#ah reader insert

[violet-harmon2011]

Can we get some Peter maximoff hcs pls? :3🩶🩶🩶

yes omg

would randomly get the zoomies at 3am

in order to cure them, he NEEDS you to come to the local DQ to get blizzards

ofc he carries you there on his back in under 2 seconds

going to grocery stores late at night to push each other around in shopping carts

randomly throws you over his shoulder and dances or runs around

would dress up as whatever you want for halloween

he would be the linguini to your remy, the woody to your bo peep, the romeo to your juliet, the ghostface to your tatum, the jake to your tricky, etc.

long distance doesn't exist for you guys

you're his first serious relationship, so he cares about you a LOT

feels like a lost puppy without you

clingy king

will barely let you go to work/school in the morning and will be on top of you when you get back

secretly loves it when you steal his headphones and listen to his music

he thinks you look adorable bopping your head and dancing around when you think he isn't watching

you're always mad when he forgets to eat and faints bc of it

but you can't stay angry for long bc he's just an overenergetic golden retriever

so you just always make sure to carry protein bars and such with you in case he forgets again

[taintandviolent]

Visitors ; Jimmy Darling x Remmick x Reader

summary: You've been fooling around with Jimmy Darling for a few weeks now, but are shocked when he shows up at your doorstep, past midnight, with a stranger, asking for a threesome.

word count 4.3K warnings: female reader, no use of Y/N, crossover au, au where remmick survived (don't ask me to explain how), mentions of alcohol/drinking/being drunk, reader's occupation at the freak show is up to you, threesome, oral sex (fem/reader receiving), fingering, handjobs, interrupted orgasms, vampire bites/biting, blood drinking, vampire!Jimmy Darling, .

a/n: *grabs your face* listen to me. I don't expect anyone to enjoy this as much as I did, but I'm posting it anyway. this is an extremely self-indulgent fanfic, inspired by the fact that @garykingz said that Remmick reminded them of a very fucked up and evil vampire version of Jimmy Darling. I took that idea and absolutely RAN with it. by reading this, you will excuse anything weird or any plot holes, okay? okay. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / fic playlist here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

At first, there nothing was fire and agony, but that didn't hurt half as bad as the feeling of failure. He'd failed, he'd lost them all, and somehow, somehow after all that… there was mud. It surrounded his stinging, sizzling body until he healed. Until he found himself again.

Maybe Mississippi wasn't the place for him.

Jupiter, Florida. 1952.

The sun has disappeared from the sky, allowing room for the big, luminous moon to rise. It's a clear night, no clouds, despite the weather forecast threatening summer rain for the next few days. A soft, humid breeze flows through the air, rustling the tall grasses in the field while the crickets chirp their nightly song. A few miles away, the settling sounds of Lake Okeechobee lingers.

Surrounded by the grasses, your trailer sits. It's farthest away from the other trailers, out of the circle of long-term residents. You were a new addition, so it was only fair. It's a Liberty, white and blue, with a hand-painted picket fence trim along the bottom, and red and white gingham curtains hang in the windows. To the every day person, it might not have been much, but to you, it was home. You'd made it that way.

Inside, you let out a contented sigh and sway your feet back and forth in the air; the night had been a good one. Despite the blistering heat persisting through the night, it had been a full house for the past week. Word had gotten out in town, and the crowds had flocked to the Freak Show. Elsa was happy — and when she was happy, the entire troupe reaped the benefits of her jovial and rare attitude. On a personal side, your segment had gone particularly well tonight, the crowd had been reactive — something that always filled your ego like one of the red balloons that you sold at the stand.

Now, freshly showered, rollers in, pajamas on, you're lounging on your stomach, flipping through a magazine. Life is good. Paired with the music that drifts from the small radio on the shelf, the constant whirring of the fan fills your trailer, doing a decent job at keeping it cool despite the heat wave. The only light comes from the string lights in your window, and the small bedside lamp — everything else is shut off. It's just enough for you to read by, and illuminates the small caravan in a warm, romantic way. You lick the pad of your middle finger and use it to turn to the next page.

Knock-knock-knock knock knock.

Your body seizes at the sudden noise, and your eyes flit from the magazine to the door — that sounded an awful lot like Jimmy Darling's knock, but… it was so late. Clad in nothing but your sheer, pink nightgown, you push yourself up off the bed and snatch the matching satin robe from its hook as you pass it, heading towards the door.

The knock repeats, and you glance at the heart-shaped wall clock. 12:36. What on Earth?

With a steady hand, you unlock the door, and pull the latch-handle, pushing the door forward gently. Standing there, is not only Jimmy, but another man. He's shorter than Jimmy by a few inches, but similar in build and energy. His dark hair falls onto his forehead in gentle curls, and his enchanting blue eyes gaze up at you with a piqued interest. Nervously, you wrap the robe around yourself, and tie it tightly at the waist.

"Hey, baby," Jimmy says, looking up into your pretty eyes, admiring the way that your interior light creates a halo around your scarf covered hair. He's seen you in rollers before — nothing new for him. He leans one arm against the edge of your trailer, and you can tell that he's been drinking. He always gets extra flirty when he drinks, and the last few times he'd come to your trailer drunk had resulted in debauchery. "Whatcha' up to, pretty girl?"

God, you think. He's always so charming. You'd walk right off a cliff if he asked you to.

You tighten your grip on the top of your satin robe, making sure that no cleavage is revealed. You look from Jimmy to the stranger, your expression filled with apprehension. Jimmy seeing you in rollers and free of makeup was one thing, but another man putting his eyes on your indecent form had a pit forming in your stomach.

You hesitate, chewing on the corner of your lip. "I was just readin'." You pause, expectantly waiting for an introduction. When it doesn't come, you clear your throat and ask: "Jimmy… who is this?"

He blows air out through his lips, shaking his head softly. "Hell, look at me. Starin' at you and I forgot my manners. This is Remmick. He saw the show tonight."

"Oh," you say curtly. Why is he at my trailer? "Hello."

Remmick nods, flashing you a bright, inviting smile. Encumbered with the same kind of boyishness, it reminds you of Jimmy's, but there's something darker underneath it, something that Jimmy lacks. It's almost malicious — something that Jimmy doesn't have an iota of.

"I'm a traveling man and I've sure seen a lot of shows. Y'all are a bunch of gifted folks. And you… you've got a real God given talent, darlin'." The man's accent sounds slightlySouthern — Floridian, even — but you notice that underneath, there's an odd lilt to his words, like he's using it to mask something else.

You blink. You didn't know about God given — the mutters in the crowds were usually of the opposite, freaks are God's mistakes. Still, the compliment is appreciated, and you smile politely all the same, dipping your head to your chest as a silent thank you. You're all too used to compliments from male show-goers, so that doesn't unnerve you… but the way he's looking at you sure does. The eye contact feels like a one hundred pound weight on your chest, and shift as you might, you can't dislodge it. You don't think he's even looked at Jimmy once. A silence, punctured only by the gentle sounds of the evening, hangs heavy between the three of you for a little too long, but you finally break it with a cough.

"….Jimmy, what're you doin'?"

"Huh?" God bless his naivety.

"It's past midnight. What're you doin'?"

He seems embarrassed by that, but with a quick look to Remmick, he regains his confidence and finds his reasoning for showing up at your door to begin with. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

"Well, Remmick and I got to talkin' after the show, and we were wonderin' if we could come in. Y'know, for a little fun."

Your jaw almost hits the floor. What exactly had they been talking about? You and Jimmy had fooled around a few times — more than a few — but you never expected him to come at you with an offer of a threesome. The implications weigh heavy on your limbs like shackles, and your gaze flickers back and forth between the two of them.

"Jimmy, I…"

"Now," he starts, sensing your apprehension, cutting you off. "…Listen. I know you aren't that kinda' girl, baby… but… he appreciates you the same way I do. He sees what I see, and I just… I think it'd be fun."

"If I may," Remmick says, flattening a hand on his chest and nodding slowly a few times. "I've traveled all over the world... And I ain't never seen a woman like you. I'm a firm believer in appreciatin' beauty, and makin' sure that the owner of it knows they've got somethin' real special."

"Y'see?" Jimmy asks, looking up at you with those big, ink-pool eyes of his. Your heart just melts at the sight of them, and you want to lean down and press your lips against his warm ones. You know what he tastes like, having memorized it the first time you two kissed. Heat pools between your legs, and you hum softly to yourself.

"C'mon, baby… we'll be gentle…" he urges. Short of clasping his conjoined fingers together, he's begging you. You know that tone in his voice. You've heard him beg before. Jimmy leans more of his weight into the trailer, and reaches out, running one of his fingers along the length of your thigh. His touch is electric and it takes all of your power to suppress the shudder that tickles at the base of your spine, but you do.

You swallow the dryness in your throat and look to Remmick. His eyes slide heavy from your face to the forbidden spot between your legs, as if he notices the fervid, salacious change in you. He grins as you shift, rubbing your silky soft skin together, trying to alleviate some of the arousal. "I won't bite too hard."

They aren't going anywhere, and the way Jimmy's looking at you — hell, the way they're both looking at you — is suddenly driving you crazy. It's turning your resolve to melted butter, dripping through their extended fingertips.

You heave a sigh.

"Too hard? You better not bite me at all. I've got shows tomorrow." You say, stepping to the side of the door. "Come on. Both of you. You're letting all the good air out."

Jimmy's face lights up. With a huff, he drops his hand from your thigh, throwing Remmick a pleased glance, and jerks his head towards the door before stepping up inside. His hand trails along the front of your stomach lovingly as he moves further inside, allowing room for Remmick as he too steps inside. With a lingering glance outside, you lock the door behind them.

You don't even make it to the fridge to offer them both a glass of lemonade before they descend on you, like two hungry animals cornering a small prey animal.

Jimmy's hands are on you, cupping your breasts outside of the flimsy fabric of your nightgown, as he mutters hot breathed words of need. His mouth finds yours in a flash, tongue slipping along your bottom lip before delving inside to wrestle with your own. The heady, sweet taste of him paired with the remnants of the booze he was drinking invades your tastebuds, making you woozy with want. Your lids flutter closed as Jimmy deepens the kiss, one hand on the small of your back, pulling you ever closer to him.

Remmick is on the other side of you, kissing you, inhaling you. There's a hunger seated deep within his core; you can feel it in the way his mouth explores the nape of your neck, sloppy with desire. You ease into the feeling, and bring a hand around his head, running your fingers through his soft hair. He inhales again and whimpers into your neck, like he's touch-starved. You keep up your ministrations, tangling your fingers in his locks and pushing him against the curve of your neck. While he kisses you, his hands slither up the curve of your hip, gripping the plush flesh there, pulling your hips towards his own.

You allow a sweet little vocalization to drift off your lips. You'd be a liar if you said you didn't enjoy the attention, the tantalizing feeling of not one but two pairs of hands on you, exploring you, tasting you.

"So pretty, baby…" Jimmy mutters into your mouth. His hands explore every inch of your top half, moving defly from your breasts to your neck, where he grips the column of it. Not hard enough to restrict airflow, just enough to fan the fire in your core.

Remmick's tongue lolls out, licking a thick stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. He urges his aching groin against the plushness of your hip. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen…"

The kiss was abrupt, to be sure, but it seems to take even less time for Remmick to be on his knees. He makes a fist in your nightgown and hoists it up your thighs painfully slow, savoring the feeling of the satin sliding up your silky soft skin. There's no friction. Once the fabric is bunched at your hips, Remmick buries his head between your plush thighs, tongue laving over the soft, supple flesh. His hands crawl up them, and with an avidious urgency, he pulls them apart, forcing you to take a few wide steps.

Jimmy had eaten you out almost every time you'd been together, and in doing so, had created a monster out of you. Now, even the proximity of a mouth in front of her, a single hot breath washing over her, and you were throbbing.

This time was no different.

Louder than the croony voice over the radio, a whimper leaves your lips as Remmick exhales over your aching center, an inch or so away from her. Jimmy feels the change in your body, and looks down, clocking his new friend between your thighs. A cocky smile crosses his boyish features, and he leans in, pressing a single kiss along your jawline.

"See, baby?" Jimmy drawls, close to your ear. "I told you he appreciates you just like I do."

Jimmy's hand finds yours and pulls it — gently, lovingly, if that's possible — towards his cock. Your fingers cave to the outline, soft jeans are pulled taut, hard-on straining against the worn fabric. You hum, and fiddle with his belt until you manage to get it undone. Next, the button of his jeans, and before Jimmy has time to help you, your hand is delving inside his boxers, searching for the searing hot tip of his cock. Keeping your body straight and your cunt easy access for Remmick, you bring your free hand to the back of Jimmy's neck, feeling the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him close into another searing, sensual kiss.

A flash of soemthing — nerves, perhaps — taints your features. Jimmy shakes his head, placating you with another kiss.

"Nah, baby. It'll feel good. Real good. Besides," he whispers, nuzzling his nose into your neck. "I need you good and wet."

So you let him.

Encouraging him, you tilt your hips towards him.

Below you, Remmick exhales again, sending a chill through you. He kitten licks at your folds for a minute, slowly, savoring the wetness that meets his tongue. Two, long fingers slip through your wetness, before sinking inside your cunt. Stars of pleasure explode behind your eyes, your head lolling back helpelessly. He lets out a low growl at the desperate way your hips buck forward, forcing them in further and responds by curling them up into your clenching heat, hitting the lethal spot within. Another small, whimpering moan leaves your lips, feeling vulnerable in the hands of both men — but that vulnerability turns you on even more. You feel your knees to turn to jello as they both continue. You're suddenly very glad that you're pressed tightly up aaginst the sink.

As you jerk Jimmy off in slow, deliberate strokes, Remmick pumps his fingers inside of you, his mouth suctioning to your cunt every so often, lapping up the succulent juices that leak from her. Every time he does, your grip on Jimmy's cock tightens, urging more pre-cum from the fat, velvet soft tip. You both can hear the lewd sounds coming from Remmick's mouth; he's sloppy and hungry with what he's doing, and your legs are starting to quiver around his head. Jimmy breaks the kiss to chuckle.

"God damn, baby. You gettin' taken care of down there, huh?" He says, his voice husky. "Feel good?"

You mewl, nodding. "Y-yeah… he's—mmmmph. He's…."

"Shhh, baby, I know. He's eatin' you real good. Can't blame him, 'cause I know you taste good. I've been there. Like sugar on your tongue…"

Despite your orgasm fast approaching, you don't lose your rhythm, pumping his stiff cock through your fist. Your fingers are wet from the pre-cum that leaks from the slit and Jimmy bucks against your grip, humming low into your ear.

"Faster, baby… faster."

You obey, restricted slightly by his open jeans. Jimmy feels this and reaches up to pull them underneath his balls, giving you free reign. To thank him, you capture his mouth in another searing kiss, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before letting your tongue swirl with his.

Remmick swallows against you, and his tongue ceases its flicking to tease your entrance. Your intoxicating nectar is dripping down the length of his fingers, into his palm, and each passing second brings you closer to the edge. He can taste it — you're getting sweeter and headier.

Jimmy breaks the kiss again, resting his forehead against yours. You're both breathless, and your kiss-swollen lips pull into a pout. "Why don't we uh, take this to the bed? I need inside that, baby." Remmick hears this and laps at your cunt a few more times before he reluctantly gets to his feet, slowly pulling his mouth and fingers away from your sensitive center. You look at his face — his lips and chin are glistening clear with your arousal and his drool. But god, there's a lot of it. It seems to leak out the side of his mouth in a thick stream, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. His gaze is hungry, and you imagine, mirrors your own lust-blown one. His eyes look different, darker, and almost red. You blink, but they've returned to normal. You're too deep in arousal to think on it further.

You retract your hand from the front of Jimmy's pants, and hurry to the back of the trailer, where the small bed is. You push the magazine out of the way with one hand, and turn, falling backwards. Your rear hits the small, springy mattress and the cool air from the fan hits your wet center, sending a shiver down your spine. You spread your legs again, eager for the oncoming lust of both men, and lift your half-lidded eyes. Jimmy is walking towards you, unbuttong his shirt hurriedly — with an almost giddy expression plastered on his drunken face, looking ready to sink his cock so deep inside of you that you see stars. Your eyes flick to Remmick; he's close behind him and looks equally as eager, a giant smile on his face. It's almost too big.

Jimmy pulls the white undershirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. He's only a few inches away and you hum excitedly. "Come and get me, boys…"

After that, it happens so fast.

Remmick latches onto Jimmy, pulling him backwards with strong arms. Sharp claws dig into his the sunkissed flesh of his biceps, holding him in place as he bites down on the side of his neck.

The blood.

The blood gushes down the front of his chest, coating his warm skin in crimson. Jimmy falls to his knees, his coal-black eyes locked on you, frozen in a confused, pained expression and Remmick follows him down. Tears well up in the corners of your eyes as the helplessness claims your system, paralyzing you. He looks so lost. You know that the adrenaline is dumping in his system and he probably doesn't understand what's happening, but you do. Except you don't, really.

This man that you invited in is not a man at all, even though he ate your cunt like one, even though he kissed your neck like one, and whispered sweet nothings like one. Your brain can hardly process the visual in front you, and the scream that rips through your throat hurts. You howl Jimmy's name as loud as you can through your fingers, in hopes of altering the course of events. Remmick doesn't let up, pointed fangs gnashing and gnawing at the torn flesh. He swallows loudly, drinking the cerise liquid that flows out.

Your instinct to survive kicks in, and you don't know how you manage, but you somehow leap off the bed and over to the floor, knocking hard into the table at your side.

You throw your shoulder into the door and stumble out of the trailer, onto the ground below. The grasses fold underneath your weight as you scurry to your feet, getting back into an upright position. You take off in a straight line, towards the circle of trailers in the distance.

You hear the creak of your door as it opens again. And… singing? Behind you, Remmick’s voice carries on the breeze, light as a feather and as you run barefooted, you whimper, moving your legs as fast and as hard as you can.

"Anytime… you're feelin' lonely…. anytime… you're feelin' blue…"

You push through a patch of tall grasses, and keep running towards the first trailer visible — Eve's. It's not far, but each step feels like it's dragging you backwards, backwards into his grasp.

"…that's the time, I'll be thinkin' of you…"

You nearly collapse against the door and scream your heart out. Someone has to hear you.

"EVE!" Your closed fist hammers on the metal over and over again, thumping loudly. "EVE! WAKE UP! PLEASE! Eve, let me in! Something real bad has happened - EEEEEEVE!"

The singing continues, growing closer with each passing second and Remmick nears the trailer. A light flicks on inside, soft and filtered through the lace curtains that hang in her window, and the door swings open, revealing a nightgown clad and grief stricken Eve. "Sweetheart, what—"

"SHUT THE DOOR!" You push past Eve with a panicked strength and pull the door shut as you enter the trailer. The overwhelming feeling of safety hits you, and you collapse against your friend sobbing. You can barely catch your breath from running, but do your best to explain anyway.

"H-he's d-d-dead, Eve! Oh god — he's dead!" Your words come out in a blubbering mess, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Slow down, sweetheart." She pulls you away, holding you firmly at your shoulders. "Who's dead? What happened?"

"J-Jimmy! I let them into my trailer! We were foolin' around, and that man, he's a — he's a monster or something, he ate him! I —"

You hear a voice from outside the trailer, and freeze. It couldn't be.

"Baaaaby…" Jimmy says, sing-song and full of his usual caramel sweetness. "Baby, baby, baby."

Without another word, you rush to the door and open it. Jimmy stands there, with Remmick at his side. Had the front of Jimmy not been stained in blood, you wouldn't think there was anything wrong with him. At all.

But there was. You'd watched the life drain out of Jimmy's warm, coffee-black eyes, watched him crumple to the floor like he was made of paper. You'd heard the sound of Remmick swallowing wetly against his flesh as he drank the life blood that flowed from the gash on his neck. Where there should've been a chewed up hole, there was a simple scar.

But you'd seen it. You'd seen it with your own two eyes.

But then, Jimmy flashes you a smile. His perfect pearly whites are now elongated and sharp at the tips. You gasp, taking a step back. "Jimmy, no…"

"What did ya' leave for, baby?" His mouth sounds full.

"Don't!"

"Aw, c'mon now," Remmick says, looking up at you with a faux, depressed expression. Paired with the drying, deep red blood that coats the lower half of his face and neck, it's a sinister visual and brings you no comfort whatsoever. "We was just gettin' started."

"YOU ATE HIM!"

"Nah, darlin', just had a little bite is all. I ate you, and whoooo, I ain't ever had a cunt that sweet."

Angry heat floods your neck. Eve shifts next to you, taking in the confusing and life-altering scene in front of her — she'd dealt with a lot of things in her time, but vampires weren't one of them.

From behind you, Eve speaks up. "Both of you, get lost. Jimmy Darling, I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but you ain't gonna' hurt the rest of us."

Jimmy frowns and shakes his head, like he's incredulous that he's even having this conversation. "Eve, it's better this way. You gotta' trust me. We're all afraid of fading away, and now we don't have to!"

"No," she responds sharply. "No."

"Have I ever lead you and the gang wrong?"

Both of you stop at that, knowing that he hadn't. He'd always been the strong, logical voice of reason, always had the troupe's best interest in mind.

"Baby," Jimmy whispers, pulling your attention to him. "C'mon. Take my hand."

You shake your head, convincing more yourself than him.

He nods and stretches his hand closer to you.

"I know you love me. We can be together. We got all the time in the world, now."

The ground drops from beneath you, and takes your stomach along with it. You loved him, you really did. Hearing him admit it for you had your walls crumbling to pieces at your feet.

"Eve," you say, mournfully. She puts a hand on your shoulder, holding you back, as If she senses the change in you, senses that your heart started aching something awful.

You shrug her off and take a step towards the door.

"Sweetheart," Eve calls. "Don't do this. That's not Jimmy anymore, even though it's walkin' and talkin' like him. Don't fall for it."

You look from her to Jimmy again, and your heart squeezes in agony. She's right, but if you lose him forever…

You look to Eve again, devastated at your own decision.

"I'm sorry, Eve."

As you step down, both Jimmy and Remmick coax you forward with sweet words, calling you baby and sweet girl. You wonder briefly if it'll hurt when they bite you.

You collapse against Jimmy's chest. He's not as warm as before, and the blood that hasn't dried sticks to the front of your nightgown. You forget about that feeling as he wraps his arms around your back, in an iron grip. You ease into his embrace, into the knowing feeling of impending doom.

You don't know what this means for the rest of them. You don't know what will happen, but you're in his arms.

And for now, that's all that matters.

[gingerteafairy]

friends conversations lead to this kind of idea @blueikky

𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 masterlist

𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐧: 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Tate wouldn’t feel embarrassed to ask you out and immediately establish that you’re the only one who matters to him. He’s certain that you’re his soulmate, and he’d do anything to protect the little world the two of you share. He would go to great lengths to keep it safe. Hobbies would include listening to music together, making fun of new clothes from the mall, playing card/board games and discovering some online game where you both could both play on his computer and your phone simultaneously. He’d also give you a pair of headphones as a gift.

𝐤𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Kit kept vision for the future, getting involved with someone with the goal of building a family, overcoming challenges, and dreaming of growing old together. He makes it a point to be a safe harbor, which can sometimes cause stress due to his constant drive to be the perfect husband, finding in you a reason to fight and lean on during tough times. He knew you were the one from the very first date but wanted to wait a little longer to propose so as not to scare you off. Kit would always surprise you with random gifts, like a pair of earrings he thought would match your eyes perfectly. He’d pay attention to the little details, wanting to make you feel special with thoughtful gestures that show how much he cares.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭!𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐞: 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Typical boyfriend material. You two would explore life together, with trips to the movies and amusement parks becoming part of your routine. If you ever struggled with a test, he would help you study, even if the subject was completely different from what he knew. He’d definitely fix your computer for free if it broke since he spent a lot of time watching YouTube tutorials as a kid (he even recorded one).

𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞!𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐞: 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬

Even without knowing it, he would be your anchor. With a lot of patience, you’d help him understand the world, teach him to speak and write, guide him in learning how to be “grown-up.” It would be hard, but in no time, Kyle would become a strong man, protecting you and the mansion with his life.

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩. 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡: 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

James' captivated by darkness and the concept of sin, inherited from his father. You, being a sweet-looking girl in a stable relationship, would be a formidable prey. With a carefully controlled tone, accent, and just the right amount of manipulation, he would lead you into adultery and eventually much worse, with you becoming his protégé. Even though James March is quite the tightwad, he’d make sacrifices to give you things depending on the hunt you two had together, from an expensive necklace to your favorite food. He’d only offer these gestures as a way to mark a special moment, something that proves he values the bond you share—even if it’s always under his own twisted terms.

𝐤𝐚𝐢 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧: 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

The relationship with Kai would be intense and complicated. It was too shallow to be just a relationship but too deep to be just a friends-with-benefits situation. It would be a draining relationship, where the question “What are we?” would linger, only to be answered with “We don’t need labels” by Kai. It'd be definitely intense, passionate, and unforgettable. However, the relationship would also be restrictive due to his insecurity and jealousy, at times manipulating you when you wanted to leave, using compromising photos and messages to keep you tied to him.

𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬

Austin Sommers is pretty laid-back. You were a great friend to him, and sometimes he’d stick to the promise of “If we’re both single at 40, we’ll get married and have three cats.” As the person closest to him, he would definitely use some of your shared moments and phrases in his books, even adding you as a character, with a few tweaks here and there.

𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

Like Austin, he’s chill, living in the moment, using you as the muse for many of his art pieces. As a true introvert, it would take him a while to open up, but soon the two of you would be cuddling after hours of oversharing about life. It would be obvious that you both shared deep feelings for each other, but a barrier of professionalism might prevent the relationship from progressing into something more. He'd give you little paintings and handmade fridge magnets.

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟: 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

Despite being a hero, Peter wouldn’t have the courage to ask you out right away. He’d stew over that strange feeling for a while, until one day he’d stop suddenly during a walk and ask if you wanted to be his girlfriend. If you didn’t hear him, he’d pretend nothing happened and wait for another opportunity, hoping you’d be distracted when he tried again. If you heard, he'd ran to his house and make paper rings for you both.

𝐦𝐚𝐱 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧: 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Max'd be a sweet, goofy boyfriend, always taking pictures of you, keeping a special box just for storing all the memories. He’d let you play with his hair, wear his clothes, and, of course, he’d snap pictures of you wearing every single one of them. For your birthday, he’d give you a Polaroid camera, since you complained that he always takes photos of everyone else, but never has one taken of him.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐤𝐚: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲)

Your relationship would be intense from the start to the end. Impulsive as he is, he’d take you to get married in Vegas, not knowing that by doing so, you’d legally be married on paper. Well, he always wanted to be yours in the end, and Vegas was just a bonus from fate.

part two here ♡

[megwritesriddles]

Reflected Desire ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 2 - Mirror Sex. Michael is staying at Robichuax Academy, awaiting the Seven Wonders test. He takes a liking to one of the witches to pass the time and is determined to get her alone, no matter where that might be.

Tags: Mirror sex, P in V, Unprotected sex, Mildly dubious consent, Mild red flags, Praise kink, Biting, Marking, Bathroom sex, Out of character Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, Reader is a witch, SoftDom!Michael (sorta?), Antichrist!Michael (alluded to), No plot.

Word count: 2k

all fandom masterlist | ahs masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: I haven't watched Apocalypse in so long so a million apologies that this is definitely out of character!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The halls of Robichaux Academy had never been tenser. Michael Langdon was staying in the academy, waiting to take the Seven Wonders test. A snake in your midst. He mostly kept to himself and his fellow warlocks but he had seemed to have taken an odd liking to you. He would flash you charming smiles as you passed him in the halls, make a point to sit beside you at dinner, pull out your chair for you and make a show of being the perfect gentleman. Despite him being considered the enemy, you could tell many of the witches felt deeply jealous at the attention he was lavishing on you. Michael, for all his flaws, was an extraordinarily handsome man, it was almost unnatural how flawless he looked. Sometimes, his perfect smiles almost unnerved you, made you feel that there was something almost wrong with him. However, then his eyes would land on you, almost softening slightly and you were swept away by his looks once more. You couldn’t understand the attention he paid you. None of the other warlocks had batted a single eye at you. Someone like Madison seemed much more deserving of this attention, but he was giving it to you, and you could hardly complain.

His temporary room in the academy was on the same corridor as yours, you passed him often on the way in and out. He would smile and try his best to ensnare you into conversation, but often you were busy, heading to classes or to bed. You could see his displeasure all over his face whenever you would make your excuses, but he remained measured and polite, suggesting he catch you some other time. Tonight, you left your room, toothbrush clutched in hand, heading for one of the shared bathrooms. He emerged almost instantly after you had, making you wonder if he’d been listening out for your door to open. He approaches from behind, snaking a hand across your back and onto your hip, using his grip to turn you to face him. He smiles charmingly as you flush a little.

“Good evening, my darling,” he purrs, tugging you a little closer. He’s never been quite this forward before, you find you don’t hate it. 

“Good evening, Michael,” you smile back shyly. He’s still dressed in his pristine Hawthorne School uniform, though he’s ditched the tie and the outer layers, still in his crisp white shirt and dress pants. You’re just wearing some old loungewear, an oversized sweater that hangs slightly off of your shoulder and a pair of sweats. It makes you feel shyer than normal, the contrast of how the two of you must look together, but he just smiles pleasantly.

“What are you up to?” he muses, toying slightly with the hem of your sweater. You lift your toothbrush to his gaze.

“Heading to brush my teeth… wash my face… that sort of stuff,” you shrug, averting your eyes to one of the paintings on the wall by the staircase. He hums in acknowledgement, his finger dipping slightly under your sweater, brushing innocently against the skin of your side.

“I suppose that means you’re once again too busy for a chat,” he mutters with a resigned tone, but he’s smiling in a way that tells you he isn’t feeling all that down at all. You open your mouth to answer, but he interjects. “Unless I join you,” he muses with a grin. 

“Join me?”

“Yes, actually that’s a fine idea… let's go, shall we?” he chuckles, guiding you by a hand on your waist toward one of the bathrooms. You follow silently, feeling a little bewildered. The two of you enter the bathroom, he flicks on the lights with a finger and clicks the lock, making you tense a little. He just smiles, coming to stand behind you as you wet your toothbrush at the sink. You look up, meeting his eye in the mirror, before quickly averting your gaze again. He looks unbelievably smug, like he’s got you where he wants you and you realise with a start as his arms snake around your waist, that he has. His fingers gather up your hair, pushing it gently over one of your shoulders, baring one side of your neck to him. His breaths are warm as they wash over your neck, he presses himself against you, watching you in the mirror. You continue silently brushing your teeth, staring down into the sink as his nose nudges at the underside of your ear. “You smell lovely,” he hums, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been waiting so long to get you alone,” he presses his lips softly to the skin of your neck. You blush deeply, dipping down for a moment to spit your toothpaste froth out. He seems completely undeterred, holding you even closer as you straighten back up. You gasp, your eyes widening as you feel something hard against your lower back. He chuckles deeply. “Do you feel what you do to me?” You nod without words and he smirks. He peppers more soft kisses up and down your neck, making his way down to your bare shoulder and back up again. Through the reflection of the mirror, you watch his lips latch onto your neck, sucking gently. His eyes open to meet yours as he leaves a tangible mark on you, evidence that you’d let him this close without so much as a protest. 

“What are you doing?” you question finally, but it’s already too late. Withdrawing from you slightly, he presses soothing kisses to the newly forming bruise on your neck. It’s clear he’s ignoring your question, enjoying the look on your face as you watch him, taking in the size of the mark he’s left.

“Want another, my darling? They look perfect on you, don’t they?” he purrs, nuzzling at your skin. Your eyes skim your neck in the reflection, watching as he leaves several smaller marks on your skin. His hands venture just beneath your sweater once again, skimming the skin above your waistband. He looks completely engrossed in you and you can’t help but feel his admiration of your body pooling in your stomach. “Can I take this off of you?” he murmurs. You hesitate, watching him in the mirror. He looks up to meet your eye, grinning smugly as he notices your breath hitching. He pushes your sweater up slightly, a reminder of his question.

“Yeah,” you breathe. He’s tugging the sweater over your head in a fraction of a second, discarding it onto the sink counter. You avert your eyes from the mirror as your topless form comes into view, feeling weird to be looking at yourself like this. His hands snake worshipfully up over your stomach to cup your breasts. You make a tiny noise of pleasure as he does this and he grunts in response. He’s watching you reflection as he kneads at your soft flesh, continuing to shower your neck with kisses.

“Been wanting this more than you understand,” he mumbles against your ear. “Been thinking of you every moment since I got here,” he brushes his fingers over your nipples gently, making you gasp. “I’ve never felt so needy in my life,” One arm remains around you, cupping and kneading your breast, the other snakes down and starts to push down your sweats. The waistband is loose so they fall down to your thighs with minimal effort, he helps them the rest of the way down. “Step out,” he whispers gently, you do as you’re told and step out of them. He kicks them aside and presses his rock hard arousal against your rear, letting out a little hiss. His hands leave you just long enough for him to yank off his own clothes, seemingly with little regard for whether the garments survive this encounter. He presses back against you, working his thumbs into the sides of your panties. “Will you let me have you, my angel?” he exhales shakily, teasing his fingers against the lace edge of your panties, waiting for your permission. His angel, the words echo in your mind, they feel both enticing and decidedly dangerous in some way.

“Have me,” you whisper back, meeting his eyes in the mirror. His eyes look almost blackened with lust, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. He sighs in relief, bending you slightly against the sink counter, you prop yourself up on your hands as he presses desperate kisses between your shoulder blades, tugging your panties down slowly. Your face is dangerously close to your reflection and you try your best to avoid your own eye as he positions himself behind you, arms wrapping around you securely.

“Thank you, my angel,” he coos, pressing against your entrance gently and grunting softly at the feeling. His hands hold you in place as your body tries to twitch away at the sudden sensation. He shushes you gently as he begins to press forward into you, your back arches and your lips fall open in an elongated moan. His eyes are glued on your reflection as your face twists in pleasure, your body welcoming him in like a treasured guest. “Perfect,” he sighs. “You look and feel perfect,” he begins to rock his hips gently, watching your eyelids flutter and your teeth bite at your lower lip. “Look at you,” he murmurs, taking ahold of your chin and turning your head so you meet the eye of your reflection. “Look how well you’re taking me,” he grunts as his actions speed up, his hand moving down to your hip to keep you in place as he thrusts. You blush at the sight of yourself, looking utterly sinful. You’re flushed all down your neck, your skin glimmering with perspiration, your pupils blown. You jolt forward with each of his thrusts, glancing up at his intense expression in the mirror as he watches you like you’re a gift from heaven. He grips your hips tighter. “My perfect angel,” he growls, pulling you back against him at an increasingly rapid pace. You throw your head back for a moment and you feel his hand on the back of your head, tangling in your hair, angling your head back down. “Keep your eyes on you,”

“Michael…” you whine, half in embarrassment, half in pleasure. He just speeds up, pressing his chest to your back, leaning his chin on your shoulder. You watch each other's faces in the reflection, both twisted in ecstasy. He grunts louder and louder, his thrusts growing harsher as he approaches his peak. His hands grip you hard, leaving fingertip indents. You whine and cry in pleasure as he ravishes you, you see tears of pleasure forming in your eyes in the mirror and feel utterly pathetic, though unable to do anything about it. He leans forward to kiss at your cheek, muttering sweet praises against your skin that send your mind reeling.

“Come for me, my angel, show me how you’re feeling, you’re doing so well,” he coaxes in your ear. Suddenly, as if something has possessed you, you scream out, your whole body arching and shaking. You sob loudly as you come around his cock, making him fall apart in tandem. He bites down on your shoulder, growling and shivering furiously as he empties into you. You collapse forward, your cheek pressing against the cool surface of the mirror, giving your overheated face some much needed relief. You pant, trying to blink away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes. He withdraws from you, but continues to hold you against his chest, kissing all over your shoulders. After a moment of composing himself he chuckles breathlessly against your ear. “I think the entire academy just heard you fraternising with the enemy,” he taunts, nipping at your ear.

“Oh God…” you hang your head, his lips follow you, pressing against your lips for the first time. You kiss back despite yourself, desperate now for his touch.

“I’m your God now, my sinful little angel,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

xoxoxo

[ticifics]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

Tate Langdon x f!reader

Summary: “Tate…” you begin, but he already knows. He leans in again, his mouth brushing lightly against yours, like a ghost’s whisper. Like a secret. “Promise you’ll never leave me?”

Warnings: none, i think— it's tate, self explanatory

A/N: He was the reason I watched ahs and I've been thinking about writing about tate for sooooo long, it's kind of embarrassing that I only did it now

The house breathes.

You feel it every night, in the heavy silence that fills every corner of your room. Your room. But not just yours.

It once belonged to Tate.

The thought should bother you, but it doesn’t. On the contrary. The idea of sleeping in the same space that once was his, of occupying the place that once sheltered him, brings you a strange comfort. As if, somehow, you and Tate have always been connected.

“You’re thinking again.”

His voice cuts through the silence of the room. Low, rough, almost amused.

You turn your head, and he’s there—sitting on the edge of the bed, his blond curls falling over his forehead, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. As always, he arrived without a sound, as if he were just another fragment of the house, an extension of the shadows.

“Is it wrong?” you ask, your voice soft.

“Depends,” Tate tilts his head slightly. “Were you thinking about me?”

“Maybe.”

His smile widens a little. The dimples appear, deep, and you feel something tighten in your chest. Tate has this effect on you—a presence that’s cold, yet warm. Terrifying, yet comforting. You’re not quite sure where the fear begins and where the love ends.

He leans in, resting his hand beside your pillow. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you whisper.

“Liar.” Tate’s dark eyes scan your face as if they could see beyond your skin, beyond your bones, straight to everything that drowns you inside. “You have this thing... this sadness stuck in your eyes. I know it well.”

Of course he does.

Tate understands like no one else. He sees what others don’t, feels what others ignore.

“I can’t explain it,” you confess. “I just... feel it.”

He brings his hand to your face, his icy fingers tracing a delicate path across your cheek. You shiver, but you don’t pull away. With Tate, the cold is never enough to push you away.

“I like it when you talk,” he murmurs.

Your heart hammers inside your chest. “Why?”

“Because you’re mine,” Tate answers without hesitation. The conviction in his voice makes you hold your breath. “And I’m yours. That means I can save you.”

Save.

The word hangs between you, heavy with something you don’t fully understand but that scares you.

“I don’t need to be saved.”

Tate smiles. Slowly. Almost sadly. “Yes, you do.”

The silence stretches between you. Long enough for you to feel the house around you. Its weight, its presence, the whisper of the walls.

Then Tate closes the distance, his lips brushing yours in a light, almost hesitant kiss. You taste him, the scent of the house ingrained in his skin, and you wonder if your love was always destined to be like this: intense, insatiable, desperate.

When he pulls away, Tate holds your face between his hands and looks into your eyes. Enough to make you forget there’s anything else besides him.

“If you die,” he says, so softly it almost doesn’t sound like a threat, “I’ll bring you back.”

The air leaves your lungs.

“Tate…”

He hurries to silence your name on your lips, kissing you slowly, as if he wants to steal your breath for himself. His coldness mixes with the heat pulsing inside you, and the contrast makes you shiver.

“I hate it when you say my name like that,” Tate murmurs, his lips still brushing yours.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid of me.”

You hold his face between your hands. His blond curls fall against your skin as he leans closer, pressing his chest against yours, as if he could absorb your warmth.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lie.

Tate smiles slowly, almost sadly.

“Yes, you are.” He slides his hand to your wrist, his fingers resting over your racing pulse. “I can feel it from here.”

You swallow hard.

“But I like it,” he continues, his dark eyes holding you in place. “It’s beautiful. You’re here with me anyway.”

Yes. You are.

Even knowing the darkness inside him, the emptiness in his eyes, the raw obsession in the way he touches you. You know there’s something wrong with Tate, something twisted. But how do you run away from the one person who truly understands you?

Tate holds you tighter, burying his face in your neck as if he wants to hide inside you. His body weighs on yours, and for a moment, he’s just a boy lying in bed with the girl he loves.

“I need you,” he confesses, his voice muffled against your skin. “More than anything. More than air itself.”

You close your eyes and hold Tate against you.

He may not need air. But you know that, if he could, he’d hold his breath just to taste your last sigh.

He lifts himself slightly to look into your eyes, his fingers still lazily tracing your skin, almost as if he’s studying you, memorizing every detail.

“You could leave,” he murmurs. “You could run away from this house. From this thing between us.”

You don’t look away. “And do you think I want to?”

Tate presses his lips together, thoughtful.

“No,” he admits. “I think you need me as much as I need you.”

The confession hangs between you, the air almost electric. You feel Tate’s gaze burning against your skin. He watches you with that suffocating intensity, as if you’re the only thing keeping him there.

Because maybe you are.

“Tate…” you begin, but he already knows.

He leans in again, his mouth brushing lightly against yours, like a ghost’s whisper. Like a secret.

“Promise you’ll never leave me?”

The request comes out low, urgent, desperate.

You feel his fingers tighten around your wrist, as if the thought of losing you is enough to pull him back into the darkness he never truly left.

“Promise?” he repeats, and there’s something broken in his voice.

You should hesitate.

But you don’t.

“I promise.”

Tate closes his eyes and lets out a trembling sigh, as if that promise is the only thing keeping him whole.

And then he holds you again, his arms wrapped around your body with a desperate need.

You know Tate died a long time ago.

But somehow, he’s never felt more alive.

[thevirginslvt]

more Pickle x oc

first meeting

to add some backstory to her; she already knew who he was from the news, but it wasn’t until months later that she encountered him while taking out the trash. things happened and they became “playmates” :]

[ahqkas]

♯ GOD KNOWS I TRIED ; kit walker

PAIRING! kit walker x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found

NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind. 

Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows. 

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm. 

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings. 

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided. 

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances. 

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you. 

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there. 

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film.  Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie." 

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face. 

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control. 

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana. 

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist. 

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm. 

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?" 

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp. 

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go." 

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff. 

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering. 

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you. 

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away. 

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy. 

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you. 

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more. 

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands. 

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better." 

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up. 

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you." 

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."

[supercap2319]

Ben knew it was wrong. He was committing adultery (again). Ephebophilia. Cheating. Whatever label suits your story, Ben Harmon was doing it at this very moment. He tried to fight it. Honest, he did. He learned his lesson after Hayden, but old habits die hard.

He was on the outs with Vivien, and he tried to make it right by moving here to California, but it wasn't good enough. Vivien still couldn't forgive Ben for what he'd done, and Violet was in her own little world to figure out what was going on between her classmate from school, and her father.

What started out as innocent studying between Violet and Y/N, turned into one of those bad gay pornos that you look up on the internet and jerk off too. Ben was ashamed of it, but, God, was it hot.

Ben groans as Y/N had his lips around his hard prick. Tonight was different. Vivien was visiting her sister three hours away, and took Violet along with her, so there would be no interruptions tonight. Y/N was all his.

Ben's fingers tangle in his hair, guiding Y/N's head as he pleasured him. His cock throbs against his tongue, the sensation electric. He leans back against the bathroom counter, exhaling sharply. “Fuck, that feels incredible. You're so good at that.”

Y/N licks underneath Ben's shaft, and swirls his tongue on the head. He looks up at the older man. "I've been practicing at home. Wanted to make it so good for you, Daddy".

Ben's eyes roll back slightly at Y/N's words, his grip on his hair tightening. He lets out a low groan, clearly enjoying the sensation and the sight of Y/N between his legs. “Jesus Christ, that's hot. Keep doing that, baby. You're making Daddy so fucking hard.”

Nodding his head, Y/N gets back to work on Ben's hard cock, bobbing back and forth, coating the dick in saliva. Ben's hips begin to move in rhythm with Y/N's mouth, his breathing becoming more ragged. He looks down at him, his eyes filled with lust and admiration. "Goddamn, you look so sexy with my cock in your mouth. You're such a good little slut for Daddy, aren't you?"

Y/N hums in response as he sucks Ben off like his favorite popsicle. Working the older man over, swirling his tongue on the slit.

Ben's hand suddenly moves from his hair to his own mouth, stifling a loud moan as Y/N hits that perfect spot with his tongue. His balls draw up tight. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum down that pretty little throat if you keep that up.”

Hearing those words only spurred Y/N more. He changes his dick sucking rhythm to a faster pace, determined to make Dr. Harmon cum like a fire hose. Ben's warning quickly turns into a strangled moan as Y/N speeds up, his cock pulsing intensely against his tongue. With a shuddering groan, he explodes, spurting thick ropes of cum directly down his eager throat. He leans back on the counter, gasping. "Holy shit.”

Y/N looks up at him and smirks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up. "Did you like that, Daddy?”

Ben's chest was heaving as he caught his breath. A satisfied smirk plays on his lips. "Like it? Baby, that was fucking incredible. You sucked my cock like a pro." He reaches out. "Come here.” Y/N goes to him. He pulls Y/N close, wrapping his arms around his waist. His face leans down to his, his lips a whisper away from Y/N's. "What am I going to do with you?”

“You could fuck my ass in your bed?” Y/N suggested with a filthy smirk.

Ben's eyebrows raise mischievously, his hands tightening around his waist possessively. "You want that? You want Daddy to bend you over his bed and teach you a lesson?" He growls lowly, his voice dripping with unspent desire.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Ben's smirk turns into a full-blown grin, his eyes darkened with lust. He spins Y/N around and gives his ass a firm smack. "Then get upstairs to my bedroom. Bend over that bed and show Daddy that pretty little ass.”

Both of them head down the hallway to Ben and Vivien's bedroom, unaware that two ghosts named: Patrick and Tate were watching them, noticeable bulges in their pants as they walk down the hall for the second act.

[adoringaffliction]

The Art of Softness

Tate Langdon x Whimsical!Reader

Warnings: oral (fem recieving), tooth-rotting fluff

Summary: Tate enjoys being gentle with you the most.

18+ MDNI

“What are you doing?” you giggle as Tate presses another kiss to your skin. He doesn’t say a word and just keeps pecking what seem like random places on your body. One on your neck, one by your ear, one on your shoulder. 

The candles in your room cast dancing orange light on the walls as Tate pushes you to lay down. He lifts up your shirt and dives underneath it, his mop of blonde curls disappearing. Your soft laughter does not cease as he continues his quest to find the most odd places to kiss you. He goes on and gets lower and lower pulling your skirt and funky colored tights down with him. He taps your hip in an attempt to get you to lift them. You humor him and let him continue his gentle, wordless assault on your skin. Each kiss he makes leaves a cooling effect as he pulls away a little bit of tate saliva left with each mark, and that’s when you finally notice what he was doing. Tate was searching for and kissing each freckle he found on your body. Tate finally makes it to the edge of your panties and looks up at you with a smile. 

“You’re adorable,” you whisper. The quiet and gentility of the moment making it seem like the entire world has gone soft and pillowy. 

“And you are ethereal,” he adds. 

“Where did you learn that word?” You grin. 

“You say it all the time baby, and it’s always pretty things that you say it to.” You just about melt at that, sinking further into your soft bed and pressing yourself closer to Tate. Tate leans down to kiss your clit through your panties. He plants feather-light kisses over your clothed cunt as you sigh in pleasure. He smiles into his final kiss as he curls his fingers around the elastic of your underwear, slowly pulling them to the side and licking a soft stripe up your pussy. Delicate kitten licks cover your clit as you let out a quiet gasp, Tate’s tongue feeling almost as if it was made of velvet as he carefully eats you out for all you’re worth. Each flick of his tongue, a form of art that you could admire every day of the week. If you could be an object you thought, you would be clay, with the way Tate could mold you into any position he wanted to. It was moments like this that made you appreciate the art of his softness.

[dippindaz]

Quiet Mornings and Unspoken Dreams

Kit Walker x Reader | Minors DNI

Warnings: Mentions of wanting and making kids, P in V, oral F receiving, AFAB reader, non-canon AU, very tiny in-direct mentions of the Asylum

The world was quieter now.

It had taken months—years, maybe—for the ringing in your ears to fade, for the cold halls of Briarcliff to stop echoing in your nightmares. But here, in this little cabin tucked deep into Massachusetts woods, the only sound was the birds outside and the creak of old floorboards under socked feet.

Kit was making coffee.

You leaned against the kitchen doorframe, wearing one of his flannel shirts—too big, warm, and familiar—and watched him hum low under his breath as he poured hot water into the French press.

"You always hum when you’re happy," you said quietly, smiling.

Kit looked over his shoulder at you and grinned. That boyish, lopsided smile of his had survived everything. "You saying I’m happy, sweetheart?"

"I’m saying you should keep humming." You crossed the floor to him, arms slipping around his waist from behind. He smelled like soap and firewood. "It’s nice."

He turned to kiss your forehead, leaving a hand resting gently on the small of your back.

You both still had bad nights. Some days were heavier than others. But in the soft moments—like this—everything felt easy.

You watched him silently as he fixed two mugs, putting cream in yours exactly how you liked it. You wanted to tell him. Say it out loud. Ask the question that had been sitting on your tongue for weeks now.

Instead, you said, “You think we’ll get deer in the garden again this year?”

Kit laughed. “If you keep planting carrots like you did last spring, yeah. You spoiling the wildlife.”

There was a beat of silence. You watched his eyes flick to the window, something thoughtful behind them.

“I was thinkin’…” he started, then trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

You perked up, sensing his nerves. “Thinking what?”

He looked at you like he might chicken out, so you stepped closer again, resting your head against his chest.

Kit’s heart was beating a little faster than normal.

“I was thinkin’ this place is real good for kids,” he finally said, voice quiet. “Big yard. Safe. You and me, we could… raise ‘em right. Not like what we had.”

Your breath caught, not because it was a surprise, but because you’d been thinking the same thing for weeks now. Maybe longer.

“…Yeah,” you whispered. “I think they’d be real happy here.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, as if making sure you meant it. When he saw you smiling, really smiling, he kissed you slow and sweet like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Guess I should fix that loose step on the porch, huh?” he murmured against your lips.

You laughed, giddy with the weight lifted between you both. “Yeah. Safety first, Mr. Walker.”

The coffee sat forgotten on the counter.

Kit was still holding you, his hands settling on your hips like they belonged there—which, truthfully, they did. It was one of the many quiet things you’d come to learn in this new life: how well your body fit into his, how often his touch felt like home.

You reached up and toyed with the collar of his shirt, that familiar flannel material soft under your fingertips. “You really mean it?” you asked, a little breathless now, not from nerves—but from the way his eyes had darkened just slightly. “About the kids.”

His voice was low and sure. “I do. I want that—with you.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your heart trip over itself. Kit wasn’t just playing house. He meant it. Every word. Every glance. Every little touch that lingered longer than necessary.

You leaned up to kiss him again—this time slower, more lingering. The kind of kiss that said more than words could. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you just a little closer until your bodies were flush.

When you broke the kiss, you didn’t go far. Your noses brushed. Your forehead rested against his.

“So…” you murmured, voice teasing, “should we start trying?”

Kit blinked, then grinned. A flush crept into his cheeks, but he didn’t look away. “You serious?”

You nodded, heart pounding. “If you are.”

He didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he scooped you up in one smooth motion, making you yelp and laugh as he carried you down the hall toward the bedroom—though he paused long enough to kick the door closed behind him with his heel.

Sunlight streamed in through the thin curtains, casting golden light over the rumpled sheets you’d left just hours ago. He laid you down with such care, like you were something precious—then crawled over you, kissing a path from your jaw to your collarbone.

His hands slid under the hem of his shirt you were wearing, and his voice was rough at your ear. “Been wantin’ to have you all morning.”

You smiled against his mouth, already breathless. “Then don’t let me stop you.”

Kit's lips moved down to your neck, his breath fanning over your skin as he pressed slow kisses along the curve of your throat. His hands—calloused but gentle brushed lightly along your ribs, then down again, mapping you out like he’d never get tired of relearning every inch.

“You always this distracting first thing in the morning?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and thick with affection—and something deeper now.

You smiled, letting your fingers curl into the soft hair at the back of his neck. “Only when I’m trying to seduce my husband.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, before kissing you again—deeper this time. Slower. Like he had all the time in the world. And he did, really. This moment was yours, with no cold floors or fluorescent lights waiting beyond the door. Just the rustle of trees outside and the soft creak of the bed beneath you.

Kit's hands were steady as they snagged the hem of your shirt—his shirt—pushing the soft flannel up your body inch by inch. You lifted your arms to help him, and he peeled it away with slow reverence, letting it fall to the floor behind him.

He just looked at you for a moment, his eyes sweeping over your bare chest like he was memorizing every detail. His breath hitched—just enough to betray how much he was holding himself back.

“Jesus,” he whispered, breathing like it surprised him, like he hadn't seen you before. "You're so beautiful."

You reached out to him, fingertips brushing along his waist, dragging his shirt up and over his head in return. His skin was warm, the lines of his shoulders solid and comforting. You ran your palms up his chest, slow, savoring the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, a little more eager—like all the patience in the world was starting to unravel between his ribs.

You barely noticed when he started undoing the button on your pants, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He slipped your pants down over your hips, pressing kisses to your skin as he went—over your stomach, your hipbones, your thighs—until he peeled them all the way off you and to the floor they went.

Kit looked up at you, his hands gently holding your thighs as he pushed them apart,. He leaned in to press a kiss over your belly, then just above the band of your underwear.

He hooked his thumbs there, eyes still on yours, and slowly slid the last barrier down. The cool air hit your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his mouth—first more kisses, then the gentle drag of his tongue, slow and searching.

Your hands curled into fists against the sheets you as he dipped between your thighs with aching tenderness. His tongue moved in languid circles, teasing and tasting, taking his time like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

The way he looked up at you—eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide—made your stomach flip. He loved this. Loved you. Every sound you made, every shiver, every soft gasp—it only pushed him further.

“Kit,” you whispered, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging just a little when he hit that perfect spot. Your legs trembled, and he growled low against you, the vibration sending sparks down your spine.

He didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down—flicking his tongue, sucking gently, adding just enough pressure with his fingers to make that familiar knot on your stomach tighten.

You whined and whimpered, your thighs trembling against either side of his head. He knew you were close, Kit knew your body like no one else. And that was exactly why he pulled away, just before your sweet release.

Kit settled over you, his body warm and solid, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he braced himself on his elbows, his face just above yours. You reached up to cradle his jaw, brushing your thumb over the stubble there, marveling at the way his expression shifted—soft, almost reverent.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His gaze locked with yours, something deep and molten sparking behind it. “And I love you,” he said, and you could feel it in every word—how much he meant it. How much he meant you.

He reached down between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, dragging the tip slowly through your slick folds. The first push of him inside was slow, steady—he was careful, like he always was, letting you adjust, watching every flicker of your face.

You gasped, your hands clutching his shoulders, legs curling up around his waist as he sank deeper.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless.

“God—yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed already. “Please don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

Kit began to move, slow at first—rolling his hips into yours in smooth, deep thrusts that sent sparks blooming behind your eyes. You could feel every inch of him, the stretch, the warmth, the way he filled you so perfectly it bordered on too much.

Each time he pressed forward, he angled his hips just right, dragging against that spot inside you that made your back arch off the mattress. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your mouth finding his again and again—messy, hungry kisses that didn’t care about breath or precision, only closeness.

He groaned softly into your mouth, picking up his pace, the rhythm growing more urgent. His name left your lips in gasps, in moans, in broken syllables that only made him lose himself more.

You could feel it building—tight and fast and impossible to ignore. Your body clenched around him, trembling, your breath catching as heat coiled low in your stomach.

“I’m close,” you gasped, nails digging into his back.

“Me too,” he growled, hips stuttering for just a second.

Pleasure surged through you in a wave, crashing and pulling you under all at once. Your body locked around him, shivering and pulsing as you cried out his name, vision going white at the edges. Kit followed just moments after with a low, guttural moan, burying himself deep inside you as he came—his whole body shuddering, sweat-slicked and overwhelmed.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then he collapsed onto his side, pulling you with him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body. You pressed your face into his chest, your heartbeat slowly syncing to his.

Kit kissed the top of your head, voice a quiet rasp. “Just incase it didn’t work,” he murmured, smiling into your hair, “I say we keep trying. Maybe… all day.”

You laughed, spent and warm and so in love it almost hurt. “Deal.”

[reactionimagesdaily]

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello, i have some request for you. Can you make Sin-ha x fem!reader, where Sin-ha confesses his feelings to fem!reader that he has kept to himself for months? Thank you ❤️❤️

sorryyyy this took me so long but I hope you still enjoy 🤍🫶

Confession of love in the dying sun

Pairing: Shin-Ah x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,4k

Synopsis: You always admired him from afar, never once thought about the possibility that the blue dragon might hide the same feelings you try to cover up. Until you find yourself right next to him at sunet...

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff for all my starved bbys out there, Hak is Hak lol

The quiet rustling of leaves fills the air as you sit beside Shin-Ah, the forest around you bathed in soft golden light.

Oh, how much you’ve missed this peace and freedom. Since the day you stumbled upon Shin-Ah, your life was filled with nothing but dread, anxiety, and fleeing. When was the last time you were able to rest against a tree to get caressed by sunlight? You can’t put a finger on it. But what makes this day even more special is a certain someone right next to you.

You glance at him, noting the usual calm in his expression - masked eyes fixed on the horizon, mouth unreadable, pale skin almost glowing in the rays of sun. He's always been a mystery, a gentle shadow by your side you enjoyed since meeting him in that cave. But today, there's a tension in the silence between you, thick enough to stir your heartbeat.

"You’ve been quiet," you begin, nudging his shoulder gently.

He doesn’t respond right away, his fingers tightening slightly around the hilt of his sword resting across his lap. Then, without looking at you, he speaks.

“I’ve been holding something in… for a long time.”

Your breath catches. There's a weight in his voice that makes your chest tighten, an unknown depth to his words. Shin-Ah was never one to speak about his feelings, always hid himself well behind that mask. Is it because both of you grew closer and closer over those past weeks, because he saved your life back then in that cave?

“I didn’t know if it was okay to say it. I didn’t want to make things strange between us,” he continues, his voice lower now, vulnerable in a way you've never heard before.

“But it’s been months, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it.”

You turn to face him fully, heart pounding. He finally meets your eyes, and though the mask covers half his face, the intensity in his gaze pins you in place. This almost sounds like a…confession.

No. It can’t be. Why would someone like him fall for an average girl like you? Not when Yona is around all the time, not when he’s bound to her by blood. Surely, he talks about something else-

“I care about you,” he finally admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. I think about you constantly - when we’re fighting, when we’re resting, even when it’s quiet like this. And I’ve tried to bury it, but it won’t go away.”

He hesitates, as if fearing your reaction.

“I love you.”

The world seems to still for a moment - only the soft breeze moving through the trees dares to make a sound.

He loves you.

Shin-Ah just told you that he…loves you.

Your chest feels like exploding any given minute, your limbs failing to work while you can’t help but stare at his mask with glossy eyes.

“I don’t expect anything,” he murmurs.

“I just needed you to know.”

You stare at him, still too stunned to really speak, waiting for the part where he tells you all of this is a joke. Truth is, you were never able to keep your mind off him as well, always pondering about the thoughts behind his mask, admiring him from afar fully aware of the fact that he’ll never be yours truly.

The silence stretches, but not uncomfortably. Just... full. Full of emotions you weren’t ready to face, but maybe always knew were there. Oh, if he only knew. If he only knew how many times you’ve watched him sleep. If he only knew how you enjoyed those precious little moments with only him and you. If he only knew how often you almost blurted out those same words.

I love you.

Shin-Ah loves you.

“I…”Your voice catches, and you swallow hard, trying again. This is not the time to feel ashamed.

“I’ve wondered if you felt something. You’re always so quiet, but… the way you look at me. The way you always make sure I’m safe, even if it means putting yourself at risk.”

He doesn’t speak, just watches you, still and tense, like the smallest movement might shatter the moment.

Your heart is racing now, but your voice is steady.

“I care about you too, Shin-Ah. A lot. And I think… I think I was scared to say anything. Scared I was just imagining it.”

He blinks, once, slowly, his expression behind that mask unreadable, but his breath seems to catch.

You smile, soft and a little shaky.

“But I’m not imagining it, am I?”

He shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he mutters.

“You’re not.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over his while taking his mask off with the other.

“Then… I’m glad you told me. Because I don’t want to keep pretending either.”

For a long moment, he just stares at your hand over his, gorgeous ocean-deep eyes lost in the way your fingers look intertwined with his.

Then he lifts his gaze back to yours - gentle, adoring, like you’ve just given him the entire sky.

“I’ve waited months to hear that,” he admits softly.

And in the stillness of the forest, with the last light of day sinking behind the trees, Shin-Ah smiles. Delicately, way too tender for anyone else to see. To be honest, you’ve never seen him smile like this, his eyes gleaming with nothing but love. You don’t dare to open your mouth, don’t dare to break the silence with even a movement of your limbs.

The silence between you is no longer heavy - it’s warm now, filled with something warm and new. Shin-Ah’s hand shifts beneath yours, his fingers curling gently around yours as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t squeeze it.

You lean in slightly, just enough for your shoulder to brush his, bare skin feeling like burning alive by the sheer touch.

Now or never.

“You can kiss me,” you whisper, barely audible.

“If you want.”

His breath hitches. You see it in the rise of his chest, the slight widening of his eyes behind the mask. Slowly, cautiously, he lifts his free hand and brushes his fingertips along your cheek, as though still unsure this moment is real.

To be honest, you weren’t kissed before. Not truly, not with intention, not by someone who looked at you with the same affection in his gaze. You always wondered what it might feel like, to be loved by someone you love as well, to feel his lips pressed against yours.

Then he leans in.

The kiss is soft - hesitant at first, like a question. His lips are warm, gentle, and respectful, like he’s memorizing the feel of you. You close your eyes, leaning into him, and he deepens it just a little, just enough to let you feel everything he’s held back for so long.

You can’t help but allow your arms to wrap around his neck, to feel him just a little closer. Oh, countless nights you imagined this exact moment, always telling yourself that it’ll never become reality. And now, Shin-Ah is holding you right between his arms while kissing you tenderly with the last rays of sunshine illuminating the scene

.When you pull apart, barely a breath away from each other, you feel your heart thudding in your chest, wild and content all at once.

And that’s when a voice breaks the spell.

“Well, well, well,” Hak drawls from somewhere behind you.

“What do we have here?”

You both jump, startled. You turn your head so fast you nearly knock into Shin-Ah’s shoulder. There stands Hak, arms crossed, smirking like a cat who’s just found your secret stash.

“Really, Shin-Ah? Months of silent brooding and this is how you break the tension? In the middle of the forest, no less?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

Shin-Ah doesn’t respond. He just stares at Hak silently, though you swear you see the faintest tinge of red creeping up his neck.

Hak glances at you, his grin widening.

“I guess I’m happy for you two. But next time, give a guy some warning before I walk in on what looks like the final scene of some romance novel.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“Hak - seriously?”

He laughs, loud and unbothered, already turning back toward the path.

“C’mon, lovebirds. Try not to make out too loudly behind me.”

You glance back at Shin-Ah, both of you caught between embarrassment and laughter. Then, shyly, you reach for his hand again - and he takes it, lacing your fingers together as if he’s never letting go.

[fillinforlater]

Monday of Appreciation: Part 106

Hello everyone, Smite here!

I have returned with the (not yet annual) release of MoA. When you look at the release dates of some of these stories, you might realize how fucking far behind I am. The back log is literally at 100+ fics that I still want to check out, so please excuse this time capsule lmao.

No matter how old they might be, these fics are golden, so send the writers some love!

(Update: currently sinking into IRL work but also into waaaaaay too long fics. I promise I will give it my all to finish some of them in the next to weeks, but other things have priority rn)

-1-

@ggidolsmuts: Move ft. Nana (woo!ah!)

There is a disturbing lack of Nana fics (geez, Smite, write them yourself then! - shut up, inner voice!). I have to thank ddeun once more for keeping us well fed. Nana's move(s) and shifty facial expressions (from cute to deadly) can really leave a man stunned.

I want more Nana.

-2-

@essentiallyleaf: Kinktober Day 16 ft. Choi Yujin (TW)

The Trigger Warning is there for a reason.

Unique execution on writing. This fic might not consider all the moral implications a sexual relationship between siblings might have, but not everything has to be a case study... this more a study of, I guess, let's fuck Yujin no matter the blood coursing through our veins.

I get it, ngl.

-3-

@worldsover: Completeness ft. Mashiro, Yeseo

The Mashiro/Yeseo combo is so thick, it should be banned for being too overpowered - or at least it has to be stripped from the hands of the great Levi because otherwise I have to ask for more, more, MORE of this. Hell, I can barely think about anything but their bodies wtf

-4-

@praeluxius: Red Wine ft. Karina, Natty

Speaking of insane bodies, you are all of course familiar with the meta-defining Karina but have you considered Natty? How about both? At the same time??? Thank you and what in the fuck, Prael, for a very intoxicating threesome.

-5-

@syeollock: Fallen Angel ft. Hyewon

Yo, I know this fic! I'm very glad @syeollock was able to kick of their writing career with this it. I feel honored that I was able to help, but they were the one who came up with the idea and executed it very well. It's a pleasure to still see so much IZ*ONE content.

-6-

@birchleavesdawn: Breakfast in Bed ft. Ireh (Purple Kiss)

Very simple, though it is not simple to get that many notes with a very nugu idol. I gotta give my props, I understand were it is coming from and I'm really craving some Ireh for desserts.

-7-

@tothosewhoyearnforit: Stress Relief ft. Yeji

Relatable. The stress, I mean. I've never been a fan of leather outfits, I just find most others better, but holy fuck, the boots, the slut drop, the overall style... this Yeji was something else.

[gingerteafairy]

Bestie I think Tate would totally cream his pants if you rode his face

it reminds me of one specific fic i read before and never forgot. but yeah, he'd totally do it.

Tate knew it was going to be a back breaking task when he saw you straddling his face, exposing everything he liked most from a different angle, a hotter angle.

The worst part: you seemed to be more sensitive in this position, completely open for his tongue. Your moans were louder, higher pitched, more graceful. He was in heaven.

Tate was getting anxious, moving his legs as a way to dissipate the madness and bring him back to reality, sucking you the way you loved, paying special attention to your clit with quick licks.

But you were so provocative with your legs shaking, trying to support yourself with your hands on the mattress, closing your eyes, your breasts swaying.

“Hmmmm…” he moaned, pulling you down further with his nails digging into your flesh.

“Tate—” you gasped at the pressure, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten.

“Hmmmg… hmmm.” He closed his eyes tightly, sucking your spot harder as he felt the familiar liquid spread through his pants, breathing heavily and shallowly into your pussy, smothering him.

“Tate, I’m gonna cum.” You warned, grabbing his hair.

He just nodded, licking faster, his eyes shut. He was cumming so hard, so fucking hard, he didn’t even know he was coming that much. The wave of orgasm washed over you, a slight dizziness reaching your head. He only realized when you started shaking more than usual, letting go of your body to allow him to get off.

“I’ll take care of you now.” You smiled, crawling between his legs.

“Hold on. Just a second. Just a fucking second.” He took a deep breath, coughing lightly, running his hand over his head. “Wait. I’ll be right back.”

[megwritesriddles]

Last updated: 4th of April 2025

megriddle333 on ao3!!

Request rules and who I write for (currently only doing short-form requests, severely backlogged so be prepared to wait)

Includes: Harry Potter, Stardew Valley, Five Nights at Freddy's, Criminal Minds, American Horror Story, Miscellaneous Josh Hutcherson Characters, The Hunger Games & more to come...

Want to join a taglist?

36 complete works, 12 pending

(reqs will be listed as pending on masterlists until written eg. 5 complete works, 2 pending) (if a character is listed without any works or pending reqs, I do still plan to write for them in the near future)

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Kinktober 2024 ↴

all fandoms (except the hunger games)

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Harry Potter ↴

Tom Riddle, (Young) Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom & Ron Weasley

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Stardew Valley ↴

Sebastian, Sam, Alex, Elliott, Shane & Harvey

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Five Nights at Freddy's (2023) ↴

Mike Schmidt

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Criminal Minds ↴

Spencer Reid

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

American Horror Story ↴

Tate Langdon, Michael Langdon

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Miscellaneous JHutch Characters ↴

Josh Futturman, Derek Danforth, Billy Burn

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

The Hunger Games ↴

Peeta Mellark, Sejanus Plinth

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Lots of love,

Meg (´ ω `♡)

xoxoxo

[ticifics]

the nanny

Kit Walker x f!reader

Summary: "Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled. You nodded, not fully trusting your voice. "Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job." Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

Warnings: no use of y/n, dad!kit, nanny!reader, fluffy, no briarcliff

A/N: It's been so, sooo long since I wrote about the kit, so I decided to do something cute, the poor man deserves some happiness (just look at that face, he's basically husband material)

The paper between your fingers was crumpled at the edges from being held so many times. You read the ad once more, as if the words would suddenly change:

Looking for someone to care for two children and help with the house. Immediate work. Interested parties, please come to the address below.

Simple, direct, and with a certain implicit desperation. It was your best chance. You had been in town for just a few days and needed a job, a roof over your head, some stability.

The house was small, modest, but cozy. The front lawn was a bit overgrown, and a tipped-over tricycle near the porch indicated it was indeed a home with children. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door, your heart racing.

The steps on the other side were quick, and when the door opened, you found yourself facing him.

Kit Walker.

The name was in the ad, but you didn’t expect him to be... like this. Brown, messy hair, eyes the same color, deep and somewhat tired, as if carrying more than a man his age should. He looked a few years older than you, yet young enough to be the father of two small children.

"Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice.

"Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job."

Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

You entered, smelling the warmth of wood and coffee, mixed with the unmistakable scent of a house with children: crayons, cookies, and a faint trace of baby cologne.

The living room was simple, with old furniture but well cared for. There were toys scattered here and there, a small blanket thrown over the couch, and some kids' drawings pinned to the wall.

"Well, I don’t want to make this formal or anything," Kit scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. "To be honest, I need someone as soon as possible. I work all day, and I can’t keep up with everything on my own. The idea is for you to be with the kids, help with the house... those kinds of things."

You nodded. "I can do that."

Kit studied your face for a moment, as if looking for something beyond your answer.

"Do you have experience with children?"

"Not professionally..." You hesitated. "But I’ve taken care of my cousins when they were little. I like kids."

Kit nodded slowly, as if considering your answer, but his gaze was still sharp, evaluating you in a way that made your heart race. He seemed like someone who wanted to trust, needed to trust, but didn’t give that trust easily.

"It’s a full-time job," He crossed his arms, the thin fabric of his shirt stretching slightly across his broad shoulders. "You’d need to be here all day, sometimes at night, depending on my schedule. I work a lot."

You nodded, trying to seem as confident as possible. "That wouldn’t be a problem."

"Good. Because they need stability," Kit rubbed his chin, briefly looking away. "It’s already been hard enough for them."

There was something heavy behind those words, something he didn’t say, but that lingered in the air between you. You wondered what exactly had happened, but didn’t dare to ask.

Kit cleared his throat, refocusing on the conversation. "Can you cook?"

The question came without warning, and you blinked, a little surprised. "Yes. Quite well, actually."

A shadow of relief passed over his face. "Great. I get by, but..." He made a vague gesture, as if already used to eating poorly. "It’d be nice if they could have real food, you know? Not just sandwiches and instant noodles."

You smiled faintly. "I can take care of that."

Kit opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated, shifting his weight. You noticed how tense he seemed, as if about to ask a question he didn’t know whether he should.

"Can I ask you something?" He narrowed his eyes, curious. "Are you married?"

The question caught you so off guard that it took an extra second to respond. "What? No! No, I’m not married."

Kit relaxed almost imperceptibly, and you couldn’t tell if it was because the answer relieved him or if he just didn’t want to get into trouble. "Sorry. I just... don’t want to hire someone with a jealous husband showing up at my door afterward."

You let out a short laugh, more out of nervousness than anything. "You don’t need to worry about that. No jealous husbands. No husbands, period."

Kit gave a half-smile, but quickly looked away, and it was at that moment that a fleeting thought crossed your mind.

It was sad that a man like him didn’t have a wife.

The thought came as a reflex, and you quickly pushed it away, as if you’d done something wrong. It wasn’t your business. But still... he seemed like someone who deserved it. Someone who loved deeply, who would do anything for those he cared about. A man like him shouldn’t be alone.

Before you could get lost in that thought, a sound echoed through the hallway—small footsteps, followed by excited laughter. Kit didn’t even need to turn around to know what was coming, and the smile that appeared on his lips was so immediate and genuine that something warm spread in your chest.

"DAAAAD!"

Two children appeared in the room, running without hesitation toward Kit. He bent down instantly, opening his arms to receive them. The first to arrive was a boy with light hair and bright brown eyes, who threw himself into his father’s arms with the force of a rocket. Right behind him, a little girl with dark skin and soft curls stopped beside them, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Kit laughed, running his hands through the boy’s hair before turning to his daughter. "Hey, hey, calm down. You don’t even know her yet."

The two turned to look at you, and you felt as if you were being assessed.

"Who is she?" The little girl asked, her voice small but firm.

"She came for the ad," Kit explained, adjusting Thomas in his lap. "She might take care of you guys while I work."

"Can she tell stories?" Thomas tilted his head, his eyes shining with expectation.

"I can," you answered, smiling.

"Better than Dada?"

Kit scoffed, indignant. "Hey! I’m great at it!"

Thomas looked at his sister, clearly waiting for her opinion. Julia crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at you before asking, "Can you make pancakes?"

You laughed, crouching down a little to be on her level. "With chocolate chips and strawberry syrup."

Her expression shifted slightly, as if considering your answer. Then she looked at Kit and then back at you, still evaluating.

Kit watched the interaction with a playful gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying seeing how you handled the two.

Finally, Julia nodded, crossing her arms. "I think you can stay."

Thomas agreed with an enthusiastic nod, and Kit let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"Looks like you passed the test."