. “you know, i got something that will help those cramps for ya.”

you roll your eyes, but stepdad!toji continues to grin down at you. his thumb caresses the side of your face as his eyes stay on you. his pupils dilate ever so slightly.

“alright, c’mon. sit with your old man. i won’t try anything unless ya ask me to.”

stepdad!toji who cradles you on his lap for the rest of the day, rubbing your tummy, and watching movies in the living room.

stepdad!toji who feels like things are okay for once in his life.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah @iamrgo @kentoslvr @just-lilita @dumbmi

[wildflower-ramblings]

Surrender

You bite off more than you can chew

AKA you meet John Price at a bar and goad him into fucking you stupid

18+ MINORS DNI

This is basically porn without plot...except with plot hastily shoved in.

I just wanted to get railed by John Price 🤷‍♀️

I'm also going back to my roots - the first CoD fic I ever read was reader meeting John in a bar 🥺 it only feels right that my first full length smutty fic is the same

It's a long boi too - 5.7k

The air was thick with the press of bodies, heavy with the smell of sweat and sound of boisterous conversation. You weren’t drunk; far from it, but just tipsy enough for your inhibitions to be left at the door, rationality checked in like an unwanted coat. You weren’t even quite sure what you were celebrating any more – were you celebrating? – just that Jess had all but demand you come out and get drunk with her, and a combination of stress and frustration from your own life and worry for what she’d get up to without your presence had caused you to agree. Now, a couple of cocktails in, you were pleasantly buzzed enough that the presence of so many strangers around you brought excitement rather than apprehension. Jess seemed to agree, as she scanned the groups with an appraising eye, seemingly searching for something you were unaware of. Whatever it was, she didn’t seem to find it – instead turning to you with eyes even less focused than your own, grabbing your hands and dragging you to the bar with the loud declaration that she needs another round. It’s far from packed inside, but you still have to jostle for a place at the bar, fighting not to be pushed aside by a group of barely legal lads who are clearly soon to be cut off, if they haven’t been already. Your attention is only half on them as you try to talk Jess out of ordering shots, reminding her of the what happened last time she had tequila, enough so that you don’t notice the boys getting rowdy until one is shoved straight into you. You’re unsteady already, so the slight change in balance (and your damned heels) makes you stumble right into a solid body you hadn’t noticed was there before.

“Easy there, love.” a deep voice says, something about the tone making you feel hot all over, a fact not helped by the very large hand that’s splayed across your back. You look up, mouth already open to apologise, only to be rendered speechless.

Fuck me, he’s hot.

The bar is a regular haunt for them; far enough from base to be free of the fresh-faced privates with more testosterone than thoughts in their brains, sweet-talking pretty little things with tales of bravado that never left the tarmac; yet close enough that even the most impetuous of patrons know better than to bother the men in the corner with war in their eyes. It’s a good place to decompress, to shake off the weight of the latest deployment and attempt to settle back into something more domesticated, better suited to civilian life. Each new mission weighs heavier on John, the weight of every order he receives, every call he has to make dragging him further and further from something that can be tamed. This brief respite – the low light of a dingy bar, away from the prying eyes and rigidity of base, the buzz of alcohol in his system – is the only respite he allows himself, the closest he comes to allowing his iron-clad restraint to slip.

It’s busier than usual tonight – he thinks he saw some poster advertising some band earlier in the evening, and figures these must be the remnants of that crowd, already well on their way to intoxication. He thinks he should leave, head back to his office on base and fish out the bottle he keeps for best – and worst – days, and leave the younger men to their prowl; he can already see Kyle eyeing the prospects with the same calculating gaze he uses for missions, and he knows it won’t be long until Johnny spots some pretty thing at the bar and beelines for them with the excuse of buying another round. Simon had long since disappeared; though whether he’d decided he’d had enough or simply gone out for a smoke it was always hard to tell. But somehow, John found himself dragged to the crowded bar alongside Kyle with the promise of one last round, grumbling but unwilling to deny the younger man. The sergeant is in the middle of ordering when John feels someone stumble into him, and instinctively he reaches out to steady them, arm around their waist before he looks down, only to be met with a pair of eyes that immediately has him breathless.

Yeah, he can stay for another round.

You’re not sure to be grateful to Jess or curse her for knowing you so well, as she takes one look at the man whose arms you had – literally – fallen into, and seems to be determined to set you up. Either that, she’s trying to keep you occupied so she can hook up with his friend, who smoothly introduces himself as Kyle, and invites the two of you to join their table whilst you’re still stumbling over your words. You find yourself pressed into a booth between the man whose arms you’d fallen into (“John,” he’d introduced in that same deep voice, and you’d almost melted there and then), and a friend of theirs (“Sergeant John MacTavish, ma’am, call me Johnny.” he’d said – an attempt at flirtation that may have worked if you hadn’t already met the other John first). Both Johnny and Kyle were flirts big enough to rival Jess, and conversation was easy between your group as the two younger men attempted to one-up each other with increasingly wild tales of military antics; interrupted occasionally by John’s deep, gravelly voice in your ear, either calling them out or backing up their stories, though mostly he chose to remain silent, content to simply watch his mates flirt shamelessly.

Despite the attention of two very attractive and very interested men, you find yourself drawn to their companion, the one who isn’t fawning over you, but instead sits back and watches you, eyes dark as they catalogue every movement you make, trailing over the exposed parts of your skin when he thinks you’re not paying attention. At some point, your hand had come to rest on his burly thigh, far too high to be innocent, and despite his initial shock he hadn’t moved away.

You can tell he’s interested – knew from the first moment his eyes met yours at the bar, the way his pupils dilated and his gaze lingered on your skin – but something is holding him back, keeping him from indulging in what you both want, despite your obvious flirtations. You wonder if it’s part of military training, something drilled into them about keeping calm under pressure, that gave him his iron-clad will.

You wonder what it will take to break it.

You don’t know if Jess or Johnny who suggests it – your brief interactions with the rambunctious Scotsman had taught you that he was eerily similar to your best friend in his ability to seek out trouble – but somehow you’re coerced into the shots Jess had wanted earlier. You close your eyes as you tip the shot back, not noticing the way John’s eyes follow the curve of your neck when your head tips back, the bob of your throat as you swallow, his mind going to much different scenarios. You do notice his chuckle when you grimace at the taste of the alcohol, and you pout at him.

“Not going to join us?”

“I’ll stick to whisky, thank you.” he says, tipping his glass in acknowledgement.

“Probably a good idea. This stuff is foul, I’m not sure I’ll ever get the taste out of my mouth.”

“Here.” He holds the glass of amber liquid towards you. “This’ll help.”

You’re suddenly struck with an idea – you lean in, your eyes locked on his as your lip wraps around the glass, swallowing. A stray drop catches on your lip, and without breaking eye contact you flick your tongue out to catch it, enjoying the way John’s eyes follow the motion. You think you can hear someone wolf-whistle in the background, but you can’t find it in you to care, not with the way John is looking at you – like he could devour you whole.

It’s not long before you and John are the only ones left – Johnny having made an excuse about being tired, though it’s more likely he was sick of being the third (fifth) wheel; and Jess and Kyle having not-so-subtly disappeared to the ‘bathroom’ one after the other. Not that you can blame her – you would let John fuck you in the dirty bar bathroom, if he’d only ask. Unfortunately for you, he’s too much of a gentleman, refusing to allow you to walk the five minutes to your flat alone, even amongst your half-hearted protestations that you would be fine. You can’t find it in you to be truly upset, not when every part of you is humming with need, desperate to keep him in your presence.

The walk is mostly quiet – you’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but yours is occupied with with ways to get him inside your apartment, to convince him that you want this as much as he does. You barely even notice that you’ve arrived until you spot the familiar bright blue door.

“This it?”

“Yeah.” you bite your lip, suddenly unsure. Despite the obvious attraction, and your rather blatant flirtations, he’s given you no indication that he intends to take things any further. You’re not sure how to ask.

“I’ll walk you up.” his tone leaves no room for argument, and a part of you hopes it’s because he doesn’t plan to leave. Your mind swirls with with possibilities, both of dragging him into your bed, and of him leaving you at the door without a word, never to see you again.

You’re distracted as you pull out your keys, so much so that you forget about the dodgy step – the same hole that had been there since before you moved in, and had probably been there since the nineties – and immediately stumble, keys slipping from your grip. John is beside you in an instant, deftly plucking them from the air before you’ve even noticed you’ve dropped them, his hand on your waist to steady you.

“Careful, love.” he rumbles, dangerously close to your ear. He’s once again in your space, taking up all your senses. You want to keep him there as long as possible, and you’re fairly certain he wants that too, as he doesn’t hand you the keys, and he makes no move to pull away.

“Thank you, John.” you breathe, placing a hand on his thick bicep and squeezing lightly, and you can see the effect it has on him. His eyes darken, and his grip on your waist tightens just slightly.

“Don’t do that, love.”

“Why not?” you keep your voice low, unwilling to break whatever fragile bubble you’ve built around the two of you, the one where nothing else exists but you. The one where he’s so close to giving in, to giving you both what you want.

“I’m not what you want.”

“And how do you know that?” you murmur, letting your hand brush gently from his arm, across his broad shoulders, to rest on his chest, right over his heart. You can almost imagine you can feel it hammering under your touch. “Tell me you’re not interested and I’ll stop.”

“You don't know me, love. Trust me, you don’t want me.”

“You didn’t say you’re not interested.” You say, stepping closer to him, so close you swear you can see the conflict playing out behind his eyes. You lean up, lips ghosting against the shell of his ear. “You trying to scare me off? Or are you afraid you can’t handle me?”

His jaw twitches, clenched tight. Fingers clenching around around the keys, white-knuckled.

“Inside. Now.”

He doesn’t touch you as he follows you up the stairs to your apartment, but you can feel the weight of his stare on you, heavier than any hands you’ve had on your body before. Neither of you speaks – the tension is drawn so tight that you’re afraid the slightest sound will cause it to snap, and you’re not sure if you’re more frightened or excited by the prospect.

Your hands tremble as they try to fit the key into the lock, and suddenly his hand is covering yours, steadying it; but the electricity it sends through your skin nearly causes your knees to buckle. Almost as if he can read your thoughts, his other hand goes to your hip, his body a wall of muscle behind you, so close but not touching, almost as if to say fall if you have to, I’ll catch you.

You’re only too eager to take him up on the offer.

It’s only when the door clicks shut behind him that you turn to look at him. His broad frame almost dwarfs the door, but your entire world was drawn down to just his eyes; the bright blue is gone, replaced with a dark storm that under other circumstances would be terrifying, but here in the low light of your apartment it causes a thrill to go through you, heat pooling in your belly. You feel simultaneously powerful and fragile – a siren luring the sailor in, only to find you’ve been caught his net the whole time, your voice holding no more power over him than a ship has over the ocean.

It’s then that his control snaps; stepping forwards, he grips the back of your neck like he’s scruffing a stray cat, and drags you into an open-mouthed kiss. His other hand splays across your back, pressing you close with no way to escape his grip. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, unable to do anything but surrender. All of your senses are taken over by him – the warmth of his hands even through your clothes, the taste of whisky on this tongue, the scent of something masculine and faintly smoky overwhelming you until you couldn’t think of anything but him.

When he finally pulls away you’re breathless, staring up at him with glassy eyes, leaning into his hand like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. It might very well be; you feel so weightless you might float away, the warmth of his hands being the only things keeping you tethered. You let out a disappointed wine when he drops his hands and steps back from you, looking pleased with himself at the desperate noise. If you’d been any more lucid you might have noticed the faint growl in his voice, the only sign that he was just as affected as you were.

“Clothes off. Now.”

All your earlier bravado is gone; you can only scramble to obey with an eagerness unmatched by even the most well trained soldiers under his command. And he knows it too; there’s a knowing glint in his eyes as his lips curl in the hint of a smirk, arms folding across his chest as he watches you kick off your shoes, reaching for the zipper of your dress.

“Eager thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and you find yourself nodding reflexively, letting the dress fall to the ground, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. His hands find your waist as you unclasp your bra, his lips at the shell of your ear, voice low and sending shivers down your spine. “Just need someone to tell you what to do, is that it?” His lips just barely brush against your skin, trailing a path across your jaw, as one hand skims up your side to your chest, palm cupping your breast, and you tangle your hand in his hair in a desperate attempt to keep his lips on your skin. “Need someone to make you behave?” He pulls back to watch your face as he gives your breast a squeeze, tugging at your peaked nipple and sending a jolt straight to your core.

“Yes.” You breathe, and his mouth is on yours again, tongue sweeping into your mouth and swallowing your gasp. His hands are everywhere, kneading at the swell of your breasts and tracing the curve of your spine, slipping beneath your panties to grip at the curve of your ass, pressing your hips against forward against the unmistakable bulge in his pants. Your hands leave his hair move to tug your underwear off, but you’re quickly stopped by his hands gripping yours, bringing them to his lips.

“Allow me.” He murmurs, sinking to the ground. His hands are delicate as they grip the waistband of your panties, dragging them slowly down as his lips follow, brushing kisses against the soft flesh of your hip, thigh, your knee; getting further and further from where you want them. He may be on his knees before you, but you’re acutely aware that he is still in control; each kiss to your bare skin perfectly calculated to bring you closer to madness, ignoring his own almost painful arousal. His lips trail back up your legs, and you can feel yourself growing wetter as he gets closer and closer to where you need him most – only to ghost right over your pussy, his lips instead moving to your hips, your stomach, everywhere but where you want them. You whine, hands tugging at his hair, try to bring his mouth where you want it. Instead, he continues up your body, until his lips brush the underside of your breast, before wrapping around a peaked nipple and sucking. You all but collapse into his arms with the jolt of pleasure it sends through your body and he chuckles lowly, standing to place a brief kiss to your lips.

“Bedroom, sweetheart.”

“Second door-” you barely have time breathe out before you’re swept off your feet, clinging to his shoulders as he swiftly locates your bedroom. Barely a beat passes between him laying you on the bed and fitting his body over yours, lips capturing your own, and fitting one large thigh in between your legs. He grips your hips and guides them over the rough fabric, his own arousal pressing into your hip. You can tell already that it’s going to be impressive, and your hand reaches down to grip him through the fabric, desperate to feel him.

With a groan he pulls away from your lips, gripping your wrist and pulling it off him as he looks down at you with pupils blow so wide they’re nearly black. For a moment you think he plans to fuck you just like this; you laid out bare, and him still fully clothed, and that just won’t do. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be able to touch and kiss and bite. You impatiently paw at his shirt, and he separates from your lips just long enough to remove it, giving a breathy chuckle at your impatience. He doesn’t give you any time to admire him, as he moves down the bed, nudging your legs apart with his shoulders and settling between them. You think you should be self-conscious, having him so close to your most intimate parts, but the hungry look in his eyes only has you getting more worked up.

“Look at you…” he breathes, and you’re not sure it’s meant for you to hear. You shift impatiently, desperate for some kind of touch, anything, needing him to do something. His eyes flicker up to yours, amused.

“Need something?” He says, placing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, so close but so far from where you want him.

“Please, John-” you whine, hips bucking. Slowly he kisses up your thigh until he’s at your folds, so close-

His nose brushes against your clit and you jolt, fingers curling into the sheets. He’s barely even touched you, yet you’re so wound up that the slightest touch sends electricity through you. And then his mouth is on you, tongue rolling over your clit, and you arch off the bed with an obscene moan. A broad hand is splayed out on your stomach, holding your hips still, as he other hand grips your hip with almost bruising force to keep you against his mouth. His tongue laves through your folds, dipping into your entrance just slightly before rolling over your clit, and back again, your hips rocking into his face with every stroke, frantically chasing your pleasure. It’s devastating how fast he has you reaching your peak, the warmth pooling in your belly as your hand cards through his hair, walls clenching around his tongue as he fucks it into you, your whole body on fire. And then he wraps his lips around your clit and you break, eyes rolling, screaming his name as body tries to curl in on itself, thighs clamping around his head in a way you’d think would be painful, if you’d been able to think at all. You feel your orgasm in your whole body, every inch of you drawing tight before you melt, boneless and heavy, yet still not sated.

He kisses up your body slowly, giving you time to come down from your high. His hips slot between yours as he draws you into a slow kiss, letting you taste yourself on him as he grinds his clothed bulge against you with the same languid pace as his kiss. You’ve just come, but you want more – want all of him. You need to feel him inside you.

“Want you-” you whine, hands moving for his belt, clumsily tugging at it with clumsy hands, still shaking from your orgasm.

“’m getting there, sweetheart.” he groans into your mouth, gripping both your hands in one of his to try and move them away. “Patience.”

“No.” you whine, hand slipping under the waistband of his pants, reaching down to cup his length through his underwear. His movements still immediately, head dropping to your neck as his hips buck into the warmth of your hand.

“Brat.” he nips at your jaw, before he pulls away from you and moves to stand. You open your mouth to complain but are quickly silenced by the sight of his hands at his belt, thick fingers undoing the buckle with ease before impatiently shoving his pants and underwear down simultaneously, allowing his cock to spring free. You’re not sure what happens afterwards, too focused on the image of John’s large hand gripping his flushed length. He looks big even in his own hand – you want to know what he’ll look like with your smaller ones wrapped around it. You’re not sure you’ll be able to cover it completely even with both your hands, but god do you want to try. Your mouth practically waters as you rise up off the bed, reaching towards him, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Lay back, sweetheart.” He growls, stills fisting his aching cock as he crawls back over you, pushing at your shoulder gently to force you down. But you resist, too focused on getting your mouth on him. You want to know how he’ll taste, how heavy he’ll will feel on your tongue, how wrecked he'll sound when he comes down your throat.

“Please, John, let me-” your hands are on his shoulders as you give him your best pleading eyes, licking your lips as you try to move on top of him. “Please let me suck your cock.”

“It’s alright-” he starts, but you silence him with a kiss, tongue licking into his mouth, giving him just a taste of what you want to do with his cock.

“I want to.” you breathe when you pull away, enjoying the heady look in his eyes as he gives in.

He allows you to push him back, to settle on your knees in front of him, but his eyes never leave yours. His tangles loosely in your hair, not tight enough to pull, but firm enough to remind you who’s in charge.

Your eyes remained fixed on his as take him into your hand, giving him a few languid strokes, before leaning down and letting your tongue flick over the head.

You watch as his breathing stutters, as his jaw twitches in what you’ve learnt is an attempt to restrain himself, to keep some semblance of control, as your hand continues to work his cock, your tongue swirling over the head and lapping at the beads of precum there.

You don’t want him controlled. You want to see him break.

Without warning you wrap your lips around his cock, taking him as deep as you can. You hear him swear above you, his hand tightening almost painfully in your hair as he fights the urge to buck his hips into the warmth of your mouth. You pull back, swirling your tongue around his tip, before bobbing your head again, taking him deeper, as your hand strokes what you can’t fit in your mouth. The noise he makes is positively sinful, half way between a moan and a growl, and you want to hear him make it again. You pull off his cock with a swirl of your tongue, but this time your mouth trails down his length, eventually reaching his heavy balls, and suck.

“Fuck.” He growls. With a grip just on the right side of painful, he pulls you off him, dragging your face up to his and meeting your lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, uncaring of the taste of himself as he guides you onto your back, hips slotting between yours, cock hot and heavy where it rests on your stomach. With his cock so close to where you need it, you think he might finally fuck you, but instead his hand trails down to cup your mound, fingers trailing through the arousal that’s gathered there, bringing it up tow swirl around your clit. You’re still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and the faint touch has you gasping, hips bucking into him, desperate to be filled.

“Have to get you ready, love.”

“’m ready now- please, John-”

“Patience.” he repeats his earlier words, thumb pressing lightly on your clit as his finger teases your entrance. “Gonna be a tight fit sweetheart, gotta stretch you out.” Just the thought of his cock bullying its way inside you has you clenching around nothing, and you think he can see it on you, as he teases a thick finger inside you, groaning at the way your walls clamp down around him. He adds a second finger, palm grinding against your clit, working you over into another orgasm with ease. You come with a cry, walls clenching around his fingers, and he groans at the sensation, imagining how you’ll feel coming around his cock. The thought alone is enough to have pulling his fingers from you, using the wetness on his fingers to fist his cock as he lines the weeping head with your slit. The feel of his tip pressing into you has you clinging to his shoulders, and he grips your leg, wrapping it over his hip, opening you further and allowing him to slip in deeper.

It’s achingly slow, the way he feeds his cock into you, as though he wants you to feel every single inch, every ridge and vein. By the time he bottoms out you’re nearly mad with anticipation, nails biting into his back as you try to force him to move, to give you some kind of relief.

“Fuck, sweetheart-” he groans at the sensation, fighting the urge to rut into with abandon, desperate to draw this out until he can feel you cumming.

You roll your hips up to meet his, desperately seeking the pleasure he’s withholding from you. But he denies you; keeping his thrusts just slow enough to keep you teetering on the edge without tipping over, driving you closer and closer to madness with each stroke, until you’re a sobbing, babbling wreck; begging him to please let you come.

“You wanna come, sweetheart?” He drawls, nosing along your jaw, his thumb just barely ghosting over where you need it.

“Yes.”

“Gonna have to ask nicer than that.” he teases, cock dragging against your walls in a way that's just shy of enough.

“Please, John, I – I’m so close – please, I –” you babble, half delirious with pleasure. Despite your previous orgasms, you need it, need him.

“Good girl.” he all but growls, thumb pressing down on your clit. That’s all it takes; you crash, white hot pleasure thrumming through every inch, clenching around his cock in attempt to drag him over the edge with you.

But he pulls out suddenly, cock slapping against your twitching, overstimulated clit as he squeezes the base to try and stave off his own orgasm. He taps it against your clit once, twice more more, enjoying the way you moan and writhe away from the contact, before he flips you over, dragging your limp and pliant body onto your knees. You can just barely manage to hold yourself up as he sinks his cock into your tight heat once more, the new angle hitting something inside you that has your eyes rolling back. The grip he has on your hips is is bruising as he sets a much faster pace, fucking into you as though you’re nothing more than a pretty little toy for him to use. It’s all you can do to grip the sheets but your head and try to keep yourself upright as he chases his own relief.

It’s not enough for John, however – if you can still hold yourself up, he hasn’t fucked you thoroughly enough. With one hand gripping your hips, his other arm against your chest and gripping the base of your throat like a collar, he drags your body up to meet his, your head dropping back onto his shoulder as his cock manages to hit even deeper inside you. Still not satisfied, he drags his fingers over your clit harshly; still sensitive, he has you on the precipice of another orgasm remarkably fast.

“I can’t- John-” Your hand goes to his where it fits over your cunt; you grip it tightly, but make no attempt to pull him away.

“One more, sweetheart. Let me feel you.” His lips ghost across your neck, his other hand kneading at your breast, and the combined sensations are enough to push you over the edge.

You come so hard you can’t even scream, your vision turning white and you collapse forward, the weight of John’s body following you, pinning you to the mattress. You barely register the feeling of John’s release shortly after, groaning as his hips stutter, as though trying to fuck his come deeper into you. He has just enough sense to roll off you slightly before he collapses fully, though his body is still a comforting weight tethering you to reality. Everything feels fuzzy, your limbs heavy. Even the brush of his breath against your neck lights up your skin like a livewire. You’re not sure how long the two of you lie there; with his warm body pressed against yours, and the gentle caress of his hands over your sweat-slicked skin, you feel lulled into an almost dreamlike state. You’re not sure if it’s minutes or hours before you feel his lips on your shoulder, his body pulling away from yours. You moan at the sensation of him slowly drags his cock from your sensitive walls, his cum already beginning to leak out. You barely even register him roll you onto your back, parting your thighs and settling between them, his eyes already dark as they fix onto your cunt.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight.” He says, mostly to himself, watching the pearly liquid dripping from your folds. He swipes his fingers through your folds, collecting what’s leaked out, before he stuffs them back inside of you.

“Look so pretty full of me, sweetheart.” You’re not sure if it’s the sound of his voice, his words, or his fingers inside you, but you can’t help but moan and clench down around him. He shifts his body so he can capture your lips, fingers still inside you. He kisses you languidly, tenderly, like he hadn’t just fucked your brain to liquid and left you boneless.

“You broken, love?” You can only weakly shake your head no, eyes still closed. “Don’t tell me you’ve had enough already.” You slowly open your eyes, finding him looking down at you with eyes dark, a smug look on his face like he’s won some game you weren't aware you were playing. Despite how tired you are, how blissed out you feel, you find yourself shaking your head, as if unwilling to disappoint him.

“Good. I’m not done with you yet.”

You wake in the morning with a pleasant ache between your thighs, your limbs still loose and boneless as you melt back into the mattress. You’re vaguely aware of the lack of another body in bed with you, but your limbs feel too heavy to move to check. You think you hear the sound of movement in your apartment, though it could just be your neighbours – either way, you’re too comfortable to care. It’s only when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching that you lazily open your eyes, just in time to see John, shirtless, broad chest and arms on full display as he places a steaming mug on your bedside table. You can’t help but admire him all over again in the golden morning light, eyes trailing over the expanse of his shoulders, remembering how he’d draped your legs over them whilst he buried his face in your cunt; the thickness of his fingers when he buried them inside you.

“Mornin’, love.” He leans over you, his hand gently cradling your face, and you rise up to meet his lips. It’s devoid of last night’s urgency, but still leaves you just as breathless and hungry. Your grip tightens as he moves to pull away, and you follow him, trying to bring his lips back to yours.

“Needy little thing.” He chuckles, pushing you back into the mattress and settling over you, his hand a solid weight on your throat as he tilts your head to look up at him. “Didn’t get enough last night?”

You say nothing, simply draw him back into a kiss, legs falling open as you allow him to settle between them.

[spatialwave]

are you jealous?

➸ ask: “Please could we get ‘i'm not jealous. you're just mine’ for Jayce😭” ➸ pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.9k ➸ tags: mdni! smut, nsfw, pwp, rough sex, dominant!jayce, jealousy, established relationship, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: hehe, thanks for asking!!

Jealousy was a trait that Jayce buried deep within. One that he wasn’t proud of, and he hated every fibre of his being when his mind was filled with thoughts of it. Especially when it came to you.

You were beautiful, a goddess among men. The poor man couldn't watch you waltzing through Piltover without his arm stretching over your shoulders as a silent declaration of “She’s mine.”

Jayce’s frustration often translated into the bedroom, where he could get rid of pent-up anger and stress. You were happily oblivious to it, indulging in any attention you could collect from the man. He was your boyfriend; his attention was the only one you sought.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor, the door shutting and locking behind you as you entered your home, with Jayce lingering after—another day, another fancy charity event, with the Man of Progress at the centre of attention.

“Oh, gods,” you uttered quietly, lifting a foot behind you to help remove the uncomfortably tall heels one by one. “Remind me never to wear these out again.”

Jayce was oddly silent behind you, only the quiet hum of acknowledgement as he shrugged his coat off and hung it neatly on the rack.

“Hello? Jayce?” Your voice was louder this time, having spun on your heels to wave your hand in front of his face, “Had one too many glasses of wine, did you?”

You were met with a look of discontentment, his brows slightly furrowed together. You blinked, head tilting curiously.

“You had fun talking Salo’s ear off all night, did you?” He huffed; the accusation caused your mouth to drop.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, delicate fingers lifting to your necklace as you began taking your jewelry off. You didn’t have the time for petty arguing as you walked toward your bedroom, eager to undress, “I suppose I had a few good chats with him about the future of Piltover. Why are you so upset? I’m making connections, aren’t I?”

“I’m not,” Jayce hurried behind you, footsteps heavy, “I’m just saying that you seemed to like his attention.”

His words were hushed as he spoke, obviously a bit sheepish for saying so. The wine in his stomach had done a great job removing the filter he’d so carefully put up every day.

“I can tell when you’re upset. I’m not an idiot… and quite frankly,” you looked over your shoulder once inside your room, hands behind your back struggling to undo the zipper of your dress, “I don’t appreciate the callous accusation. What’s your point?”

Jayce was quick to help, fingers pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lips met with your skin as your shoulders and back became exposed. Stubble tickling you and leaving you a bit breathless.

It was hard to stay upset with him.

“I’m just saying…” his voice wandered as he pressed kisses along your shoulder, up your neck and into your ear, “You were all over him.”

Your eyes had fallen shut, hands keeping the dress pressed against your chest so it didn’t fall right to the floor. The kisses left you shivering with each movement—realization hitting when he kissed the shell of your ear.

“Jayce,” you whispered, turning your head to look at him. You stared into his eyes, hazel with golden flakes that sparkled under the right lighting. His rough hands were on your hips, possessive

“Are you jealous?” The words fell from your lips along with a smirk, the question lighting your insides aflame.

“Not jealous,” he growled into your ear, hands grabbing your hips and pulling you back so your ass was pressed against the obvious erection growing beneath his slacks, “you’re just mine.”

Oh, gods. That awoke something in you.

“Ah,” you let out a gentle moan, allowing yourself to enjoy the way his hands groped at you eagerly, practically ripping the dress from your body that you no longer cared about keeping neat as it crumpled to the floor, “So, you don’t like it when other guys talk to me?”

Jayce huffed, lips attacking your neck from behind, unafraid to bite into the skin and suck. A silent reaction that spoke volumes.

His hard cock pressed against your ass again, separated by his slacks and the lace panties you wore that wouldn’t be on your body for much longer. You were suddenly pushed forward against the wall next to you, a gasp escaping your throat as his hands reached around your body from his spot behind you and delved right into your underwear.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispered, voice heavy and laced with lust. Two fingers rubbed slow circles against your clit, and it took all your energy to keep your knees from buckling beneath you, “Laughing at his terrible jokes… your fucking hand on his arm.”

A mewl escaped your lips, ass pressing back into him with need as his fingers assaulted your clit and shot an overwhelming amount of pleasure through your body. Your hands were pressed against the wall, nails scratching at it.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

“You think you can just flirt with anyone you want?” He growled, licking a long stripe up your neck, lips ghosting against your ear and his other hand squeezing painfully tight on your hip, “Tell me.”

“No,” you answered obediently. You had never flirted, or at least intended so, but gods, you’d be damned if this wasn’t turning you on.

His fingers moved easily through your folds, soaking wet as your juices seeped through your underwear. 

“Will you be a good girl for me?” Jayce whispered, lips moving down your shoulder and back as he dropped to his knees behind you. Fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down your body, slowly over the globes of your ass.

“Yes,” you said softly, eager to please.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, hands fondling your ass before giving a hard smack. “I said, tell me.”

You winced in pain, “I’m yours, Jayce. Only yours.”

Jayce had never quite felt this way before, a rush of power and dominance taking over. Knowing very well now that this side of him wouldn’t go unseen again.

His eager eyes watched as his hands spread your cheeks apart, exposing your tight hole and pussy that was so wet it dripped down your thighs. A pitiful mess, clenching around nothing.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned, leaning in and licking from your swollen clit to your entrance. He poked and prodded, earning whimpers of pleasure from you that filled his stomach with heat and made his cock twitch in his pants.

He pulled away from your cunt after a minute of devouring you like a starved man, chin wet and glistening as he pushed a slow, deliberate finger inside your pussy, that squeezed impossibly tight around the digit. Having been waiting for any form of stimulation.

“Fuck—“ you choked, face pressed against the wall and ass out.

He then stretched you with two fingers, your tight heat clenching hard around them. Your hips stuttered, knees shaking, and you had to use the strength of your hands pressed to the wall to keep you upright. The wet sounds of your cunt being fingers with no remorse filled the room, mixing with your quiet moans and Jayce’s soft praises.

“So good,” he whispered, kissing the back of your thigh and under the curve of your ass, “Do you think I should fuck you? Do you deserve it?”

“Yes, please,” you cried, unable to take any more of the teasing as your nails scratched the wall again. His fingers pumping inside you had already made you crawl slowly towards your release, but the absence of stimulation on your clit kept you from falling off, “I deserve it—“

“Prove it,” his voice was heavy, full of lust. He moved slowly to stand behind you, the sound of his belt undoing, making you tighten around the fingers that abused your swollen sex.

You glanced over your shoulder, a pout on your lips as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Jayce, I’m all yours,” you begged, cheeks burning a furious red as you fucked yourself back onto his fingers, “Only yours, I promise.”

“Gods,” he breathed, removing his fingers from your cunt and pushing them between your lips, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You sucked around his fingers, the familiar taste of your juices heavy on your tongue. You moaned loudly around them, face pressing against the wall as he pushed his cock inside your greedy cunt with one sharp thrust. His thick girth stretched you, an amount of fullness that always surprised you, even after countless times of being fucked by him.

He snapped his hips against yours at a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing louder than your mewls.

Jayce lifted a hand into your hair, tugging your head back so he could breathe against your ear, “You take me so well, baby.”

A whine strangled in your throat, a delicious sound that settled a familiar heat in the pit of Jayce’s stomach. He let go of your hair, leaning back so he could focus both hands on your

hips, squeezing so tight that you’d be surprised if your skin didn’t form lingering bruises in its wake.

Your heat enveloped him perfectly, your inner muscles clenching tight around his length with each deep penetration. Enough to rumble a groan from his chest as he focused on fucking you brutally and senselessly, feeding off every cry of pleasure that came from you.

“Cum for me,” his words came heavy from his chest, leaning forward as he greeted your otherwise abandoned clit that was dying for attention with a heavy-handed touch, “Please, baby. I need you to cum.”

Your toes curled against the floor as you felt the tight cord in your abdomen snap, his fingers circling your clit and cock stretching you out, leaving you nothing more than a sex-induced mess. His name rolled off your tongue in repetition, walls tightening hard around his cock as you milked him–desperate for him to fill you.

“Fuck, Jayce–”

“Just like that,” he groaned, eyes watching the way his cock sheathed inside your aching cunt, “fuck, baby, you look so good. You take me so good. So fucking perfect.”

A moan caught in his throat as he leaned forward, teeth and lips pressing against your shoulder. He came hard, hips stuttering and losing his pace as his cock twitched inside you as his climax hit him with unbridled intensity. Jayce’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, grunting heavy sounds against your skin as he slammed into you with one final thrust.

His cock pumped stream after stream of hot cum inside you, your still spasming walls coaxing out every last drop.

“Ah, fuck–” he sputtered, his body nearly going limp as he let go of your hips, muscled arms instead wrapping around your waist, “... I love you.”

The sweetest giggle bubbled up from your chest, turning your head against the wall to meet his gaze, “That was hot,” you murmured, blinking slowly, “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

“Please, no,” Jayce groaned, chuckling dryly as he buried his face against your neck in coy embarrassment, “I hate it.”

“You’re a dork. I love you, too.” You beamed.

[heavensoutofsight]

voice memos | b.e.

SYNOPSIS: billie loves to record voice memos... for everything.

WORD COUNT: 783

TAGS/WARNINGS: fluff & smut (mention of oral and strap-on sex)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: just a short little blurb that i found in my drafts and completely forgot about. i'm sorry this account has been so dead recently, here's something to hopefully hold y'all over 😔 hope you guys enjoy as alwayssss

[ taglist: @hannahluvsbillie, @bilssturns , @bla1rxoxo, @billiesrighthand, @weluvwbb, @belleishot, @natbelovasblog, @wilfdflwr8, @likefirenrain, @amara-eilish, @sevikasleftbicep ]

(forgot to add the taglist again y'all i'm stoopid)

the thing about billie, is that she loves to record things.

given her career as a singer, her ears were especially adept at picking up new sounds everywhere she went. anything from a dentist drill to the sound of a crosswalk was fair game to use in a song—if it sounded cool, she was recording it, and her little habit of being fascinated by the randomest sounds completely endeared you.

but, she didn't always record things for the sake of putting them in songs. she often recorded moments in her life that she just wanted to keep as a memory. sometimes it was the cute sound of shark snoring, the sound of her fans screaming for her from backstage, or even a recording of thunder and rain, just because the sound of the droplets hitting the window sounded calming to her. most often, though, her voice memos involved you.

they were often recordings of simple moments. one recording was of the two of you having a laughing fit over some random internet meme—it was exactly 30 seconds long, and all that could be heard was the sound of the both of you gasping for air. another recording consisted of the sound of food sizzling in a pan, with The Office playing in the background mixed with the soft sound of billie's humming and shark's whines as he begged for food. there was even a recording of you and billie having a late night conversation, one in which billie was venting to you about the stress her celebrity life gave you, and you comforting her with words laced in love and sincerity; private words, that no one else would hear except billie on the random nights she decided to replay the audio for herself.

but there was something else billie loved recording as well. something that absolutely no one was allowed to hear. sometimes, she'd share snippets of audio recordings for her curious fans on instagram—but these recordings were so private that she had them all on a sacred flash drive that she protected like it was gold.

it started one night when the both of you were in her home studio. she was feeling frustrated—she couldn't get a specific melody right for a song she was working on. she was tense and clearly deep in her thoughts. you, being the caring girlfriend you are, hated seeing billie so upset with herself; so you offered to take her mind off of the music for a bit, getting her to look away from the production software open on her laptop and at your face instead. you kissed her gently, whispering to her that the song would still be there tomorrow and you could return to it then. one kiss turned into two, which quickly turned into three, and then four, and eventually, the two of you were passionately devouring each other's lips right in the middle of the studio.

soon enough, you found yourself leaning over the desk, bending over slightly as billie was on her knees, eating you out like a woman starved from behind. every flick of her tongue was so precise, so skilled, and in only a few minutes she already had your knees buckling. your moans were so loud, filling the room and reverberating off the walls. billie loved the sound of your moans of pleasure so much—she couldn't help but pause for a moment to grab her phone and open up her voice memos app.

"billie—?" you had whined, confused and disappointed at her stopping.

"just wanna save this for later, mama." she replied, pressing record, and diving back in, picking up exactly where she left off.

you quickly realized what she meant when she mentioned "saving this for later" and all you could was let out a breathy chuckle.

"you are so fucking dirty, billie—" you said through high-pitched gasps as you felt billie's fingers rub your folds.

"you love it." she replied—and it was true. you did, because from then on, billie recording the sound your lovemaking became somewhat of a tradition.

she loved recording you when she fucked you with her strap, the sound of your pussy squelching with each thrust so deliciously filthy to billie's ears. she was addicted to the sound of her skin meeting yours, addicted to the sound of your whines and your deep groans of her name. the mattress squeaking under the weight of the both of you was the cherry on top.

nobody knew that when she was all alone in her hotel room, in need of stress relief, she'd come back to those very voice memos, the ones she recorded for her ears only.

[miwiheroes]

I feel like I've cracked a code.

The reason Mike's fighting with everyone in Season 3 is simple - he's fighting with himself.

We see him frustrated with pretty much everyone. Max, Lucas, Hopper, El, Will. He pulls faces, he feels entitled, he doesn't want to admit he's wrong with the El situation, he lies and picks fights, and this is where pretty much everyone in the ga agrees the Duffers 'ruined' his protective character. To me, as someone who studies psychology at a degree level, this is pretty clearly displacement of anger and anger as a defence mechanism.

We see it as a defence mechanism during the garage fight when Will confronts him and questions the integrity of his and El's relationship ruining the party. It could be said that Mike's angry at Will for doing this, but to me, he feels threatened. Externalised anger can come out as a response to feeling threatened, in this case displacing some of Mike's anger at himself onto Will. In the first part of the season, before the garage fight, we see a build-up of this displacement - mostly focused on Hopper who also makes Mike feel threatened, because he's questioning his relationship with El. Mike knows it's wrong, he knows he's pretending a little bit. So when he's questioned by Will, who is the subject of his shame and pain, his anger comes out at full force, truly showing exactly WHAT he is mad about. At himself.

Being queer <3

Examples of displacement I usually use to describe it are: Someone might lash out at a coworker after a stressful day because they are actually angry at themselves for not managing their time or workload effectively. A rich mean girl targets and bullies those at school who have it worse than her, because she has a bad home life, which she feels shame about.

Mike is using displacement to direct anger at people who make him have to confront how he feels about himself, since he's not ready to focus his anger or mind onto the real target, which is too shameful and painful to think about for him. That real target is not liking girls.

So when Will exhibits what he views as the same behaviour he wants to show, then he displaces the anger at himself onto Will.

If he's not allowed to feel good about not liking girls, then nobody is.

He does it again:

If Mike feels like someone else is ruining the integrity of his relationship with El (Will), then he wants El to know that she shouldn't be letting anyone ruin them.

He does it in season 2:

If Mike blames himself for El's disappearance, and feels like he's been lying, then he wants Hopper to feel like he hasn't protected El, like he's a liar. (He's literally crying because he's guilt-ridden you fools).

If he doesn't feel content, then nobody should be.

[getaapologist]

Draw Slow When You Take From Me

Pairing: Vampire!Geta x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI. Seriously. Blood! (this is about vampires, so), mention of the menarche, consumption of the menarche, sex.

Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: It's finally here. This is just my immediate thoughts that poured out when I first started thinking about this AU. I would always be willing to explore different things, perhaps pre-wife, or even other household members. Mine is sweet, mostly. If you're looking for something more... well, more, check out @prettycalla 's contribution. I promise it's so amazing (better than mine!). I also owed some people a Geta period thing, so I combined the two. I apologize in advance.

Geta looked down at you as you slept. He could hear every heartbeat, each individual ventricle pulsing, valves closing, a wet symphony. Waves breaking. Your steady breathing filled the room. He could smell the jasmine oil you dabbed behind your ears, at your wrists, between your breasts.

He was far too hungry to linger tonight.

“Mmm, come to bed,” you spoke sluggishly, reaching out to tug on his robes. 

“Later, mea lux,” he smiled, a deep pit in his stomach. It grew the closer he got, but he shoved it down so he could lean over and nuzzle at your cheek. He could smell the sunlight soaked into your skin. So tempting. “After our meetings.”

After the feed. While the bloodlust raged.

“Please,” you begged, your hand gripping the back of his neck to try to keep him there.

A brief flash of panic. His mouth watered and he swallowed it down. 

“I am busy, and you are…” He gently pulled your hand away and lifted his head, his eyes dark. “Distracting.”

Eyes dark, but unmistakably full of love for his new blushing bride.

A tamed shark.

“You will keep your word?” You smiled up at him, tone playful. “I do not care the hour.”

He kept his smile soft, lips shut tight. A nod. As he moved away, he allowed his mouth to open, the sign of his affliction not visible to you.

“I will keep it.”

Geta grimaced, looking down at the woman currently slung across his lap. He could see her impatience, staring up at him out of the corner of her eyes, stretching her scarred neck out. 

Inviting his thirst. Yet his stomach soured.

“Brother, are you alright? You’ve hardly touched your meal,” Caracalla giggled, pushing yet another of his concubines from his lap, blood fully covering the lower half of his face, his neck, staining his robes. He feasted like he was starved. “You keep on like this and you will slip up.”

A mocking laugh at Geta’s efforts.

Geta let out a frustrated growl, his anger at his brother’s suggestion pushing his muscles into action. The woman let out a panicked yelp as Geta hauled her up to his mouth, his teeth sinking in unkindly. 

As the hot, sweet liquid slid down his throat, he gulped eagerly, forgetting his earlier apprehension. He clung to her, his grip so tight it would leave marks. Even though the concubine occasionally winced, her face soon settled into a soft, blissful expression.

A nice trick. A gentle fever. A distraction from the threat of impending death.

The woman’s hand slid up his thigh, hoping for more from him than his hunger for her blood. A jolt of revulsion twisted his spine and he pushed her down to the marble floor, her neck still weeping. 

“E-Emperor?”

“Leave us,” he ordered, waving her away. She left reluctantly.

“You know, maybe you should give some more thought to turning her,” Caracalla suggested, moments before sinking his canines into another waiting neck.

A relieved sigh. A hand gripping his robes.

Geta turned away, Caracalla’s words echoing in his head.

No. Never.

The thought of never hearing your heart race for him again, never being able to leech the warmth from your skin into his?

Unthinkable. Not worth considering.

“Try not to kill anyone tonight, please,” Geta stressed to his voracious twin. “Silence is expensive.”

“I make no promises, brother,” Caracalla grinned, looking every bit a monster as he lapped at a still-bleeding neck. “That dreadful meeting worked up a mighty appetite.”

Geta stood, wiping at his mouth, feeling ill and far from sated. But he would not feed on another. He could handle himself just fine.

Discomfort. Cramping low. A glance down confirmed your fears. 

There would be no heir this month. 

It was hard not to grieve, even if it never existed. It was your one responsibility now, and you had hit your first stumbling block. 

Juno had not given you her favor.

The realization was uncomfortable, but there wasn’t anything to be done. Perhaps your offerings were not enough, too humble to wish for the child of an Emperor to take root.

For a moment you allowed yourself to lay there, knowing that getting up would be an ordeal in and of itself.

Geta could come back at any moment. He would surely want a clean bed to sleep in. It needed to be stripped. You needed to bathe. So you moved into action, despite the late hour.

As you worked, you wondered what Geta would make of this. Would he be upset? You honestly weren’t sure.

During your short time here at Palatine Hill, things were certainly unusual. People warned you that there was illness festering in the palace. That there was something strange going on. Dark rituals, or illicit affairs. The usual fantastical gossip. They told you that your husband-to-be was slowly being driven mad by his brother’s shocking antics. 

That at least seemed closer to the truth.

But you didn’t believe any of it until you were forced to marry under the moon, a quiet ceremony with minimal guests. Your new brother had been irritable all evening, Geta having to pause his conversation with you to place a steadying hand on his shoulder. More than once, he himself had disappeared to retrieve Caracalla more wine, instead of asking a servant nearby for a topping off. 

And there were these late night meetings every few days, meetings that you were not to attend. Meetings that lasted quite a while. It would be enough to worry any new bride.

Adultery was forbidden, yes, but would that truly stop an Emperor?

No. He’s shown you nothing but love and devotion. Even if he sometimes grows irritable, or will not walk in the sunlight, he has fulfilled all of his husbandly duties, quite well. And on the nights he returns from his meetings, he is insatiable–

No. Focus. Change your clothes. Strip the bed. 

All the ruined linen was carried off by a waiting servant just outside the door, replaced with clean, fresh bedding. 

Now, to bathe.

As you turned to leave, Geta stepped into the room, his dark eyes big and searching. Nostrils flaring.

“Mea lux, are you alright?” His voice was strained. Muscles tensed in his neck as he took slow steps closer.

“Yes,” you answered, building up your nerve to tell him there would be no heir this month. “Geta, I–”

He interrupted you, eyes raking over you, voice frantic and unsteady. “Do you have a cut? Where is it coming from?”

Your face felt hot as his hands tugged and pulled at your limbs, inspecting your skin. “My love, what?”

He sank to his knees before you, hands bunched up in the fabric of your slip. A moan fell from his lips and he pressed his forehead into your belly, breathing heavily. Your hands attempted to bring his head up, but he fought you. It was like trying to bend a metal bar. 

“Geta?”

A low rumble in his throat. Hunger stirring. Salivating.

He did not consider this.

“You bleed.”

Heat traveled up your neck, to your ears, your face. “Yes. I’m sorry, Geta.”

“I do not care about heirs,” he muttered, his face pressing into the fabric of the slip, his inhales deep and languid. 

Large hands released the fabric, sliding around to grip the back of your thighs, hauling you in closer, if that was possible. 

Your hands found his shoulders and you very nearly fell over. “Geta!”

He hugged your legs, his face dipping lower, and suddenly you were trying to fight him again, your self-consciousness not able to tolerate this.

“Geta, let me go, I am unclean,” you hissed at him.

“I cannot,” he whined.

“What do you mean? Let me go!”

His grip only grew tighter as you squirmed, his face pressing closer. Testing his will. 

He promised himself he wouldn’t ever let this get to you. He wouldn’t allow Caracalla’s carelessness to infect you. You were pure, his. He loved you.

And yet here you were, able to give him such a gift. 

He needed it.

Each inhale full of iron sent a buzzing through his brain, a wave of pleasure he felt all the way down to his toes. Even when he fed, he never felt like this, so lost to it.

Weak.

“I cannot control this urge, I am sorry, mea lux.” Pain was laced through his voice. “Please, you must go.”

“Geta?” Soft hands pressed at his cheeks, his shoulders. 

“Go!” he yelled, pushing you away from him. 

Mild fear gripped you, not used to seeing him like this. Something was very wrong. But he was resolute, unable to look you in the eye. You obeyed your husband, taking a few steps back towards the door.

“Wait,” he begged, reaching out for you. 

As you neared him, he struggled to breathe, opting to instead open his mouth, the smell overwhelming.

Clarity, then. 

His hands shot up defensively. “Do not listen to me. Go, get out of here. I cannot be trusted!” 

He could hear vividly how your heart raced, a different rhythm than what he was used to. Too fast. Uneven, as if it were scrambling to escape your chest.

“Geta, are you alright? Do you need–”

“Go!” he roared, getting to his feet.

“I-I will go get Caracalla–”

You were swept up and dropped unceremoniously onto the bed.

“No,” he growled, his eyes black as pitch. “You will not go near him.”

“I won’t,” you placated, hands on his arms.

Guilt coursed through him, even as he enjoyed the erratic racing of your heart. It was a miracle he hadn’t already fed, the aroma enough to seriously strain his convictions.

“I am sorry,” he sighed, his nose pressing against your cheek, moving down, pausing over your pulse, tongue slipping out to lick your skin.

No.

“Geta, are you unwell?”

A pained sound was torn from his throat, but he did not answer. His hands slid down until they reached the edge of the slip. He parted your thighs easily, fingers sliding up, your mumbled warnings not heard by him.

Wet. Warm. Viscous. 

He pushed off the mattress and brought his fingers in front of his eyes, his breath leaving him in delight. 

A relieved moan poured out of him as he slipped his red fingers between his lips, eyes falling shut.

Heat filled your face at the sight. You had always been told that the Emperors were a bit… unusual. But surely they didn’t mean this.

“Mea lux,” he drawled, bliss easing the stress from his voice. He looked quite satisfied. “This is… divine.”

Licking his lips, his dark eyes fell down to you. As his lips parted, you saw them. Long canines, not unlike a wolf’s, but perhaps more pointed. 

Unnatural. 

He tongued at one of them and a deep-seated hunger filled his eyes. “I need more, mea lux,” he spoke, lowering himself until his nose pressed against your soft belly again.

The fabric of the thin slip was pulled taut, up off your abdomen. He bit through the linen, the sharp canines making easy work of it. A loud ripping sound filled the room and cool air washed over you, now laid bare for him.

“Geta,” you flushed, nerves worming into your gut. “This is–”

“Please, mea lux, I am still so hungry…” he whined, lips brushing low, his tongue leaving behind a wet line. “You would not deny me this, would you?”

His voice was all sweetness, but edged with mania. 

“I have not bathed–”

“Good,” he growled, hands firmly pushing your thighs apart. 

He heard the transition, the moment when fear left you and your heartbeat settled into a more familiar rhythm. It made him salivate, his breathing matching yours, his desire growing for more than just your blood.

Your embarrassment only lasted until his tongue met the skin of your inner thigh.  

Soft, satisfied sounds rumbled from his throat with each stripe of skin he cleaned. He was immersed in it, each little taste making him stray further and further from himself.

Your hand gripped his shoulder.

Slow. Or you will frighten her, he told himself, his desperation only barely restrained. There was something about you that always made it easier. 

The blood alone was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, but mixed with your own desire for him? Truly a gift from the gods. He would not let a bit of it go to waste. 

Dark eyes met yours. 

“Do you have any idea how delicious you are?”

“Me?”

He made a sound of assent before pushing his face into your warm, wet center, eyes shut in relief.

Eyes rolled back. Sighs full of relief from both of you.

Geta wondered if this was what his victims felt, what kept them coming back for more. If it was anything close, he could understand. He could live here.

There was no room for cleanliness or concern for anything other than the taste on his tongue. The sounds ripped from his throat were obscene, the sounds he was making, even more so. 

Wet smacking, deep grunts, the slick pop of flesh leaving his suction.

His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise.

It didn’t matter. You were seeing the stars. It was almost too much, the way it felt. So wonderful, in fact, that you couldn’t even begin to spare a thought for how loud you were. It was everything you’ve ever needed. 

Tremors in your muscles, all down your legs. That was all the warning you were able to give before your body seized, your thighs attempting to clamp shut around his head. 

Wave after wave pushing out low moans until they finally stopped.

“Geta.” 

You pushed at his shoulder. The sensations were too much to bear.

“A moment longer,” he mumbled, lapping up anything else he could.

When there was nothing left, he resurfaced. It should have been horrifying. Streaks of blood spread over the bottom half of his face. His tongue was already swiping at his bottom lip, collecting what was within reach.

But you weren’t scared of him.

“Are you feeling better?” you asked, watching him closely.

His eyes were still dark, but there was some light returning. He wiped at his cheeks, licking away any remnants from his palm.

“Geta?” You moved over to him. 

He caught your wrist as you reached for him, his grip tight. “Not… yet.”

You waited, wrist still in his hand, watching him lick his fingers completely clean, his face almost entirely back to its usual state.

“Geta,” you spoke, your voice merely a whisper. “What happened to you?”

“I am the monster you married.” He looked up at you, eyes shining in the warm firelight. 

A monster. Surely not. Yet the proof spoke for itself.

“How did this happen?”

He took in a deep breath, let it out. “I’m not exactly sure. I didn’t see how it started. I just… I went to check on Caracalla, and the next moment I was sitting up from the floor, and he was crying over me, his wrist in my mouth. That was a few months ago.”

“And now you…”

“Feed.”

You felt dizzy.

“At first it was awful. You know what my brother is like. Unrestrained in everything, including this new appetite. I was having to pick up after him, to protect him. I think he understands now, the value in keeping his food source alive. At least, I hope he does.” 

“So tonight, your meeting…?”

He nodded, pulling your wrist into his lap. “I don’t take pleasure in it. I want you to know that.”

“Is that why when you return, you are…” Heat filled your cheeks.

His full lips curved into a grin. “Yes.”

Relief. Concerns stuffed down deep melted away. He noticed.

“What is it?” Damp fingertips smoothed circles over your wrist, your pulse.

You drew up your knees, holding them close. “I thought maybe I wasn’t enough, or you were still set in your ways…”

He sighed deeply. “Not a chance, mea lux. Do you know why I still married you, knowing what I have become?”

You met his eyes, intensely curious.

“I am selfish. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And so graceful. I resolved to make it work. I have made it work, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” you admitted.

“Tonight was… I was reckless.” His other hand smoothed up your arm, to the crook of your elbow and back, slowly exposing himself to more of you, testing his hunger. “I did not take enough. It was stupid of me, I put you in danger.”

“But I am fine.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Are you… you’re still…?”

A nod.

His eyes raked up your arm, to your neck, staring hard at the pulse there. He could feel it beneath his thumb, at your wrist, a millisecond delay. If only your heart didn’t beat so nicely. Hard and strong, not a lullaby, far worse, the opposite. A siren call. Normally tuned out, but now…

“Mea lux, I need more.” His grip on your wrist tightened slightly. “Can I have more?”

You would give him anything he wanted. Yes, even that. Your imagination filled in the gaps. You understood what this was. What would happen.

Why did it excite you?

“Yes.”

He moved over lightning fast, immediately nuzzling at your neck. Only seconds passed between giving him permission and his teeth slowly sinking into your skin.

Like he was trying to be careful.

They were sharp, piercing. Forcing a gasp from your lips. 

Your hand pushed at his head until a soft, warm wave washed over you. Your fingers tangled in his hair instead as you let out soft, relaxed breaths.

Dreamlike. The lights all had halos, radiant like stars. 

 A sound you felt, each of his steady gulps, his grip on you tightening. 

And then you felt that warmth spread out, your free hand sliding down his clothed back.

A warning growl. 

Heat like the sensation of the sun on his skin filled him as the fresh, rich blood poured down his throat. But yours was sweeter, like what he remembered honey tasting like. Even better than that. 

He would take his fill, and absolutely not a drop more, he promised himself. 

He couldn’t afford to get carried away, or distracted, even as your hand sought his hip. Even as it pulled him in closer, even as he settled between open thighs.

Open, inviting, warm, soft, plush, velvet–

Your gasp woke him from his trance. 

He was already buried deep, so lost in you he didn’t even realize. 

He moved to lift his head from your neck but your hand pushed him back down, pressing his lips to the wound as your thighs squeezed at his hips, urging him to continue.

The blood smeared over his lips until he opened his mouth, lapping at the trickle. And then his hips began to move. 

The Elysian fields. He could see them. The closest he would ever get to them was right here. He never wanted to leave. But he knew he had to. 

One final drag of his tongue and he moved to your lips, pressing his mumbled gratitude against your mouth as his hips continued to move. 

He tasted of hot metal but you didn’t care. Never before had you felt this good, this free. You already wanted a next time. And there were others that felt this? That got to experience this? 

No. Only you.

He lifted his head. Looking down at you, watching you so relaxed, so blissful, coming apart. He felt such relief.

A squeeze at his hips, your thighs tightening. A whispered “more.”

It was all the urging he needed. 

He let his hands move to your hips as he sat up, drawing you in along with each thrust. Your legs were unable to hold on, giving up their grip, your hands covering his, back arching. 

Your sounds could probably be heard out in the hall, or down in the gardens, not that anyone would be out at this hour.  

It didn’t take much more, especially at that pace, that angle– 

A great tide. 

It was brutal as it crashed over you, leaving you gasping, trembling, clinging to what you could reach of him. Clenching firmly around him.

And he followed you. Collapsing. Gasping. Pushing in even deeper. Cheek smearing blood as he buried his face in your neck. Not to bite.

More than a minute went by.

He finally pressed a gentle kiss to the marks he’d left behind before sitting up, pulling the tunic up and off, revealing the smear at his collar, the rest of his torso.

“We’ve made a mess,” you commented, your eyes following the trail down from his mouth, his chin, his neck, even a little on his chest. 

“We have,” he agreed, eyes fixed to your neck, the stain in the fabric beneath you.

“I need to–” 

As you moved to sit up, Geta was there, pushing you back down. “Rest, my love. I’ll take care of it. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

A nod.

And so he got to work, cleaning up his mess. A moist cloth wiping you clean, strong arms moving you to the other half of the bed. Smoothing your hair out of your face. Then he cleaned himself. Full, sated, he gave no thought to any lingering traces, the washbasin now reddish-pink. 

Geta returned to your side, resting a hand on your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m tired,” you confessed, pressing a hand to his, eyelids already only half-open. The blood loss didn’t help things.

“Sleep, mea lux. I will look after you.” He meant it.

A soft smile. “Thank you, my love.”

It didn’t take long after that for you to slip into a steady slumber. 

Geta allowed himself a moment to study you, to admire you, before he was up, walking over to the door.

He shrugged on a robe and held it shut before opening the door, eyes falling to a young servant who immediately turned bright red.

“Please, bring breakfast, fruit, whatever is ready.”

The servant nodded, walking quickly down the long hallway. 

Geta slid the door shut quietly, looking to where you slept. You looked so relaxed. You were a vision, the only thing marring it being the wound at your neck. 

Guilt crept up on him until he could hardly breathe. The one thing he told himself he’d never do, and he caved as soon as it was offered to him. He should have put up more of a fight. He should have left the room the moment he realized. 

But he didn’t. And he had unburdened himself of a big secret. It did feel better not having to hide it from you, but there were other things that now needed discussing. 

A gentle knock. 

Geta took the tray and shut the door up tight. He set it down on a small table at your bedside and got to work straightening the thick woven tapestries now used to cover the archways that led out onto the terrace. Once he was satisfied that no sun would be breaking through as he slept, he climbed into bed, pulling you in against his chest. 

He listened to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

'Mea lux' translates to 'my light.' Get it?

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[prev]

The final act is coming, any day now.

Shadow Milk has been burning with a latent anticipation ever since Pure Vanilla had first resonated with the Soul Jam again. The sheer strike of giddiness he had felt in that precious moment, when he felt that distantly nostalgic power reach weakly for Pure Vanilla, is possibly unmatched.

That anticipation has only worsened as the weeks drag on, simmering in his dough like a stewing pot. Standing indefinitely on the brink of this grand finale, so close to getting everything he wants, leaves Shadow Milk noticeably restless. He pretends it is adrenaline from the ever-increasing waves of Wafflebot attacks, and assists Pure Vanilla with the almost constant stream of patients as if he isn’t eagerly puzzling out plans for what to do next, once the Soul Jam manifests in full.

Shadow Milk feels it, when Dark Enchantress Cookie is released from the Moonstone. He feels it as the kickback of Dark Moon Magic stirs the stagnant nothing of his other-realm and ripples through him like a courteous reminder. He straightens up at the sensation, all of his eyes immediately darting over to Pure Vanilla.

Pure Vanilla feels it too. He must, because it is his own spell that is breaking and, whether he remembers it or not, it is still connected to him energetically. Shadow Milk watches him stiffen, sitting at the perfect angle to see the confusion that pinches his mouth as he briefly shudders through the magical kickback. He is also sitting at the perfect angle, out of direct eyeshot of the few patients in the tent, to allow himself an indulgent, hungry smile.

Yes, the final act is coming, any second now.

Sure enough, it is only a few hours later that a loud commotion kicks up outside the healer’s tent, an argument of clashing voices rather than the usual sounds of Wafflebot attack. The noise disturbs the patients, which in turn makes Pure Vanilla agitated, though he is obviously doing his best to ignore it.

“What are they talking about outside to cause such a racket?” Pure Vanilla murmurs in coiling frustration as he heals a particularly nasty looking head wound. “The patients need as much peace and quiet as possible.”

Shadow Milk takes that as his cue, haphazardly finishing the bandaging he was in the middle of doing and ignoring the patient’s wince when he tightens it a little too tight. Instead, he turns to Pure Vanilla and asks breezily, “Want me to go tell them to shut up?”

Pure Vanilla coughs out a little laugh, a smile peeking through his stress as his shoulders loosen slightly. “Maybe not quite that bluntly but yes, if you could.”

Shadow Milk makes a noise of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, hopping to his feet and brushing dust off of his patchwork costume. As always, he leaves some of his eyes in Pure Vanilla’s shadow, keeping especially close watch for any meaningful Soul Jam development as he sweeps out into the daylight.

Good timing too, because a band of scraggly little Cookies come screeching right to the front of the tent, barely skidding to a frantic stop when he abruptly pops out and blocks their way in. The tent flap quietly slides closed behind him.

“Can you all kindly shut up out here?” Shadow Milk shouts, projecting his voice over the buzzing of the insects and placing his hands sternly on his hips. “There are some poor, injured patients who are in desperate need of actual rest, and they can’t get that with all this yelling!”

“You–!” Black Raisin starts with the sharp glare she always greets him with, but she cuts herself off as she casts a glance back to the healer’s tent. Clearly, she must have registered his words and realised Pure Vanilla sent him out, because she lowers her voice to something quieter, though no less barbed. “Look, just tell Healer that I’m taking care of some outlanders that breached the village and stay out of it. I don’t have time to deal with you right now.”

Shadow Milk turns back to the group of newcomers, evaluating them for a moment. They really are a ramshackle group of itty-bitty Cookies, most of them barely out of the oven and hopelessly stupid from a first glance. He snorts in mock disbelief. “These guys managed to breach the village?”

“Not just that, they managed to defeat some of the Wafflebots!” One of the other villagers interjects, sounding slightly out of breath. They must have been chasing these teensy Cookies.

Shadow Milk doesn’t consider that a very impressive feat at all, and it does nothing to change his opinion on the overall insignificance of these Cookies. Still, he pretends to consider it, idly glancing back at Black Raisin. She narrows her eyes at him, jerking her chin slightly as if to shoo him back into the healer’s tent, and Shadow Milk grins slowly back.

“Daaarling!” He calls, which is a new nickname, but one that is worth it, if only for the way it makes Black Raisin’s eye twitch. “It looks like we have some little outlander guests.”

From his non-physical eyes, Shadow Milk sees Pure Vanilla pause for a moment in pleasant surprise as he stems a patient’s leaking jam. “Guests? Oh, let them come in, I want to hear from them. They’re not hurt, are they?”

“Not at all!” The playking chirps as Shadow Milk turns to open the tent flap again, waving his little sceptre around in childish boast. “My faithful servants are strong. Even if they weren’t, I, Custard Cookie III, would ensure their safety, as any good king should!”

Shadow Milk notices how Pure Vanilla softens the moment he hears how young the voice is. He tsks under his breath, unsurprised, as Pure Vanilla replies playfully, “A king? My, what an honour has graced our humble village.”

“No, Healer, you don’t understand.” Black Raisin insists, a frazzled exasperation in her voice. She pushes past Shadow Milk none too gently to enter the healer’s tent and talk to Pure Vanilla herself. “These outlanders breached the village. They cannot be trusted!”

Pure Vanilla sighs heavily. “Black Raisin, I have told you countless times before that it does you no good to completely close your heart to every stranger you encounter.”

As the two bicker in hushed tones, Shadow Milk takes the opportunity to turn back to their guests and hold open the tent flap for them, gesturing inside. “Come on. Don’t worry about her, she’s always acting rashly like that. I’ve been here for months and she still doesn’t trust me.”

Because Shadow Milk has been provoking her, but they don’t need to know that.

“Well, if that’s true, we have no absolutely no hope of gaining her trust.” The amateur wizard grumbles dejectedly into his scarf. “I just hope she doesn’t decide to start chasing us around again. It’s starting to get exhausting.”

“Hey, don’t say that! It’s like she said, we’ve just got to prove that we can be trustworthy.” The boy with the candy cane chimes, aggravatingly optimistic as they duck under Shadow Milk’s arm into the tent, one by one. He follows closely behind them, his anticipation pacing between his ribs.

It can’t be a coincidence that they appeared so shortly after Dark Enchantress’ release. Though even Shadow Milk can’t precisely predict what will unfold, he knows that their arrival acts as a catalyst.

The tent is cramped, now packed with patients and guests alike. Black Raisin must have been reluctantly pacified by Pure Vanilla, as she always is, because she stands to the side and does nothing to stop their guests from settling down, aside from giving them a wary glance. Shadow Milk largely ignores her, making a beeline towards his spot by Pure Vanilla’s side and plopping down as Pure Vanilla warmly greets the newcomers.

The patients are mostly settled for now, which would allow Shadow Milk to focus entirely on the budding conversation, if he cared about it. He doesn’t though, uninterested with the introductions and pleasantries and exposition for the most part. Time feels like it is crawling incredibly slow, impatience humming through his dough as he sits through their chatter, waiting for something interesting to happen.

“What is the Vanilla Kingdom?” Pure Vanilla asks, sincerely curious, and Shadow Milk bites down on the laugh that threatens to escape him, tilting his head back to glance at the slanting ceiling. Still, the turn in conversation gives him a shot of clarity, and he realises exactly how this will all play out. Or, at least, he knows exactly how he will make it play out, if it doesn’t flow that way naturally.

The final act has come, and Pure Vanilla has to confront the Truth of his past.

The guests drone on and on about how amazing the Vanilla Kingdom is, until Pure Vanilla suddenly gasps. He turns towards Shadow Milk, hand patting around to finally squeeze his knee. “Wait- could they be talking about the castle in the sky?”

The peanut gallery makes some shocked exclamations at that, but Shadow Milk hums smoothly, setting his hand over Pure Vanilla’s hand as his eagerness peeks through his words. “It must be! That’s the only other thing around here for miles, and I promise you, it definitely looks like a kingdom.”

“Wait, wait, you haven’t explained what this castle in the sky thing is yet, and we haven’t seen anything like that. There’s no way it’s real!” The thief scoffs, crossing her arms.

“Well, I haven’t seen it either,” Pure Vanilla says, a hint of laughter lacing his own joke as his hand absentmindedly slips out from under Shadow Milk’s, “but I know it must exist. That’s where all the Wafflebots come from, with every coming of the crimson moon.”

“The Wafflebots?” The playking yelps, shaking his head furiously. “No, no, that can’t possibly be the Vanilla Kingdom then. They would never attack other Cookies!”

As if to prove him wrong, it is then that a metallic shriek rattles through the air, the warning cry of another wave of Wafflebots. In the ensuing panic, Black Raisin rushes out of the healer’s tent with their guests hot on her heels, probably eager to help and prove their trustworthiness, as they said. That leaves Shadow Milk with Pure Vanilla, as always, with a few resting patients blending into the background.

“This attack sounds even louder than before.” Pure Vanilla frowns, head upturned towards the approaching buzz. He’s right – it sounds like an absolute swarm. Shadow Milk’s fingers twitch with restlessness, taking it as a sign, an omen. “Do you think the Wafflebots managed to get past the defences to us?”

Shadow Milk has, thus far, done his absolute best to steer Pure Vanilla away from the Wafflebots’ path. He needs to keep Pure Vanilla alive to have any hope of recovering the Soul Jam, after all. It has never been too hard anyway, since the patients that Pure Vanilla needs to tend to are always piling up as a good distraction from silly thoughts of rushing out like a hero. Now, though, Shadow Milk thinks it is time for a risk.

He swears he can hear the faint ringing of the Soul Jam, cloaked in the hum of encroaching machinery. His twitching fingers squeeze into fists, itching, itching, itching, before relaxing again.

“I don’t know.” He declares, getting to his feet and grabbing Pure Vanilla’s staff. He holds it out to him, tapping it against Pure Vanilla’s side. “Let’s go check. Better to be safe than sorry, right?”

“Good idea. We should make sure the tent is still safe and secure before more patients arrive.” Pure Vanilla nods, taking his staff, steadying it against the ground and pulling himself to his feet.

Outside, the noise is deafening, almost as bad as the very first time the Wafflebots descended. Shadow Milk watches with a rising satisfaction as their harsh silhouettes draw ever closer, closing in on the healer’s tent through a dense thicket of fog. That’s good. That means he can pull off his experiment. Or rather, his challenge.

“They sound close.” Pure Vanilla mutters fretfully, the smallest questioning tilt at the end of his sentence. He wants confirmation.

“They are really close. And there are so many of them too.” Shadow Milk injects an artificial waver into his voice, stepping closer to Pure Vanilla to the point of hedging into his personal space, a protective move masquerading as a fearful one. A failsafe, in case this challenge doesn’t pan out, because he still needs Pure Vanilla alive to get the Soul Jam. “How are there so many of them? What- what should we do?”

His voice cracks on that question, just enough to make it sound vulnerable, and that is all that matters. Plain Yogurt goes along with Pure Vanilla’s requests or polite orders often enough, but he doesn’t tend to ask for them. No, Plain Yogurt is more prone to figuring it out himself or offering help his own way, if not taking the lead entirely.

But Pure Vanilla has to face his past, and that includes the crushing weight of being a leader in a crisis. Shadow Milk knows Pure Vanilla has never heard him panicked like this before, and that works in his favour, because it makes it all the more impactful now.

Predictably, Pure Vanilla’s protective instinct kicks in and he throws his arm out in front of Shadow Milk, craning his head up with his mouth set in a grave line, like he’s trying to track the Wafflebots. Shadow Milk wonders if, for once, his bandages feel like a hindrance rather than a help.

The amusement he might feel at that thought is swept away as Pure Vanilla finally replies, a nervousness tinting his words that is unbefitting of a so-called hero. “I-I don't know, I’m sorry. Oh, if only Black Raisin were here, she would surely know-!”

Irritation flares through Shadow Milk, because that is the wrong line. It makes Pure Vanilla sound pathetic, and while he generally has no problems with Pure Vanilla appearing pathetic, this is one of the only instances where he needs his stupid heroics. The Soul Jam probably won’t reveal itself without them.

“Stop that!” Shadow Milk snaps, slightly too harsh for being Plain Yogurt. He tries to play it off as a spike of nerves, barely managing to round the edges of his tone as he continues. “Not only are you just as capable as Black Raisin, you are more capable than her with that power of yours. Just focus on what you can do.”

“I don’t know if that's quite right, but… it is true that there is no time for weakness now.” Pure Vanilla exhales, then takes another deep breath as the tension in his frame sluggishly eases into something more steady, tightening his grip on his staff. He shifts his feet, falling into that noble stance like it is the most natural thing in the world, squaring his shoulders. “No matter what, I will stand my ground!”

There you are, Shadow Milk thinks, pleased with the echo of the past as it begins to creep up on Pure Vanilla.

Pure Vanilla’s spark of resolve is encouraged by the voice of the resting patients within the tent, who seem to be huddling around the tent flap as they cheer, “We- we believe in you, Healer!”

“Yeah, you can do it!”

Shadow Milk lays a light hand on Pure Vanilla’s shoulder, spurring him on with a whispered, “I trust you. Whatever you plan to do, just go for it.”

Pure Vanilla seems to stand even taller at that, and Shadow Milk’s smile stretches wider as he feels the air ripple weakly with an enticingly familiar energy, his chest practically aching as it–

“Don’t forget about us either!” Comes a determined young voice, as their gaggle of guests run over, appearing from behind some of the other tents. The boy with the candy cane acts as their naive leader, charging forward as he waves. “You don’t have to do everything yourself. We can fight!”

“Ah- and we’ll do our very best too.” The shy girl pipes up as the group stumbles to a stop by the healer’s tent, clustering around Pure Vanilla like a flock of sheep pretending to be wolves.

“Children?” Pure Vanilla murmurs, clearly surprised by their return, as he slips from that noble posturing, his shoulders dipping slightly, not relaxing but loosened with a lifting of a load. That pulsing energy stalls and stagnates in midair. Shadow Milk swallows a scowl, his eye twitching, briefly worried that their guests’ support will make Pure Vanilla more complacent.

But, of course, Shadow Milk should have known better. Pure Vanilla has always fought best with someone else on the line, just as he has always fought best at someone else’s side. His momentary surprise is displaced by a smile that cuts through the warning wails of the circling Wafflebots.

“Thank you, all of you, for your support.” The stagnant energy begins to move, faster and faster, swirling around him in a steady current as Pure Vanilla turns his head to the sound of the Wafflebots, lifting his chin to meet them directly. His expression settles into a serious determination as he resumes his grand, unshakeable posture, planting his feet. “I won’t let it be in vain. I will protect everyone!”

And with that final, firm declaration, he lifts his staff skyward as the current of power overflows.

The Wafflebots freeze in place, shimmering with a diluted golden sheen like they are encased in honey. Their guests and the patients alike begin chattering and cheering in awe, but it blurs into insignificance in Shadow Milk’s ears. He’s too focused on the flow of magical energy in the air, thick with true power, tugging at his core in ancient familiarity.

Since he is tracking it so closely, he feels it collect in front of Pure Vanilla a few split seconds before it manifests physically, crystallising into a rough, raw blue gemstone. His eyes fixate on its meek glow, pulsating in time with Pure Vanilla’s steady breathing.

And, coincidentally, in time with Shadow Milk’s breathing too.

It’s not fully manifested yet. It’s not the polished, perfect form of the Soul Jam, it hasn’t properly reconnected with Pure Vanilla, but it has a secure enough connection to draw some of itself out of its shattered hiding. And it certainly is the lost half of Shadow Milk’s Soul Jam, there is no doubt about that. He can feel it like his own pulse.

In a trance, Shadow Milk leans around Pure Vanilla, inadvertently pressing into his side as he reaches out towards that frozen drop of his own power. He shudders as his fingers draw close to it, feeling the energy of the Soul Jam curl around his outstretched fingers in coy greeting.

“Wait.” Pure Vanilla is, naturally, the second one to notice this new presence, turning away from the idle conversation he was having with their guests to turn towards the light. Whether it was the tug of the Soul Jam or Shadow Milk’s movement or a combination of the two that clued him in doesn’t matter. “There’s something… what is that?”

“A gemstone,” Shadow Milk describes in a tone toeing the edge of reverence, not skipping a beat, the explanation already ready on his tongue, “that glows like a star.”

Shadow Milk wants to take it, he wants to take it so bad, it is a yearning that eats through his insides like a parasite, but he forces himself to hold back. As it currently is, the Soul Jam is still incomplete and halfhearted, so there really isn’t any benefit to reclaiming it now. Besides, the scene isn’t right. It would be so anticlimactic to take it away now, in the middle of this dingy village, and he thinks he and Pure Vanilla both deserve a little more fanfare than that.

Instead, he reaches for Pure Vanilla’s free hand, guiding it up so it is enveloped by the cool aura spilling off the Soul Jam. “It thrums with power like a star too.” Shadow Milk adds, closer to a whisper. “Do you feel it?”

Pure Vanilla seems to be mystified, his mouth slightly agape, but he recovers quickly enough, his lips moving to reply.

“Did you say gemstone?!” The thief shouts eagerly, tearing through the fragile haze between the two of them, as she lunges towards the gem in question. “Hey, lemme see that!”

Clearly, the Soul Jam doesn’t agree. It slips out from the range of their hands, zipping silently through the air to collide with the crux of Pure Vanilla’s staff, melting seamlessly into the bandages for safekeeping. The thief groans in disappointment, and Shadow Milk sends her a covert glare, deadly as a cloaked dagger. He doesn’t appreciate her unwanted intervention, and he appreciates her sloppy attempt to swipe the Soul Jam even less.

And yet, alongside his irritation, there’s a flicker of vindication. The Soul Jam had only retreated to Pure Vanilla’s staff when the thief tried to approach, after all. It had no negative reaction to Shadow Milk’s close proximity. Of course it didn’t – it is his, first and foremost.

Pure Vanilla pulls his hand back, clearly focused on his staff as the lingering glow fades into the dim, boring light of day. “You…” He murmurs gently to his staff, to the fragmented Soul Jam, almost in awe. “You’re the thing that has been resonating with my staff recently.”

“What was that?” That amateur wizard asks, trying and failing to hide his own childish amazement. “I know plenty about magic, obviously, but I’ve never seen something like that happen before!"

“I’m not sure. But..." Pure Vanilla perks up as he whips around to face Shadow Milk. He reaches out for him and Shadow Milk obliges, setting his arm in Pure Vanilla’s grip so he can squeeze his elbow. “...This must be the good thing you thought was going to happen, isn’t it? These new friends, this strange power and this adventure towards a great kingdom? This is by far the most exciting thing that has happened in weeks!”

The smile Pure Vanilla gives him is bright, practically glowing like the Soul Jam had, just a few moments ago. That yearning yawns hungrily within him, demanding attention. Shadow Milk wants to take it, him, everything so badly it burns.

He wants to swallow him whole.

But he needs to be patient. He’s been waiting for this long, he can wait just a little longer. It would be no fun otherwise.

So he smiles back with a crescent of teeth that Pure Vanilla cannot see and says, “Yeah, I think it must be. In that case, wherever we go from here must lead to amazing things, right?”

It is a hope, a promise, a fact, a threat. The one thing it is not, ironically, is a lie.

Wherever this little expedition to the Vanilla Kingdom leads, the destination will be something amazing, as defined by Shadow Milk. He will make sure of it.

It’s only fair. After all this time, they both deserve a perfect finale to this little farce. Right?

Pure Vanilla hums in agreement, letting go of him as he turns his attention to whatever silly little rallying speech the outspoken children are giving, and Shadow Milk’s unseen smile twists smugly.

[next]

[stormsbourne]

Me up again metaphorically pacing my room thinking about how datv is a game about hard choices that don't have a right or wrong answer (but the answer you choose still shapes you and your relationships the same way it shaped Solas and his own relationships)

and a game about regret for things you had no choice but to do (the same way Solas had no choice but to struggle against the rule of the evanuris including his best friend/lover/elder sister)

and a game about how even then you ultimately did have a choice (the same way Solas could have refused to make the dagger or could have allowed flemythal to do whatever she had planned or could have not tried to tear the veil back down which he knew would kill everybody before it fixed anything)

and a game about how sometimes you do your best and do things for good reasons and you still fuck up and you can't save everybody and people will still be frustrated with you (the same way the veil was an accident and Solas was only able to save a tiny fragment of mythal and even that fragment seems bitter about him holding her there even though he does it out of love)

and a game about what leadership does to its leaders (the same way Solas killed his blighted allies, the same way he betrayed felassan, the same way he ultimately betrayed the shard of mythal in flemeth)

and a game about GRIEF and how rook is trapped in it and not being allowed to move forward by blood magic, and how grief cages you (the same way Solas feels caged by the loss of mythal and he's just as trapped as rook is but it's of his own free will and how he uses rook as a method of self absolution for what he did to Varric)

and how every character arc and story touches on at least one if not multiple of these points and how it's all layered in with area quests, side quests, main story quests, that do the same thing. I'm tired of feeling like I have to qualify my praise of datv with "it has problems" because it's a fucking dragon age game. They are all, in their own ways, hot messes. Each one has its weak hinges and its stress points but the level of sheer thematic cohesion and thought in datv is absolutely fucking unparalleled and I don't think I'm wrong to say so

[seresinhangmanjake]

Could I request Feyd and reader’s wedding from “his”? Or maybe how her life changes once she’s his wife and not his mistress? I lovelovelove all the prequels, but I’m so interested to see their future together!

Forever His

Feyd-Rautha x concubine!reader

Notes/Warnings: barely smut. discussions of babies. thank you for the request and for reading <3

Words: 1350

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You’re his now. Completely. Entirely. 

Before, anyone could have attempted to touch you, talk to you, insult you—though unwise—and no one but Feyd would have blinked an eye. Neither would they have assumed that such disrespectful behavior toward you would result in their death. A concubine is meant to be touched, spoken to however one pleases, insulted if it’s what a man needs to relieve the stress and frustration from his body. With the exception of Leto Atredies, Feyd’s the only Lord you’ve heard of who has ever given a fuck about the concubine they keep while simultaneously demanding respect for them. And on his part to ensure that, Feyd put secret rules in place when it came to you that men did not often follow. 

Being so heartless by nature, no one would expect a Harkonnen to care about anyone other than themselves—it’s risky to hint that the cold-blooded are capable of running a little warmer than rumor suggests—and for Feyd to lay out his care for you to the masses would have undoubtedly led to your death, whether by the hands of enemies or the Baron himself. But that didn’t stop Feyd from enforcing his rules and the repercussions for breaking them.

Those rules led to the deaths of many, most dramatically of his brother and a Caladanian diplomat, and it’s a wonder Feyd was able to talk himself out of the responsibility for their lives when the Baron called for an explanation. But he did. Feyd kept you alive, untouched by others, unbothered by others, respected by others because you were always his. His, at first labeled so in one way, and now, labeled so in another—as a wife. 

His wife. A Lady once more—not of your home planet, but of Giedi Prime—and though your renewed status may not change the way a Harkonnen man needs to present himself to the universe, Feyd can now be who he wants to be without the Baron lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t have to pretend not to care for you as deeply as he does, and neither do you have to fear the choices he was making for your sake. 

From the moment Feyd kissed you in front of those who declared the validity of Geidi Prime marriages, your worries were instructed to fall in line with the duties of a wife. But with Feyd—for Feyd—it’s easy. Be his woman; stand by his side; and bear him an heir. And those things, you can do. 

—

His fingers are digging into your hips, helping guide your movements as you grind and shift your hips. He never let you on top before, and he never answered you when you asked why, but you knew it was his method of protection. A psychological need that extended to the physicalities of sex. He had to be the looming one, the consuming one, the one who shielded the other from dangers that were not present in the confines of your room. But that changed as your title changed. You’re allowed to be freer now—uninhibited—and Feyd has been willing to teach you how.

His back teeth clench, jaw sharpening with his final grunt of pleasure. With his hand on your neck, he pulls you down, lips claiming yours as he spills inside of you for the third time in the night. 

Your chest rises and falls in sync with his as you come down from the high, and then he rolls you onto your back, remaining inside of you to keep his seed from leaving your body. “Do you think it worked this time?” you ask as you regain even breaths. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says as he tries to do the same. “We aren’t going to stop until you’re pregnant with my heir. We aren’t going to stop even once you are.”

Your chuckle is cut short by another press of his lips. Then, there is a press on your jaw. Then another on your neck. Then that kiss turns into little bites that are sure to leave marks. It feels too good to stop him, though you probably should. One of the things that works against you as a wife that did not as a concubine is the marks he makes on your body that cannot be covered by clothing. Nibbles, scratches, bruises—all acceptable on the skin of a concubine. Not as much on the skin of a bride. But it’s a propriety that Feyd could not care less for. 

“Feyd…” The vibration from his hum tickles your throat. “I’ll get stares.” Glares, more like. 

He pulls back with a quirked brow. “Ladies from other Houses eye the marks I give you and suddenly you’re bothered? What for?” He hums again, low, deep. His voice matches. “They’re jealous their Lords don’t fuck them like I fuck you.”

You snicker. “Maybe.”

Not maybe, definitely. However, you know it extends past the attention those women do not receive from their men. The fact that you were a concubine at all raises their hackles. While the Emporer and Lords have their meetings, the Ladies sit aside, offering words when requested but otherwise remaining silent, and in that silence, they have much time to think and scrutinize and judge. 

They don’t care that you were a Lady of your own planet before Feyd; they care what Feyd made you and then remade you when he decided he loved you. And now, you remind them too much of their own circumstances: a wife competing with a concubine. Except you were the concubine and then the wife while they are the wives shadowed by concubine counterparts. You’re an image of what they will never have and what their husbands wish they could have with the women they’d prefer. 

“They’re never going to like you,” Feyd interrupts your thoughts when he sees you’re lost.

“I don’t need them to like me,” you tell him. You prefer the company of the other concubines anyway—those brought alongside the wives for their Lords. Despite the complexities of your past, you connect with them better. “But either way, you need to be more considerate.”

“No,” he counters, “I need to fuck and touch and kiss my new wife however I want, and she needs to condemn anyone who gives her trouble for it.” You mock a gasp of offense. “You expect me to hold myself back with you? You want me to restrain myself when I’m trying to put a baby inside of you?”

“You make it sound silly.”

“It is,” he says. “I don’t whine about the marks you make on me.”

“Because Lords marvel at badges of honor,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. 

Feyd’s chuckle is your favorite sound. You rarely heard it before your wedding—he was always too stressed over you, concerned about your well-being—but you became addicted the moment it hit your ears. 

You wince at the discomfort of him finally pulling out, and your body instinctively follows as if to keep him where he was. When he falls onto his back, he tucks you into his side. 

“What do you think it’ll be?” he suddenly asks you.

You’re momentarily thrown off until you realize where his mind has shifted. Snuggling against him, you say, “I don’t care. As long as it’s healthy.”

“It will be,” he says.

“And as long as we can keep it safe,” you add.

Feyd swallows. You know there’s a part of him that is aware the life you have is not the life you were meant to have; that this life is a product of your lack of safeguarding; that you were taken as a prize; that he took you. And no matter the joy you’ve expressed or your previous unwillingness to consider leaving him—not that he ever entertained returning you—trying to have a child has made it impossible for him to forget how you met. He struggles. Something in you appreciates that about him. It means you helped to change him for the better. It means when he becomes a father, he will approach it differently than his own parents once did. 

“We can,” he promises you. “And we will.”

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: 🍓

One Page At A Time

Exam stress is something Lily and Oscar never want to see from their daughter. So they do what they can. They help her.

The house was quiet — not peaceful, but tense.

Upstairs, the only sound was the furious scratch of a pen on paper, the occasional frustrated sigh, and the muffled thud of a textbook being slammed shut.

Y/n Piastri-Zneimer sat hunched over her desk, hair piled into a messy bun, eyes darting over formulas and facts that refused to stick. Her room looked like a war zone — colour-coded notes scattered across her bed, flashcards stuck on the wall like battle plans, and a half-finished mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

It was exam season. The final exam season.

The one that decided her future.

University applications were around the corner, and her grades this year would carry the most weight. And though Y/n had always been a steady, self-motivated student, the pressure had started pressing in on all sides like a slow tide. Her highlighters were running dry. Her sleep was inconsistent. And she hadn’t smiled — not really — in days.

Oscar had noticed.

So had Lily.

They had heard the small, tired voice from behind her door whenever they checked in. Had seen her rubbing her temples at breakfast, eyes still glazed over from late-night revision. Oscar had even found her dozing off on the couch with her physics notes stuck to her cheek one evening after a study break turned nap.

That night, as Lily stirred pasta in the kitchen and Oscar leaned against the counter with a quiet frown, they exchanged a look.

“She’s going to burn out,” Lily said softly, voice laced with concern.

Oscar nodded. “I keep telling her to take a break, but she won’t listen. Says she doesn’t have time.”

“Then maybe we make the time for her.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Operation Parental Intervention?”

Lily smiled. “Exactly.”

It started small the next morning.

Oscar brought her breakfast in bed — toast, berries, and a soft-boiled egg with a silly little smiley face drawn in sharpie.

Y/n blinked at the tray. “Dad… what’s this?”

He shrugged casually. “Brain fuel. Straight from the Piastri pit crew. You’re the car, exams are the race, and you can’t win if you don’t refuel.”

Y/n laughed softly despite herself. “That was so cheesy.”

“I aim to please.”

Later that afternoon, Lily walked into Y/n’s room with a stack of hot chocolate, fluffy socks, and a candle that smelled like vanilla and old libraries.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands. “Five-minute breathing session, followed by a twenty-minute reset walk with your very stylish mum. No negotiation.”

“But I have—”

“Y/n.”

Y/n looked up and saw the gentleness in her mum’s eyes. The kind that didn’t push too hard, just held space. Slowly, she closed her textbook.

“…Fine. But only because I’m starting to smell like exam stress.”

They walked around the neighbourhood, talking about everything but school — their dog barking at leaves, the colour of the sunset, how Lily once fell off a Segway in front of a busload of tourists.

And just like that, some of the weight fell off Y/n’s shoulders.

But the big move came the next evening.

Y/n was hitting a breaking point with her maths exam. Graphs and derivatives blurred together, and nothing made sense. Her hands trembled from too much caffeine. Her chest was tight.

“Stupid curve,” she muttered, eyes burning. “I don’t get it, I just… don’t get it.”

A knock sounded on her door.

Oscar poked his head in. “Hey, I need you for something.”

“Dad, I’m really not—”

“Y/n.”

She sighed, standing reluctantly.

But when she followed him downstairs, she blinked in confusion.

The living room had been transformed.

A blanket fort — a giant one — took over the couch, twinkly lights draped along the top like constellations. A projector lit the wall with her favorite movie’s opening scene. Popcorn sat in a bowl shaped like a racing helmet. On the floor was a handwritten sign:

“NO EXAMS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT.”

Lily popped her head out from under the fort flap. “Come on in, Professor. Time to shut off that brain.”

Y/n stared, eyes wide. Then she let out a choked laugh.

“You guys are ridiculous.”

Oscar beamed. “And you love it.”

She crawled inside, curling up between them under a mountain of pillows. Her hand found Oscar’s and squeezed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He squeezed back. “One page at a time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That night, after the movie ended and Y/n had fallen asleep against her mum’s shoulder — breathing finally even and calm — Oscar looked down at her peaceful face and smiled.

She’d be okay.

Because she didn’t have to carry the pressure alone.

Not when she had them in her corner, cheering her on — no matter the grade, no matter the result.

Just like he’d always wanted to be for her.

Another piece of work done :)

I'm heading to bed now. I can't wake up upset or anything or I'll miss the bus, since I have school and all.

That's Gang Gang out!!!!

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Can we talk about a Pro-Hero Award ceremony / gala event and how it would be such a chaotic event, because it’s the only time of the year where all of the Pro-Heroes and their (un)willing darlings come out together in public. 

Bakugo is 100% sure to spend the entire evening with a locked face and strong arm around his darling’s waist, not letting her out of his sight for one moment, regardless of how bad it looks.

As soon as the ceremony is officially over, Bakugo is dragging his darling back home, one hand tightly gripping her wrist while his other hand is busy handling the two awards he managed to win. 

Shoto and his darling are wearing matching outfits and are probably one of the chillest couples in the event. They don’t argue or yell, and they spend most of the time intertwined in the dance floor as Shoto stares at her sweetly obsessed the whole time.

He also receives a very surprising congratulating cheek kiss when he wins an award, and his thank-you speech consists of 99% of him praising the support of his darling (she’s now warming up to him and he’s very happy with it). 

Deku is a whole other story. He’s so stressed about the ordeal that he also ends up stressing his darling (RIP her mental health, seriously). At one point, he’s completely hunched over his darling in a corner, attempting to feed her some cake even though she vehemently refuses and, but he keeps insisting and insisting and insisting.

He also won’t stop blabbering and info dumping every piece of use(less)ful information as if she actually cares about the Pro Heroes that are present at the gala. 

I also believe that - on a certain point - she snapped at Izuku, tired and exhausted from his annoying behavior, and some of the yandere's - Endeavour, Hawks, Bakugo - threw Izuku a condescending glare, cause none of them would ever allow their darling to direspect them like that, much less in public.

All Might and his darling are definitely one of the happiest couples in the room, seated at a table with other Pro-Heroes and he’s proudly boasting his darling and how sweet and amazing she is, while she shyly clings to his buffy bicep, hiding her face behind the strong muscle.

Sitting at a nearby table is Endeavour, upsettingly huffing and puffing because his darling isn’t yet at the right stage of obedience and submission that he had hoped to achieve and in result, he had no other option other than leaving her at home. The basement, to be specific. Not to mention that her rebellious attitude soured his mood earlier that day, which led to a nasty backhand he gave her before leaving the house in frustration.

And now the No.2 is pissed cause her deplorable behavior is ruining his meticulously built reputation and image. Endeavour is certainly going to take his frustration on her once he gets back home, that’s for sure. 

Seated next to him is Hawks, wearing a smug smirk that fuel’s up as Endeavour’s irritation grows throughout the night. Keigo is definitely the type to perform excessively sweet and annoying PDA: kissing her, hugging, holding hands, feeding his darling, fussing over little details about her hair and make-up.

He’s so overwhelmingly affectionate (and loud) that his darling has to hide in the ladies room every 15 minutes, otherwise it gets too unbearable for her mentally sanity. But needless to say that there’s always a discreet red feather following her all the time. 

Obviously, Eraserhead didn't bother putting on an appearance. 

Whose darling do you think have the potential to cause some drama?

[viktorslver]

𒅌 | Raising the kids with Vander

— First of all, i’d like to thank the lovely doll that requested this!! I’m so sorry the og request post is now gone, my wifi just isn’t having it today unfortunately.

Now, I’d like to think that you and Vander are close enough that if he was struggling with stress or just it’s a busy day at The Last Drop—he’d be able to turn to you to help with the kids.

You two were a team, you worked together to ensure the kids get everything they’d need.

Whether it was getting them ready in the morning, or cleaning them up after some alleyway scrap they’d got themselves into.

The smell of eggs and bacon swam through the air, Powder kneeling between your legs on a cushion as she rambled excitedly about her dream. Mylo sitting beside you, groaning dramatically pretending to die of boredom.

You found her endearing, she was like a puppy—loud and never seemed to run out of energy. Not that you minded, she brought all the life Zaun lacked. Mylo was a charming boy, adoring that stupid wolffish grin (he’d learnt it off of Vander) any time he was in trouble.

Vander was cooking, bickering playfully with Violet as he scrapped the eggs around his pan—Claggor tinkering with some sort of contraption as he listened to the two.

Vander liked to say he was the ‘bad cop’—it was blatantly obvious his frustrations never lied with the kids. More the stupid situations they’d get themselves into.

His frustration stemmed with fear, he couldn’t imagine a world without the kids, he couldn’t bear the thought of loosing them.

He confessed this all to you late at night, you two were sitting on a couch together—he didn’t think everything he said was ever going to be spoken allowed. But, he spilt it all to you.

One thing I’d like to think is that Vander has a small collection of trinkets—A metal flower, covered in thorns and paint from Powder. A tiny figurine adoring stupidly massive gauntlets from Violet. One of those singing fishes, that only let out horrific screams from Mylo. And a new pair of work gloves from Claggor.

He held onto a lot, even if it seemed like junk—he kept everything he’d been given from them.

You thought it was cute, his frowning horde of random items.

You gave him one of his favourites, a strip of pictures taken in one of those dingy booths—you and the four kids all goofing around and pulling faces.

Overall you two take great care of each other and the kiddies!!

IM SO SORRY ITS SO SHORT

It isn’t my best work either, please try and ignore that 😭

edit : JUST LETTING YOU ALL KNOW MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN !!

[chloewriteswhenshewantsto]

Hard to sleep

Authors Note: It’s me. Hi. I’m back with another attempt at “writing”. This is a fluffy heartfelt story. There is sadly not a lot of Jinshi x reader fics out there and I want to change that.

Pairing: Jinshi X Female! Reader

Warnings: None (pure fluff)

Word Count: 2.1K

“My lady,” Suiren sighed, a note of gentle exasperation lacing her voice. “You truly should sit down and take a moment for yourself.”

“Would it help if I said that I genuinely enjoy peeling potatoes?” you say with a playful chuckle, amused by her expression of horror at the notion of a noble lady engaged in such mundane tasks.

“Princess!” she exclaims, her tone both incredulous and affectionate.

You respond simply with a warm smile, finding comfort in the banter. “The truth is, Suiren, I grow increasingly bored within these walls of the house. Besides, if I am to adopt the same habits as my husband and pretend that I have a different role, I might as well embrace it and play the part of a lady in waiting correctly,” you assert, trying to convince her of your intentions.

“Be that as it may, you are still a Princess,” Suiren replies, a hint of concern returning to her voice.

“I can hardly allow the princess of the nation to be performing the work of a cook in the kitchen. You see, I am more than capable of handling these tasks myself.” Her commitment to her duties shines through, yet you feel a pang of frustration at being sidelined.

“Please, Suiren, is there truly nothing I can do to assist you in any way?” you plead, hoping to bridge the gap between her insistence on propriety and your desire to contribute.

“Well—” she begins, but her thoughts are interrupted by the unexpected sound of a door closing with a soft thud. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she quickly regains her composure. “You may assist me with that,” she says with a playful tone.

Jinshi sighed deeply as he walked through the door after a long day away, feeling absolutely exhausted and extremely stressed. It had undoubtedly been one of the tougher days at work he had experienced in quite some time. The rear palace, with all its demands and intricacies, certainly did not run itself, much to his disappointment and frustration. As he stepped into the living room, he found himself gravitating toward the inviting couch. Without hesitation, he sank down into its cushions, letting out a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world with it.

As you make your way into the living quarters, the sight that greets you is that of your beloved husband, Jinshi, inelegantly slouched across the sofa, completely worn out. His hand is rubbing his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pressure that seems to be building there, and you can't help but notice the dark circles gathering beneath his eyes like storm clouds threatening rain. He looks utterly exhausted, and your heart aches at the sight of him. You know it is time to take action, and you must speak with Gaoshun about finding a way to lighten his heavy workload. After all, a face as beautiful and kind as Jinshi's shouldn’t be twisted into expressions of fatigue and stress.

“Darling,” you say gently, making your way over to him with concern etched in your voice. “Are you okay?” Jinshi takes a moment before he responds, sighing again, this time placing his head between his hands, a gesture that speaks volumes of his weariness. “I’m fine,” he replies, his voice slightly muffled. “I am just very exhausted. It was an extremely long and stressful day at work,” he admits, revealing the toll that the pressures of his responsibilities have taken on him.

Jinshi's usually serious and composed facade when in public would quickly crumble when he found himself at home with you, his beloved wife, the one person with whom he felt the most relaxed and at ease. In your presence, he felt free to let go of all the burdens and pressures of his professional life; that steely image he maintained in front of colleagues and acquaintances would fall away, revealing the more playful and sometimes childish side that only you were fortunate enough to witness.

As he sat at the dining table with his head cradled in his hands, a deep sigh escaped his lips, followed by a melodramatic yet undeniably sincere childlike whine, resonating with exhaustion, "I’m so tired."

“I know you are,” you replied gently, moving closer to sit beside him, offering a comforting presence. “You are taking on far too much for one person to handle.”

Jinshi, seeking solace, closed his eyes, and leaned more into your comforting hand as you tenderly stroked his face. The gentle touch felt like a wonderful and soothing balm after such a stressful day filled with endless responsibilities and overwhelming duties. He mumbled softly, almost as if confessing a secret, "I know, I just can't help it. The work just keeps piling up, and I feel like I am going to go insane."

As your fingers moved through his hair, Jinshi's tension and stress began to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm and relaxation. He leaned into your touch even more, savoring the simple comfort of your presence, and murmured with a hint of contentment, "That feels nice."

You took the moment as an opportunity to lean down and place a soft kiss on his temple, a gesture filled with love and understanding. He closed his eyes once again, allowing himself to revel in the peace and warmth that enveloped him as he continued to lean into your nurturing embrace.

He mumbled softly and somewhat uncertainly, “I don’t deserve you.” The weight of his words hung in the air, filled with an emotional struggle that Jinshi could not easily shake off. He felt an overwhelming wave of guilt wash over him as he contemplated the burden he had unfairly placed on you, recognizing that he wasn’t trying to make you his personal stress reliever. Instead, he was painfully aware that by confiding in you and relying on your support, he felt like he was adding extra layers of stress and pressure onto your shoulders, which was the last thing he wanted.

Opening his eyes, he gazed at you earnestly and said, “You don’t have to do this; I feel awful putting you through all of this every day. It’s simply not fair for you to have to sit there and soothe my stress every single day. I should be able to manage my own emotions without dragging you into my struggles.”

You looked at him with a reassuring expression, your voice steady and kind as you replied, “It’s not about what you can handle or not. I’m your wife, and I say that if I can help you feel better at the end of each day, then that’s what I’ll do,” your words resonated with a deep sense of commitment and love.

Jinshi remained silent, knowing that when you spoke with such sincerity, you truly meant every word, and he recognized that it would be futile to argue with you on this matter, for his love for you was far too strong to allow any disagreement to take root.

“Here,” you said gently, patting your lap invitingly. Jinshi understood the comfort you were offering, and a smile spread across his face as he leaned over, resting his head in your lap, feeling the tranquility that came from your presence. That simple act of resting soothed him profoundly as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift away momentarily from the stress and tension that often plagued him. In that peaceful moment, he could escape the burdens of the world and simply be present, enveloped in the warmth and care that only you could provide.

He mumbled out in a soft voice, "You spoil me too much," his words barely audible as he spoke.

In response, you playfully teased him, saying, “I have too, Suiren won’t make my favourite sweet treats for me unless I’m on my best behavior.” Your tone was light and playful.

Jinshi couldn’t help but laugh to himself at your charming quip; he found you not only adorable but also incredibly funny. In that moment, he felt overwhelmed with a sense of being spoiled and completely loved by you. Allowing himself to breathe deeply, he closed his eyes and let his body relax completely, enjoying the comfort of your presence.

He then mumbled softly, “You're such a cute wife,” his words hanging in the air as he let them float between you like a gentle breeze. The moment he said it, you felt your cheeks warm and blush at the sincerity and spontaneity of his unfiltered comment, causing your hand to halt for just a brief second as you were lightly brushing your fingers through his hair.

“Why did you stop?” Jinshi asked playfully, his eyes opening just a sliver to catch a glimpse of your face. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself, fully aware that you were likely feeling a bit flustered by his sudden compliment. Your adorable reactions were undoubtedly one of his favorite things about you; he cherished the way you responded whenever he called you cute, and it always reminded him of a shy little kitten, so innocent and endearing.

“You should be nice to the woman who is close enough to pull your hair,” you remarked with a teasing smile, appreciating the lighthearted banter that flowed so easily between you two.

With a cheeky smirk on his face, he leaned in just a little closer and added, “Is that a threat?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a gesture that conveyed both curiosity and a hint of playful reprimand. “You should really be resting, especially before dinner,” you gently reminded him, your voice laced with concern.

Jinshi chuckled lightly, the sound dancing in the air between you. “You’re so bossy,” he said with a teasing grin, his playful tone revealing that he meant no offense.

Deep down, he understood that your insistence on his rest came from a place of love and genuine care for his wellbeing. That was just one of the many things he adored about you; you consistently had his best interests at heart.

“Then heed my advice and close your eyes, my prince. Just allow yourself to rest,” you said softly, continuing to play with his hair in a tender manner.

Jinshi found great pleasure in the way you referred to him with that affectionate title; it was the only moment when his royal role felt adorably sweet rather than burdensome. A smile crept across his face as he surrendered to your gentle prompt, closing his eyes once more. He leaned slightly into your comforting hand as it continued to weave through his hair, the rhythmic motion serving as a catalyst for tranquility. Slowly, he felt himself drifting off, enveloped in the warmth of your presence. The soothing nature of your touch was incredibly calming, washing over him like a gentle wave. He felt all the tension and stress dissolve away as his shoulders relaxed, and he instinctively leaned his head deeper into your lap, finding a perfect spot of comfort that made him feel safe and cherished.

As you continue to gently play with his soft, dark purple hair, Jinshi's breathing gradually slows down, settling into a more rhythmic and soothing pattern as he drifts into a deep slumber. He is now completely lost in sleep, his body fully relaxed, and an air of tranquility surrounds him. As you observe him, he looks remarkably calm and peaceful while he sleeps, embodying the serene beauty reminiscent of a nymph from an enchanting old fairytale, a vision of pure serenity. You find yourself unable to resist the impulse to continue stroking his hair tenderly, marveling at how peaceful he appears, creating a heartwarming scene of him curled comfortably atop his wife's lap.

Suiren, who had been about to speak, pauses mid-sentence, recognizing the wisdom in remaining silent now that the young master has succumbed to rest. She closes her mouth, understanding that it is best to let this moment of tranquility remain undisturbed. The sight of Jinshi in such a state of peaceful slumber is undeniably sweet, almost adorably cute, making it a delightful and cherished view for anyone lucky enough to witness it. The old lady in waiting, who happens to be nearby, notices this captivating scene and can't help but smile softly to herself, as she has never before seen her young master appear so calm and serene.

“This is a moment worth cherishing,” you think silently. You glance down at the young prince nestled comfortably in your lap, feeling a sense of warmth and affection swell within you. “I think dinner might be a little late tonight,” you say quietly, casting a loving look at Jinshi, reassuring yourself that there's no hurry when he looks so peaceful and content right here next to you.