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ravenna-reid · 4 months

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The Jade Ghost

Blue Spirit Zuko x Bloodbender Reader

This story is completely different to what I usually do, but I've been watching Avatar: The Last Airbender lately and really hope ya'll love Zuko as much as I do.

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It was insufferable. Zuko, the crowned prince of the fire nation, was now a fugitive and stuck in some sort of village begging for spare change on the ground with Uncle Iroh. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, those who decided to mock him and his uncle made it all the more worse, the deep, unsettling anger within him turning into an unhinged rage. So he waited.

And when the sun would set and the darkness came to help hide Zuko's doings, he adorned his blue mask. The oxtail sabers in each hand felt good, like he'd gained some sort of control over his situation. Then he'd prowl through the night as though he was a ghost. The Blue Spirit. Taking change and food from those that looked like they had enough, or taking revenge on those that had mocked him or his uncle. He'd swiftly managed to throw one of the men that spat at Iroh into a wooden barrel. Splinters decorated the floor as well as the change the man had taken from them earlier in the day. Zuko grabbed the gold pieces and slipped them into his pocket. As he turned down the street, an opulent looking home being his next target, a blurred figure metres before him quickly caught his attention.

Zuko ducked his head to the side, just missing a dagger as it found its home in the wooden beam beside his head. Zuko turned on his heel to see three hooded men coming his way, armed and ferocious. He was able to swiftly disarm the first thug, throwing him into the wall of a nearby home. The other two put up a better fight. Zuko was focused on pinning the second ones arms, given he happened to be an Earthbender, but focusing his attention on the man almost made him forget the third thug. As Zuko turned and expected the blow to his head, something glinted in the air. Flashed as quick as a light. A swoosh sound came after it and the third man hit the ground hard.

Zuko dealt a devastating strike to the Earthbender before training his attention onto another person. Someone new. Adorned in an emerald green robe, her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, a single gold chop stick running through it. Her face, however, was concealed. An immaculate mask that looked as though it was carved from jade sat on her face, a mask almost similar to Zuko's. Steady eyes watched the third man through the jade mask as she spun a long, gold staff between her fingers. Her eyes flickered up to Zuko though, and he barely caught what she said. "Behind you."

The Earthbender was on his feet and tore two large boulders from the pavement either side of him. Zuko slipped past each boulder as they were thrown at him. After that, Zuko's next movements were a blur as he, the two thugs, and the Jade Ghost all fought relentlessly. She seemed to be helping, so he let her help...for now.

The Earthbender managed to get his first hit of the night and knocked both Zuko and the Jade Ghost to the ground. Zuko was on his feet, ready to attack yet again, but then something happened. Something odd. Something Zuko couldn't explain.

The Earthbender's arms twitched before they tangled together. Then, with an agonising cry he dropped to the ground. Zuko's eyes cut over to the girl that laid beside him. Focus was evident in her eyes as she manoeuvred her hands in a fascinating way. Hand flat, resting in the centre of her face before she lowered her arm and moved it in a wave like formation. Zuko clutched onto his sabers. Felt his hot, laboured breath against his mask. The Earthbender suddenly fell unconscious...and then Zuko realised.

Bloodbending.

The Jade Ghost panted as she got to her feet and picked up her staff. Turning to run, she was met with the ocean blue dragon mask. He was tall, dressed in black, ready for a confrontation as he gripped onto his sabers. The Jade Ghost just stopped herself before bumping into him.

"Who are you?" He asked, tone severe.

"Hey, I'm not asking you questions. Am I?"

"I suggest you answer." He threatened.

"Listening, I've been watching you. You're not bad...you've helped a lot of my people whilst wearing your little mask. Like me. So how about this..."

She slipped down an alleyway and with the shake of his head, Zuko quickly followed. She didn't want a confrontation, not when the sun was soon to rise and she didn't see the man in the mask as a threat.

As she sprinted and took the chance to look over her shoulder, relief spread through her chest. The Blue Spirit wasn't there. But suddenly, he was jumping down from a nearby roof. He grabbed onto her as he dropped down, and the pair tumbled over the ground before coming to a stop. The Jade Ghost tried her staff before it was knocked from her hands. Then, she resorted to using hand-to-hand combat. The strikes were fast and precise, but Zuko was just as fast and precise as her. She slipped his arm behind his back and put him in a hold before he broke out and pinned her against the wall.

Masks centimetres from each other, he leant in to ask another question.

"That was bloodbending, wasn't it?"

"Wanna find out?" She hissed.

His determination faltered. They stood and watched each other, and Zuko felt something he couldn't ignore. What was it? Was he impressed? Was he admiring her? He almost wanted to hit his head against the wall.

Suddenly, a light, green dust was thrown into his face. An irritable itch began in his eyes as he quickly let go of her. And just like that, she slipped away into the night. Just like a ghost. As he tried to search for her, Zuko quickly became annoyed. Dumbfounded. Curious.

Zuko made it back to the sorry place him and his uncle were calling 'home' for a while, hiding his mask and sabers inside of a deep crevice in the house they were staying in.

"Where did you go?" Iroh asked, sipping his fourth cup of tea as he watched his nephew angrily enter the room. The sun was filtering into the room, it's beams warm and welcoming.

"I had to clear my head. Tell me uncle, do you know anything about the Jade Ghost?"

"The Jade Ghost? Hmm," His uncle stroked his beard as he sifted through his memories. "Nope, never heard of him."

"Her." Zuko corrected as he stared out the window and wondered where she went. Who she was. How she learnt to bloodbend.

"Until next time Jade Ghost."

#prince zuko #atla zuko #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko imagine #avatar fandom #avatar the last airbender

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kisakis-boyfriend · 8 months

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Idk if this counts as Halloween themed but what about a scenario where AFAB Freminet comes across SeaMonster!Reader during one of his dives. Yes, this is a thinly veiled request for tentacle smut

Deep Dark Waters

Pairings: Freminet x reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, monster!reader, sub/bottom!Freminet, trans!Freminet, tentacle fucking, size difference, noncon

Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot

Author's Note: Tentacles you say? 👀 Count me in! Freminet is 20+ as per usual~

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

Freminet's dives usually led him to deep areas of the ocean, places that most other divers wouldn't traverse themselves. Whether this was due to difficult terrain, dangerous monsters or meka lurking about, or general lack of knowledge around the areas

It's not that he was a thrill seeker of any sort, nor did he enjoy the inherent dangers of being a diver. Freminet simply felt drawn to the unknown, unexplored areas for reasons that he couldn't quite place. Hidden spaces within the cold confines of the ocean lured him deep into their grasp all of the time, though this particular dive led him to a sort of adventure that he never expected to wind up on...

The decision was impulsive. As Freminet stared down the abyss off to his left, something called to him. Something beckoned the young diver to swim just a bit closer...far enough to peer over the edge and discover how deep that abyss truly was

Freminet had only a few seconds to process the size of the drop-off into the darker water before something shot out of the pitch black and wrapped around his tiny waist. The appendage pulled him down quickly until the light from the ocean above disappeared, the only light present being the bioluminescence from your body. The tips of your multiple tentacles were a bright, glowing blue that matched your eyes

As more long tentacles moved to wrap around his limbs Freminet began struggling harder, thrashing around and kicking as he attempted to swim out of your grasp. Yet they were all in vain as you restrained his slim arms and legs with a few glowing appendages, preventing him from escaping completely

True panic began to settle in as he felt something slide in between his legs, rubbing against his slit tantalizingly. A soft moan echoed within Freminet's helmet while your tentacle brushed back and forth, shuddering from some type of pleasure that he'd never felt before. Swiftly tearing his shorts and underwear off, the tip of your tentacle secreted a slick substance onto his pussy and lubed him up, prodding at his entrance until you pushed in gently

The sudden penetration caused Freminet to freeze up, his mouth falling open and eyes becoming droopy as his little hole was stretched open by something that he couldn't even see. He could only watch the glowing tip disappear as it slid in deeper, his virginity officially getting claimed by something that wasn't even human...

His cunt was stretched further when you pushed in a bit more, speeding up the thrusts and really beginning to fuck the little human. No longer fighting to escape, Freminet moaned like a whore inside of his helmet, enjoying the way your tentacle dragged against his walls with every thrust. Throwing his head back when you hit his sweet spot with one particular thrust, a motion that you took note of. Pounding his cunt harder and hitting that spot with each push into his body

It wasn't long before his very first orgasm hit him, cumming around the thick appendage that did not stop railing him even as his body trembled. His sensitive pussy clenched tightly around your tentacle until you finally released inside of him, filling Freminet's tight hole with bioluminescent cum as he seemingly milked everything out of you

After a minute of recovering from his climax, Freminet realized that you hadn't pulled out yet...your slimy tentacle still buried so far inside of him that he swore the tip was pressed against his womb.... Though his mind was a bit hazy, his body knew exactly what it wanted as his little hips moved of their own accord, attempting to fuck himself on your tentacle while you watched him curiously

Though he couldn't see it in the darkness, a toothy smile spread across your face. Eagerly thrusting into his tight pussy again, satisfied that your prey seemed just as needy as you were...

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

#my writing #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact #genshin x reader #freminet #freminet smut #freminet x reader #sub freminet #trans freminet #male reader #dom reader #top reader #terato #halloween specials 🎃#requested #monster au #oneshot

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ginkgo-phyta · 3 months

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Hotch would definitely give you the princess treatment, and you know what? Jack would too, after seeing his father he knows how to treat a girl right. And the team would definitely tease Hotch, because his son is going to steal his partner from him :)

omg no LITERALLYYY tho like just like omfg alright i got carried away with this and its not even really what you're talking about but listen to me okay LISTENNNNN

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH AARON HOTCHNER AND ITS INFLUENCE ON HIS SON JACK gn!reader, FLUFF, no warnings(?) another informal blurb typa format :P

you and hotch decide together you'd like to date for a while first, take things slower and fully solidify and strengthen your relationship, before you become a part of jack's life. you didn't want jack to get attached to you or write you off too quickly in case life took you in different directions. you didn't know it at the time, but hotch introduced you to jack when he was sure he was going to marry you some day- and soon. he had been so incredibly head over heels in love with you and once you and jack got close, the little guy really got to witness how highly his father regarded you- and just how he showed you it every day. even in the little things. from the way hotch pulled out your chair, held all doors open for you, always kept your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up in the fridge and pantry, never let you open your own car door, the way he made spaces for you in his bathroom and closet without even being asked, and how he always stuck to your weekly dinner date- whether in person or over the phone. to the way his father would look at you, listen intently to whatever you were talking or ranting about, how he'd cup your hands and press quick kisses to them or move any bothersome strands of hair from your face when you'd eat, and how enthusiastic he always was when you and jack would spend time together.

jack was a bit hesitant with you at first, he was a bit older at that point and the quickness with which beth had left his life had admittedly stung him, leaving an ever-present welt behind. but he warmed up to you, appreciative of the way you welcomed him with open arms, never pressured him to spend time with or even like you (letting him accept you at his own pace) and how you clearly were not trying to take the place of his late mother- even many, many years into your relationship with his father. what he loved the most was how you always encouraged hotch to recount stories of haley, put pictures of her in jack's room or wherever else he wanted them, and how you would remind him: "your mother would be so proud of you jack." you would watch old home videos of their old family and jack never failed to notice how you wouldn't ever feel negatively about it. that was really what won him over. he also loved how open you were with both him and his dad- every day you'd say "i love you!" both casually and purposefully. it instilled in the young boy the importance of expressing appreciation, love, and care for others.

before you, hotch was always a just bit emotionally closed off. even when it came to jack he liked to keep himself a bit more reserved. he tried to stay a strong and unwavering inspiration, only wanting to show his son his best face. but once you came into their lives you inspired hotch to open up more than he had the last few years after haley's passing, inspired him to embrace even the "uglier" emotions he felt in life: grief, anger, sadness, and tiredness. it ended up passing onto jack in small ways, allowing him to feel even closer to dad. you became a huge structural post in jack's life. your love for one other inspired him, as he grew up he dreamed of one day having a relationship like yours. he looked forward to being able to treat his significant other the way his father cares for you.

you loved jack as if he was your own, though you never wanted to say that to him for fear of overstepping your role. aaron would always assure you, especially as jack grew older, that his boy felt it. you watched him go from a playful child, to a moody teenager, to a budding adult eager to make his mark on the world. and you were there supporting him the whole way.

you'll spend a lifetime with the both of them and although there will be many funny, loving, or frustrating moments you'll hold in a special place in your mind, there's one memory from when he was still a youngin that you love the most. it was a surprise dinner party at your fancy restaurant, aaron had booked the whole place just for you and the guests to celebrate your engagement and he had enlisted jack's help to plan the whole thing. jack, the bau team, and your friends and family were all there to shower you in love. the most memorable part of the night was the moment everyone sat down for dinner, all around a giant table (possibly multiple tables pushed together). as everyone moved to take their place jack ran so eagerly in front of you to pull your chair out before his father got the chance. you were shocked for a second before bursting out in a melodious laugh- it was so unexpected but you were incredibly moved. "oh, jack, thank you!" your loving, excited, and genuinely appreciative tone made jack's already huge grin grow even wider and more endearing. everyone else had noticed this too and laughed in joy along with you. "oh my god!" "that was so freakin cute" "he did not just do that!" rang out around you. of course aaron noticed, standing in silence for a second, a similar smile mirrored on his face, before he shook his head with a chuckle. as you took you seat, jack made sure to push your chair in just before you sat down fully, diligently executing what he'd studied his father do hundreds of times before. you turned to thank him, but before you could even open your mouth jack moved to take your cloth napkin from the table, shake it open, and carefully place it in your lap. awwws flooded in from all sides of the table

"oh you are just so adorable jack, thank you so much." you said as you pinched his still slightly chubby cheek "you are just the kindest, sir." you playful tone cause jacks entire face to blush and he shyly walked over to take a seat next to you.

"what? you take my job, and now you don't even want to sit next to me?" hotch spoke up from you other side. jack knew his father was joking, but he still bashfully giggled, sinking a bit more into his seat

"you better be careful, hotch," derek spoke up from across the table, motioning to his former boss with a breadstick, "looks like you got some competition there."

everyone broke out into more laughter, especially aaron. in the midst of the hysterics, the once-stoic man's hand crept into your lap to hold your own, thumbing over the back of your hand and the beautiful engagement ring wrapped around your finger. you shared a glance while you both laughed before you looked over to jack. wordlessly, your hand suddenly hopped up to ruffle up the little boy's hair, causing him to scrunch up his nose and giggle even more.

but you didn't have to say anything, your eyes held the truth. love. jack continued to look up at you, feelings of warmth, joy, and safety draped over him like a fuzzy throw, covering him from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. he knew that with you in his life now, besides him and his father, everything would be okay.

A/N: SCREAMING how was this anon? sorry i didn't delve into the team teasing hotch more bc these thoughts were swimming in my head and i NEEDED to get them down perhaps i could do another post of just teasing quotes if that's something you'd like! i got a few ideas swimmin already teehee i hope you enjoyed my love!!

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader

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rosedom · 4 months

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ok ok so, kazuha who always denied it everytime reader calls him a pretty boy. so reader fuck him rough and won't let him cum before kazuha tell that he's a pretty boy

there's just something about pretty boys that has me weak . . . o(*￣︶￣*)o thirst format !

hoooolyyyy moly. god, okay ! you got me, you got me.

kazuha is so, so sweet. he waxes poetic with every breath he takes. each whisper of affection curls around you, warm and tender and so, so loving. but it wouldn't take long for you to notice how quiet he is regarding himself.

you wonder, then, how he can create such beauty from the setting sun, yet he can never compare his own eyes to them. his eyes, so wide and round and gorgeous, tinted like the ocean water when the sun kisses it in retreat. he, too, never dares to speak of the way his body, so small yet so strong, can wield the type of power that can put gods at his feet. no—instead, he writes about how beautiful the shogun looked; he sees through an artist's eyes the way her eyes widened in fear, the way her pupils shrunk and pretty purple showed just how human a god could be.

you simply cannot understand how a man can see the world through such a rose petal'd lens, yet when he looks at himself, he sees nothing of note. he sees a vessel, sure; he can understand the innate beauty of soul's vessel. but beyond that? nothing.

it makes your heart break, knowing that kazuha—the man capable of so much art, making the world brighter and changing the way you see everything—does not see himself in any positive light. to him, he simply exists.

really, he walks the earth the same as you do—yet while he marvels that you are here with him, he cannot grasp that you, too, marvel at him.

he could grasp, however, at your cheeks—at you yourself, when you've got him pressed into the bed with your foreheads touching. he holds onto you tightly with trembling hands, soft little sounds punched from his throat which each thrust.

"you're so—mm—!" he'd try: try to praise you, to say something pretty while you're balls deep. he can't really manage, though, when your cock presses into all his sweet spots.

each incessant thrust into him makes him cry out, cute, soft sounds that you just want to eat up ! you'll have to pardon me for thinking about how you'd have to kiss up his moans, licking into his mouth as it hangs open in his pleasure.

kazuha'd keep his shakey hold on your face, forcing you up and away from his lips to beg, "please, please. you're so perfect, like—mm—like the—the—mm!" silence his attempts at poetry, won't you?

"baby, baby," you'd have to soothe him with, punctuating each sweet name with a deep thrust, pressing into all the spots that make him writhe. "my pretty boy."

of course, he'd deny it; i wouldn't expect anything different. but quiet him more: shake your head at him and frown, gentle and not at all unkind, and kiss away his "no, no."

"but kaz," you'll say. "you're so, so pretty. so perfect f'r me." his hands, fallen from your cheeks, would claw at your back as he'd be left to squirm and cry in the arms of yours that trap him against the bed.

simply put: there is nowhere for him to go, to get away from your sweet, sweet words.

i guess you'll have to up the stakes. how awful, truly.

"c'mon, pretty," you'll coo, instead, slowing your thrusts to a torturous drag. "tell me something, will you?"

"w-what?"

with a mischievous grin, you'll have to murmur, "tell me you're pretty." then, "until you do, you're not gunna cum."

i wish i could see the way his eyes would widen at that—betrayed, as if you had told him he wouldn't cum at all. but you'll hardly give him the time to reflect on your words—to deny them, to say anything different—, because you'd be thrusting in hard and deep and brushing against all the right places. he'll writhe and cry beneath you, and, god.

kazuha is so, so pretty: why can't he see that?

"i—mm, please, i'm so close . . ."

"you can't cum, though," you'd have to say, reaching a hand down against your words to hurry him along. his body'll jerk in your arms, torn between succumbing to the pleasure yet wanting to be good for you, to not cum just yet.

"i can't," he'll cry, shaking his head side to side and jerking on the pillow. "i can't."

when he gets too close, do something for me: reach down and pinch at his pelvis, so close yet so far to where he wants it. "yes, you can;" you'll have to soothe him with sweet words, hard n' deep thrusts. "you're my pretty boy, kaz, tell me you're pretty."

"i—i—"

"c'mon." he'd be so close, by then, twitching everywhere and left to dig into your shoulder blades. the marks he leaves across your upper back will be gorgeous, later. "you can do it, honey. c'mon."

relenting is not easy for kazuha: this you know.

but you'll also know that it's harder to stave off an orgasm for him. and so—when his hole begins to squeeze and throb around you—, he would finally cry out, "'m pretty—!" and tumble headfirst into orgasm.

just—pretty boy kazuha (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠) <33

11 FEB. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#pretty boys ought to know they're pretty #god !!#sub kazuha #kazuha x reader #dom reader #top reader #amab reader #u have a working cck .#sub genshin #genshin smut

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mcntsee · 2 months

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— ★ tomorrow

↳ summary: “I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for her face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

↳ warnings: hospitals, mentions of gunshot wounds, pain, regret, not proof-read. No use of “y/n”

↳ author’s note: This is fluff, I promise the end is really sweet! This is also inspired by different, random, pinterest quotes my friends sent me. Enjoy!

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

No one enjoyed hospitals. The colors lacked vibrancy, the sounds became repetitive after a few minutes, the antiseptic smell was overpowering, the food tasted bland, and the anxious wait for news about a loved one was excruciating.

Unfortunately, the team was all too familiar with hospital waiting rooms, and even more unfortunate was their familiarity with being patients themselves.

Thankfully, the Federal Employees' Compensation Act provided some relief. Without it, they couldn't even begin to fathom the astronomical medical bills they'd be facing.

Tonight, however, finding themselves stuck in the uncomfortable chairs of the hospital waiting room had not been part of their plans.

The young genius's head throbbed relentlessly, a sensation he'd endured for weeks. The unimaginable pressure around his entire head, compounded with the bright light reflecting off the hospital's shiny white walls, the incessant beeping and the sounds of loved ones crying doing nothing other than intensify his discomfort.

The nurse they had bombarded with questions upon arrival had emerged not long ago to thankfully inform them that everything was alright. The surgery had gone well, and she was now in recovery. Soon enough, if they wished, they could stop by her new temporary room and visit her.

By now, most of the team had returned to the office. Hotch had been called back to work to tackle the pending files on their desks. Fortunately, he had allowed Rossi and Reid to remain behind. Ostensibly, their task was to update the team on her condition, but both of them understood that even if that hadn’t been necessary, there was no force on earth that could have budged Spencer from his spot, where he had been stationed for the last however many hours.

Spencer could feel David's gaze piercing through him. He wanted to snap at him, but he knew his current behavior had undoubtedly attracted more attention than just the older agent's. Clutching at his head, tugging on strands of hair intermittently, his leg bouncing up and down, with eyes tightly shut—his agitation was palpable.

“Kid, they said she’s alright. You need to relax.”

It was true, they had been told that, but it did little to reassure him. His mind raced through various worst-case scenarios. Her wound could become infected, or there might be undetected damage to internal organs. He fretted over potential complications like inflammation of the peritoneum, the formation of blood clots, or even damage to blood vessels leading to reduced blood flow to vital organs, potentially resulting in organ dysfunction or failure.

“The survival rate might seem high, but statistically speaking, complications can arise, even with the best medical care.”

“Spencer—“

“For instance, studies have shown that gunshot wounds to the abdomen carry a significant risk of infection, with rates as high as 20%. And there’s the possibility of peritonitis, which occurs in approximately 10% of cases.”

“Kid—“

“Organ damage is also a concern, particularly with injuries to vital organs like the liver or intestines. Even with the most advanced treatments—“

“Reid!”

For the first time since he sat down, his leg ceased its relentless movement. His hand, which had been tugging at the ends of his hair, relaxed and dropped to his lap, along with the hand he had been waving in the air to explain the statistics. His eyes unclenched, the worry in his brow disappearing as the rest of his facial muscles relaxed.

“What is going on, Spencer?”

The genius's eyes met the older agent's worried gaze with deliberate blinks, adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lights overhead while tuning out the cacophony of noise that surrounded them. “I just— I”

“I never told her and I— I don’t— “ His breathing was uneven, his words tumbling out faster than his mind could keep pace, his mouth struggling to articulate as his chest constricted with anxiety.

A gentle weight settled on his shoulder, its warmth grounding him as it gave a light shake, bringing him back to the present moment and prompting him to pause and take a breath.

“Rossi I- I devoted half my time since meeting her to loving her, only to spend the other half hiding it from her.”

With a sigh, the formerly retired agent settled down next to the much younger agent, his hands staying on the genius's shoulder as he shifted slightly to find a comfortable position.

Reid's gaze lingered on Rossi's face for a moment before he averted it, focusing instead on the bustling activity in the hallway where nurses and doctors hurried back and forth attending to patients.

“Every moment we shared, every laugh, every smile she graced me with, even in her unconscious gestures—“ His gaze returned to the hallway momentarily before lowering to where his hands rested on his knees. With a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “Every time I looked at her, the words swelled in my throat. I longed to tell her how much she truly means to me, the happiness and peace she effortlessly brings into my world.”

“To tell her that I love her. That I have for a while now.”

David’s mouth opened, but before he could utter a word, Spencer's pointer finger shot up in the air, silencing any impending speech. It hovered there for a brief moment before his whole palm opened, effectively halting whatever words David had intended to say and then dropping back down to his lap.

“Every single time, I held back. I stopped myself from reaching out to her, from letting my true feelings spill out, from whispering all the things I desperately wished she knew.” His words cracked along with his voice as he, for the first time, admitted aloud feelings he had hidden for so long. “And with my heart pounding in my ears, I always just watched her, silently promising myself, ‘Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.’”

“I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh that escaped his lips, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for the older man’s face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Spencer's admission hanging between them until the ringing of a phone shattered the stillness. With a sigh, Rossi reached into his pocket, retrieving the vibrating phone and glancing at the contact name.

“She’ll be okay, kid.”

With one final, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, the older man rose to his feet, his knee cracking audibly as he turned to leave. Despite his efforts at reassurance, Spencer's profound anxiety remained largely unchanged.

He felt utterly helpless, his mind desperately grasping for solutions, for the comforting embrace of statistical analysis with its reassuring numbers. But instead, there was only silence. For the first time in his life, his mind was empty, devoid of answers, devoid of the usual cacophony of thoughts and calculations.

He couldn't recall the moment the nurse returned to inform him that he could visit her, nor did he remember following the nurse into the room and settling down beside her bed.

He cast restless glances around the room, his eyes darting from one piece of medical equipment to another, then flitting to the walls and ceiling. His gaze moved incessantly, pausing only briefly before moving on, taking in every detail. Except for her.

Alone in the quiet with her, he couldn't bring himself to meet her frame. To look at her now would make everything feel too real, and his heart was already heavy with pain.

His body felt like it was betraying him. Breathing became labored, thoughts fragmented, and the pain in his heart seemed insurmountable.

He wanted to tell someone— no, he wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t have a solution like she always did. So he sat there, his hands nervously tugging at strands of hair, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming cacophony of beeping machines surrounding them.

His heart weighed heavily in his chest, burdened by the weight of pain, regret, and fear. It was a sensation he never wanted to experience again, a darkness that threatened to engulf him entirely.

Throughout the night, nurses came and went. Some spoke to him, gave him updates on her condition but he didn’t listen. He tried, he just couldn’t understand it.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, he reluctantly turned his gaze toward her bed. His eyes lingered on her hand, once so delicate and warm in his, now adorned with tubes and wires connecting her to different machines.

With a heavy sigh, his eyes remained fixed on her hand as he leaned forward, feeling the strain in his back from hours of immobility. With gentle care, he reached out and clasped her hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of it, mindful of the wires and tubes.

He remained still for a moment, relishing the warmth of her hand in his before allowing his gaze to travel up her arm, eyes tracing the patterns of the thin, cream-colored blanket that draped over her midsection when they got there. Then, his gaze shifted to her other arm, positioned protectively over her stomach where the wound lay, as if guarding it from further harm.

He studied the blue hospital gown draped over her body, its hue accentuating the sickly paleness of her skin. He traced every curve, every wrinkle, every wire, everything until his eyes finally met her bruised face.

She looked so peaceful and beautiful, devoid of worry. The furrows that typically marked her brow now absent, her closed eyes darting beneath her lids.

Tears welled in his eyes, the overwhelming emotions washing over him as he gazed upon her form. There was no smile, no gentle words escaping her lips, just a faintly parted mouth and serene countenance.

“Please wake up.” he whispered, his voice raspy from not being used in hours. “Please.” The desperation in his voice was evident in the way it cracked, in the way his chest tightened, in the way his throat constricted.

But she didn’t. Not for two weeks.

The medics reassured the team that she was showing positive signs and was going to be fine. They explained that in cases of severe internal bleeding within the abdominal cavity, it was common for patients to take longer to regain consciousness. "Sometimes, this can lead to hypovolemic shock and reduced blood flow to vital organs, including the brain," said the doctor they were currently questioning, one arm cradling a notepad against his chest while the other gestured towards her on the hospital bed, "which contributes to the prolonged unconsciousness she's experiencing."

Once the team's questions were answered, the doctor turned towards the door, his pen moving rapidly across the notepad as he scribbled something down. Upon reaching the door, he paused, pivoting back to face them. "While I can't predict the exact timeline for her awakening, I want to reassure you that we're doing everything we can to support her recovery." Tucking his pen back into his chest pocket, he scanned the room, meeting each person's gaze before lingering on on the genius’.

"Every individual responds differently to trauma and surgery, and it's not uncommon for patients to take some time to regain consciousness," he said, his tone gentle and reassuring, his kind smile directed at Spencer. "However, I want to emphasize that she's showing positive signs of progress, and her body is responding well to treatment. She should be waking up soon." With a final nod in the genius’ direction, he opened the door and disappeared into the flow of medical staff and patients outside her room.

The doctor's reassuring words and comforting demeanor provided Spencer with a small sense of relief.

As the days stretched on, nearing the two-week mark since her surgery, Spencer's exhaustion was becoming more evident. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his hair unkempt, and he felt the weight of fatigue settling into his bones. Sitting by her bedside day after day had taken its toll, leaving him feeling drained and with a sore backside.

It wasn’t until night, when he was alone with her again that he made a promise. “If you wake up tomorrow, I promise—“ He delicately released her hand, curling his fingers into a fist before extending his pinky finger to link with hers. “I pinky promise,” he whispered, a soft, trembling laugh escaping his lips as he recalled her insistence that a promise was only truly binding if sealed with a pinky. “If you wake up tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything.”

He had made up his mind days ago, swearing to himself that the moment she regained consciousness, he would lay everything bare. He hoped that verbalizing the promise would somehow penetrate her unconsciousness and draw her back to him.

As the night wore on and the room bathed in the soft glow of predawn, his senses awakened to a subtle movement near his head, his mind clouded with confusion as he remained still, trying to grasp his surroundings.

He found himself in a hazy state, unable to pinpoint the exact moment sleep had claimed him, yet the sensation of their linked pinkies lingered, his other hand placed gently on her leg, while his head rested on the bed.

It wasn’t until he felt his pinky being squeezed that Spencer’s senses sharpened, his back straightening with a crack as his eyes snapped into focus on her. The familiar furrow returned to her brow as she squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand instinctively reaching up to rub at her forehead.

His breath caught in his throat, his body frozen as he stared at her, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

“Spence?”

Her voice was raspy, her tone confused as her eyes opened and scanned the room. Without hesitation, he rose from his seat, hands releasing hers as he hurried to the table with the water bottles. He swiftly grabbed one, unscrewing the cap as he returned to her side.

She struggled to lift herself up on her elbows, her eyes tracking his movements, fixated on the open water bottle as he presented it to her. With a gentle nod from her, he brought the bottle closer, tipping it carefully as it reached her parched lips, his other hand positioned beneath her chin, ready to catch any droplets that might escape.

After consuming almost half of the bottle, she gently pushed it away from her lips, taking a moment to swallow the last gulp before lying back down.

He remained in a state of shock, his mind racing faster than it had in weeks, attempting to process the moment as he observed her shifting, striving to find a comfortable position.

“Spence?”

“You—” he began, his words trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. “You are awake.”

At his words, a gentle smile, the one he had longed to see for weeks, graced her lips. She nodded in acknowledgment as she looked at him. Without hesitation, he moved forward, enveloping her in a tight embrace, being careful not to hurt her. "You're awake," he whispered softly, his face nuzzling into her neck.

He knew he was supposed to call a nurse in —something the staff had reminded him of repeatedly— , but in that moment, he couldn’t bear to let her go. So, he held her tighter, his arms enveloping her as if protecting her from everything, his hand gently cradling the back of her head, thumb tracing soothing circles as he drew her closer.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before he released her from his embrace, his body reluctantly withdrawing from her warmth. His hands remained, tenderly cupping her face as he gazed into her eyes, memorizing every detail of her being.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The familiar nerves and doubt flooded back, causing his heart to race so fast that he knew that if he had been the one hooked up to the machines, medics would have surely burst into the room thinking someone was having a heart attack.

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on her face, absorbing every detail illuminated by the gentle glow of the sun filtering into the room.

In his hesitation, his mind revisited every memory he shared with her. He recalled the moments he wanted to confess but held back, as well as his conversation with Rossi. Then, the memory of their pinky promise last night resurfaced, reminding him of his commitment. He couldn’t break a pinky promise.

“Spencer?”

“I love you.” There. He said it. His gaze lowered in fear of rejection, the nerves in his stomach growing, but he kept going, he had to. “I am so unimaginably in love with you.”

“Spencer—“

“No, I need—“ he paused, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, gazing still fixated downward as he cleared his throat from the imaginary knot that was beginning to form there. “I need you to know that every time you smile, every time you laugh, every time you talk to me, it’s like my whole world lights up.”

“And when you look at me, it’s like everything else fades away, and there’s just you.” With a deep inhale, he squeezed his eyes shut, colors swirling behind his eyelids from the pressure, before slowly exhaling and looking up to meet her gaze. “I can’t even scientifically explain how you make me feel. There is no book, or research article that explains what you make me feel.”

One of his hands left her face, gesturing through the air as he attempted to explain everything without the safety net of statistical knowledge. “Every time I’m near you, it’s like my heart speeds up so much that, scientifically speaking, I should be dead.” The quiet chuckle that escaped her lips reached his ears, easing the tight lines on his forehead as his lips formed into a gentle smile. “But it doesn’t matter, because being near you makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Every little thing you do, it just… it makes me fall more and more in love with you.”

“God, I’ve loved you for so long.” His hand halted its relentless movement and lowered to push the hair out of his eyes before running down his face with a grunt of frustration.

"I've fought multiple inner battles trying to tell you how I feel, only to back down at the last minute, silently promising myself that I would do it the next day."

Her eyes softened at his words, her lips pulling into a sad smile as his remained parted, eyes teary as they left her gaze and focused on his lap. “And then you got shot and I—“ The memories of everything that happened in the last two weeks rushing back to him. "I thought I had run out of next days.”

Her hand, which had been holding his against her cheek, shifted gently, cupping his cheek and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape his eyes.

With a sigh, he looked up to meet her eyes again, his own free hand coming up to hold the hand she now had on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his head resting against her hand as she rubbed soothing circles against the stubble that had appeared after weeks of not shaving. “I adore you.”

His face inched closer to hers, resting his forehead against hers. "I’m fine with whatever you want as long as I'm able to have you in my life," he whispered, his warm breath brushing against her skin. "I love you so, so much. Always." With that, their foreheads separated and his lips moved up to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air as she processed them. After another second, Spencer moved, standing up and letting her know that he was going to go get a nurse before quickly disappearing.

The nurses flooded her room with warmth and care, each one exuding kindness as they attended to her needs, explaining her situation, answering questions, and expressing relief that she was recovering well.

Spencer stood patiently by the door, his shoulder leaning against the frame as he observed the nurses with gratitude, thanking them as they left after ensuring everything was in order.

As the last nurse made her way to the door, she slowed her footsteps, casting a reassuring smile at Spencer. “I told you she’d be alright, sweetheart,” she said with a gentle tone.

Marisa, the lovely old nurse, had not only been concerned about his best friend’s well-being but also his. The genius could confidently say that, had it not been for Marisa, he probably would’ve starved in that hospital chair.

She would often stop by during her morning shift, offering reassurance that she would be alright, often bending a few hospital rules to make Spencer more comfortable, providing him with the comfiest blankets, or allowing him to take showers in the bedroom’s bathroom so he wouldn’t have to leave her side.

She also insisted on him taking breaks to get some fresh air, eat proper meals, and change his clothes, assuring him that if anything happened, she would call him immediately.

With a comforting squeeze to his arm, the nurse left, closing the door gently behind her and leaving the two of them alone in the room.

As he settled back into the familiar chair, their eyes met once more, exchanging a silent understanding. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, relishing each other's presence. Eventually, Spencer broke the quietude. "I should call the team," he suggested softly.

He rose from the chair, his hand diving into his pocket to retrieve his phone. With his back turned to her, he scrolled through his contacts, his foot shifting slightly as he prepared to step away.

Before he could get far, his movements halted by the touch of her hand on his arm, he lowered his phone and turned back to her, meeting her gaze with curiosity. "Wait," she said softly. With a nod, he returned his phone to his pocket, yielding to her gentle tug until he found himself seated by her side on the bed.

A grunt of discomfort escaped her lips as she struggled to sit up, reaching out for his hand for support. Once she was upright, she shifted closer to him. “What are- oomf—“ before he could finish, his question was cut off by the sudden press of her lips against his, her hands gripping the back of his head.

His body momentarily stiffened, eyes widening in surprise as he tried to process what was happening. When it finally clicked, the initial shock turned into a gentle surrender as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away by the warmth of her lips against his.

With a soft exhale, his hand instinctively rose to caress her cheek, pulling her face even closer to his and deepening the kiss.

If he had ever believed his heart couldn’t beat any faster than when in her presence, he stood corrected. Now, he was certain he was experiencing a heart attack.

His lips moved against hers so perfectly, as if they had kissed a thousand times before, as if their souls recognized each other instantly.

It was perfect, not because it was flawless, but because it felt so real.

He never wanted to stop; her lips were addicting, but when his lungs screamed at him for air, he reluctantly pulled his lips away from hers, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

His head jerked back, eyes wide open as he looked at her, scanning her expression, looking for any hint that she was lying, only to find honesty shining through her eyes.

With a laugh, she took his face back in her hands, pulling him closer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You have, and will always be the one my heart searches for in a world full of everyone else.”

With a toothy smile, he pulled her lips back to his, chuckling inwardly, as their lips met, acknowledging that if he thought he reached the peak before, he was mistaken again. His heart was racing faster than ever before. A heart attack of a different kind.

A heart attack that he’d gladly experience a million times more.

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #fanfiction #fluff

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withleeknow · 1 month

Text

how he would take care of you during shark week. ⤷ chan / minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

pairing: jisung x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, mentions of periods bc duhhh erhm note: ok so i'm REALLY not sure what this is lmao but i switched up entirely compared to the first installation (with minho) and i think this is the format i'll be sticking with for the rest of the members. i'm still just experimenting and trying to figure how i want to approach doing drabbles/drabble series like this so pls bear with me a little for now lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / blurb masterlist / ko-fi

jisung, who can't be trusted with even the simplest of tasks. you should've known better. (and honestly? you did know better, which probably makes the whole thing so much worse.)

jisung, whom you ask to run to the store just because you were too lazy to brave the evening chill yourself and get the shit you need.

jisung, who texts you what size pussy u wear? while he stands in the middle of the aisle, feeling like he's illiterate as he's surrounded by products of different colors and shapes and sizes and wings.

jisung, whose eyes catch a specific pink packaging with pretty flowers that makes him pull out his phone and snap you a picture. this one looks better. yours is boring, he'd text you, to which you'd replied with a dozen question marks before calling him an idiot and telling him to leave the fancy pads and hurry home with the ones you usually use.

jisung, who returns about thirty minutes later holding two large bags in his hands, which definitely contain a lot more than what you had sent him out for - just a pack of overnight pads and some sweets.

jisung, who kisses you in greeting as your eyes narrow suspiciously, then he'd proudly show off the goodies that you didn't need - an assortment of sour candies and chocolates, chips, ice cream bars, your favorite cookies, and lastly, a random purple pouch.

jisung, whose love language looks a lot like making you get diabetes whenever your time of the month rolls around.

jisung, who beams like a kid in a candy store when you ask him about the pouch with a brow raised. "look!" he'd beam, holding the little thing up like it's the most magical invention he's ever come across in his entire life. "it holds your pads! and it has unicorns on it!"

jisung, who doesn't deflate at all when you tell him that you already have one, but instead, he'd tell you to ditch the one you have because it's too "boring" (re: it doesn't have unicorns.)

jisung, who volunteers to carry the pouch for you the next time you go out together, musing to himself about whether or not he should add a little strap so he could wear it like a crossbody bag, not even batting an eye when you stare at him and gape in disbelief.

jisung, who really uses your shark week as an excuse to buy dumb shit for himself and stuff you full of treats.

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #han x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung x you #stray kids #han jisung #blurbs

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evilminji · 10 months

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Ya'll know our BELOVED? Little Baby Man?

The noodliest ghosty boy?

What if he WAS Baby? It wouldn't be the first time Danny's enemies plotting gave him offspring. Only this time it's not a clone! It's a proper GHOST baby. Like Lunch Box.

Who's the other parent I hear you ask?

Pretty human-centric view point there buddy, to assume Ghosts NEED two participants to make an offspring. OR are limited to two! Just cause Lunch Lady And Boxie are a couple doesn't mean that's the standard!

We lack data here! ASSUME NOTHING. *sciences harder in your direction*

*awkward cough*

*shuffles notes*

ANYWAY! The child! All it would really take is one(1) VERY poorly timed ambush attack. Imagine if you will, a cell. How does it multiply? While not even close, the simplistic images ARE pretty good as an explanation!

But isn't that just an ecto-clone? You say?

Close!

But THOSE? Are hollow bags of GOO!

No CORE! *slaps the chalkboard behind me*

However! If you wanted, say, a precious bundle off joy? Well, nothing can come from perfect void! You must contribute the building blocks of LIFE! And what are those, my students, in ghost biology??!

Two vital pieces! The Ectoplasm aaaaaaand? That's RIGHT!

The CORE!

A critical and ever vital part of ghost biological function.

Which, like every OTHER part of the body, is malleable. One could, say, make it smaller. Create part of a proto core. OR, should one be ALONE in this process, a FULL protocol.

Upon which, ectoplasm latches, builds, develops and grows. Becomes its own soul.

Now! Do Not mistake me! There is a WILDLY vast difference between the formation of a core and a shattered core. Between willing life and untimely second death. It is not, and never WILL be, easy to create the soul of a child. Tampering with your core is PAINFUL, dangerous, and leaves you WILDLY vulnerable.

There is a REASON Neverborn are so precious.

Buuuuut..... *pulls out a book labeled "Curses Though The Ages"* we must ALSO consider the famed Fenton Luck(tm).

Consider! Where would be the "safest" place to practice making clones of yourself? A place that's wide open. No one wearing white likely to take pot shots at you while your attention is divided in multiple places at once. No parents blowing up the basement at a delicate moment and leaving you trying to hide that extra arm for a week...

Maybe you forget... oh yeah... OTHER GHOSTS.

So there Danny floats. In the Zone. DISTRACTED. His core HUGE from all that recently Royal business as it tries to digest it. Feeling bloated. Trying to work off some energy, as it were. Then who should come along? Why, the universes BEST HUNTER of course! To say *gun powering up noise* :) HI :)

Like buddies DO.

Danny doesn't see him.

Danny is mid-split.

At his limit, honestly. Already made as many copies as he usually can. Is trying for ooooone moooooore..... when...

PAIN. Something cracks.

He loses concentration. Tries to curl in on himself.

Both 1.5 of him tries. He loses hold of the "clone's" Ecto. Somethings free floating leaving his chest along with it. Behind him, Skulker is freaking out. That was MEANT to be on opening volley. A gentle little "hey, come fight me". That crack sounded SERIOUS.

Danny can't breathe. It's like the portal all over again. He curls tighter and tighter. Feels the crown, which was not THERE until this moment, press down tight and gripping onto his head. Thrumming. And then... something feels like a muscle releasing.

His core is... smaller? He'd been watching its progress, it couldn't have digest so fast... how did it lose so much... mass...

Danny feels all the blood drain from his face.

He nearly died.

Again.

His... his soul... WHERE IS HIS SOUL?? That's a piece of him! A part of his SOU-!

He spins around... only to meet the eyes off a blearly blinking, noodlish, cartoon like gremlin with his color scheme. Who's floating along like they're in zero-g. Just... drifting in a slow circle.

They yawn at him with a mouth full of teeny tiny baby fangs. Then chirp.

That's his Son. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know WHY, but he somehow instinctively... just... KNOWS?

They blep.

Danny looks a Skulker. His eyes hold MURDER.

"You're paying child support."

"......yes sir."

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 5 months

Text

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

pairing - bucky barnes x female reader

warnings - none!! just tooth rottingly sweet fluff <3

word count - 1.7k

author's note - based on these two requests!! i'm also trying a new post format... what do we think?? I promised you i'd get a couple of xmas fics out before the 25th... I lied. apologies!! forgive me. title taken from the poem The Owl by Edward Thomas.

as always, if you enjoyed, please reblog!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics. thanks, angels <3

masterlist. inbox.

He whispers the words, timid and reserved, directly into your ear as if he's worried someone else will hear. It's only the two of you sat on the couch in your shared apartment, but Bucky's nervous.

Your head whips around in shock, trying to play it cool. Failed.

"Are you... are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

You grin, big and blinding, the beams of it radiating into Bucky's bones. It settles into his muscles, eases the tension from his shoulders.

You try not to make a big deal of it, try to keep your excitement under wraps. But you've been waiting for him to say those words for almost six years.

"I want to do Christmas this year."

✵ ✵ ��　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

He hates the cold.

No, he's traumatised by the cold.

Years spent frozen, genetically modified and locked in a glorified freezer. Every gust of wind, every flake of snow reminds him of the darkest days with no light to be seen. His blood may run hot, but he feels like his heart is yet to thaw. He debates moving to the desert at least ten times a day.

Then he looks at you. How happy you are when winter comes around. The way your face lights up when it snows. And he figures that if it brings you this much joy... maybe he can tolerate it.

He bites back the chill, grits his teeth at the icy breeze, ignores the shudder of the cold all the way down to his bones. He grins and bears it, because you love it. He thinks you don't notice.

You do.

You've known ever since you met him. His demeanour changes when the winter comes around. He gets a little tentative around the autumn time, as if he's preparing himself for the worst. And then the first snow falls, and he's different. Guarded. Careful. Reluctant. He puts a fake smile on his face and pretends, but you're nothing if not completely in tune with everything Bucky Barnes.

You never asked, never pried. Just stood steadily by his side, regardless of the walls he'd placed around himself. Around his heart.

He broke down one night, wrapped up in bed with you. A chill had blown through your old apartments rickety windows and unearthed old memories, ice running into his veins. He was sure his tears were frozen as they dripped down his face.

You understood him better, since that day.

You've tried to suggest moving in subtle and not so subtle ways, but he won't have it. He knows this is your home. He knows you like it here. He knows he can stay, if he works a little harder on himself.

So, he tries. Every single day, he tries. And that's all that matters.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Okay, so... ground rules. Hit me, Buck. We do this on your terms."

He thinks for a moment before turning to face you.

"I want it to be just us. No one else."

"Done."

"And I don't wanna do the whole Christmas dinner thing. Feels like too much all at once."

You fight the urge to burst into tears at how easily he's communicating with you, how effortlessly he's enforcing his boundaries. You've come a long way.

"Done. Agreed, by the way. Fuck Christmas dinner. We'll do our own thing."

He grins at you, leaning in to kiss you slowly, tenderly, leisurely. Like you have all the time in the world.

"I want to get a tree. And lights. We don't have to do all the ornaments and stuff, but lights would be nice."

"I have an artificial tree in the back of the storage closet... is that okay?"

"Perfect. I don't want to stand on all the pine needles, anyway."

Laughing, you shift closer to him, tangling your legs together on the couch.

"And no gifts for me."

"But Buck-"

"Angel. I don't want anything. I have everything I need sat next to me."

You roll your eyes, but you can't wipe the smile off your face.

"This isn't fair, suddenly."

"It's plenty fair. You stress too much when you buy gifts, and this is going to be a stress free Christmas. Understood?"

He hooks his fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Understood," you whisper, swinging your knee over so you're straddling him. "Stress free."

Bucky tilts his head up to kiss you, gentle at first, then firmer when you roll your hips into his. He's a little distracted, admittedly. He got you to promise not to get him anything, but made sure you wouldn't ask the same. His mind runs a mile a minute, trying to wrack his brain on what kind of gift to get for the love of his life, the person that saved him and continues to save him every single day.

He comes up empty, but lets you kiss the thoughts away for a little while.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"My mom taught me this specific way to hang lights on your tree. Look, grab this end and I'll show you."

You're both still in your pyjamas, fire roaring, a jazzy Christmas melody playing from the radio. You decided you wouldn't put up your tree until the day before, to save Bucky from feeling overwhelmed. It's worked, so far - he looks plenty relaxed as he chuckles and rises from the armchair.

"You're tall, so hold this above your head so they don't tangle."

You work diligently, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Bucky's happy to watch you, fighting the smile off his face every time you sigh in exasperation. Eventually, you step back and admire your masterpiece, satisfied and content.

"It's beautiful, baby," he whispers, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

He presses a kiss into your neck, then another, then another. Your eyes slip closed, and you sink into his embrace, feeling more at peace than you ever thought possible. You spend the evening by the fire, lying on the rug, room illuminated by the lights on the tree.

It's perfect in every way.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Merry Christmas, angel."

"Merry Christmas, Buck."

His hand finds yours under the duvet, pulling you in close. You tangle yourself around him like lights on a tree, all encompassed by his warmth.

"What's the plan for today, Sergeant?"

He presses a kiss into your temple, propping himself up on his elbow so he can see you properly.

"I say we make some breakfast, spend all day on the couch, and then maybe make some dinner? I know we said we wouldn't do a traditional Christmas dinner, but it'd still be nice to take the time to cook something."

"That sounds perfect."

In the kitchen, you make pancakes with copious amounts of maple syrup, strawberries and pieces of banana strewn across your plates.

"My Mom made us pancakes every Christmas morning, you know."

"You've never told me that."

"I know. I kind of refrained from ever talking about anything festive, because I didn't want you to feel guilty."

"For making you miss out for so many years?"

"I haven't missed out, baby. I chose not to do Christmas because I love you. And that love takes precedent over everything else."

Bucky kisses you then, across the kitchen table, full and golden and so full of love you almost fall off your chair. He tastes like blueberry jam and syrup and coffee, and you wish you could bottle it up and stick a little under your tongue when you get homesick.

"What changed?"

"Hmm?"

"Why now? I would have been content to never do Christmas again, if it made you happy."

"Because I realised something, a couple of months ago. We were sat in the park, and you were laughing at that dog chasing the boomerang. The sun was making you glow, like some sort of angel, and I just knew. I can do anything with you by my side. I can't put my future on hold because of my past."

You're fighting back tears as you look at him, so happy and content. You never thought this was possible, when you first met him.

And here you are.

Celebrating Christmas, showing him your childhood traditions, making pancakes like your Mama used to. You're sat at the kitchen table as the snow falls outside and the warmth that Bucky's love brings is keeping the chill at bay.

It doesn't get better than this.

"I got you something," he murmurs almost sheepishly.

"Bucky-"

"Don't yell at me! I know it makes me a hypocrite, I know I said no gifts, I know."

You roll your eyes, but watch his every move as he gets up and leaves the room. You finish your breakfast and put both of your plates in the sink, turning on the tap so they can soak. When you turn around, Bucky has returned.

He's on one knee.

There's a ring between his fingers, glinting in the winter sun. You're both still in your pyjamas, warm and full, not quite having shaken off the heavy embrace of sleep just yet.

It's perfect.

"Maybe it's cliche to propose on Christmas day, but... I want to replace all of my old memories with new ones. Memories like this."

You walk over to him, kneeling down in front of him so your eyes are level.

"You've taught me what love is, baby. And I can never repay you for that. But I can certainly try. Every day, I can try."

There are tears dripping down both of your cheeks, Bucky's grin matching yours. The two of you are overwhelmed in the best way, unsure of how to process the gravity of what you're feeling.

"Marry me, baby. Let's do this forever."

You lunge forward and smash your lips to his, laughing into his mouth.

"Yes," you breathe when you pull away. "God, yes. A million times yes, Buck."

His arms wrap around your middle as he picks you up, twirling you in circles around the kitchen, both of you shrieking with joy.

Bucky slips the ring onto your finger when he puts you down, both of you tilting your heads to admire it.

"I love you," you murmur, leaning up to press your foreheads together. "The cold can't touch you now, baby. This love will warm us forever."

The cold can't touch him now. Love will warm him forever.

@lizzystuffsthings <3

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timkontheunsure · 14 hours

Text

"and if he's only here as a prisoner, what kind of monster does that make me?"

Ok think I've finally worked out what was bugging me with them miscommunicating when Blitz yells.

"Would he want me if he were free?" Stolas' starting premise is if Blitz wasn't ok with the deal, and didn't like him; then he's a monster and an abuser.

If it's was only sex to Blitz, then he's just like Stella.

It's why he gives up, saying he has his answer; when Blitz assumes the crystal must be a prop for more of their deal.

"tethered to someone in such an unfair way". Ok this bit had my mind immediately go to the divorce.

The marriage was arranged by someone must more powerful than Stolas, to someone he'd never choose for himself. An "entire life's been written in stone" in fact; he thinks he's done the same thing to the man he loves.

While it is perfectly reasonable for Blitz to get angry, feeling blindsided and dismissed; asking for a "fucking minute", the next bit reads very differently to both of them.

"You spring this feeling bullshit on me. Are you fucking kidding! *Kicks open the door* Can I get a Fucking minute to think after everything you put me through! You pompous rich Asshole! *Stolas' flinches the same way he does when Stella screams at him.*

"Treat me like one of your little butler imps. You can't just Dismiss me like that. I mean you royal Fucks think you can think you can do this every single time. Like you can just play with our feelings, because we're smaller and not as important. Well I'm Not letting you bitch. *Flinches again* Let's Go!".

Blitz is telling Stolas that he doesn't want to be sent away, and that he wants think about it. His abandonment issues are fully kicked in.

He's trying to force Stolas into a fight, to get him to engage with him. Likely a repeated pattern from his last serious relationship with Voroskia.

Trying to pick a fight, to get to make up sex, to get them back to 'normal'. Because that's how he's been dealing with their "complicated" for a while now. If it's about sex he knows how to deal with what they have.

(Blitz is word perfect on the fight with Verosika after all; so they probably got back together a few times after stealing from her).

Blitz immediately goes to "I can do better", and try give it back; when he thinks Stolas doesn't want to see him anymore.

"you royal Fucks think you can think you can do this every single time."

But that's not what Stolas is hearing right now. Stolas hears is 'your all the same. All royal are as bad as eachother'.

It's very close to Striker explaining how the world works during his torture.

And now he thinks that the only man he's ever loved hates him because what he is.

That's what he meant by "think so of low of me".

And he's not exactly wrong. Fizz even calls Blitz on hating that Stolas is a prince.

And Blitz does say "They're all the fuckin' same". (Blitz isn't wrong for calling out Stolas on how he treats his staff either)...

Then there's the bit that seems fairly contentious. Stolas portaling Blitz out.

Stolas is a domestic abuse survivor, only a couple of weeks out of the hospital, because his wife tried to murder him. He's going freak out at loud voices, angry swearing, and doors being kicked in.

He going assume that this is Blitz getting a few kicks in on the way out; not him genuinely trying to talk through their problems just because of the format.

They are both stumbling over eachothers trauma landmines here.

Neither is wrong.

Not Stolas for walking away, or making the shouty person leave.

Not Blitz for getting scared, upset and feeling abandoned. Thinking Stolas isn't giving him a chance to think it through.

Blitz is going to get that time he wants to think it over. It's not an all or none thing.

He now has his business safe and secured in his own hands, and knows that Stolas likes him too. Those are biggys.

It's entirely up to Blitz what he wants to do now.

#helluva boss #blitzo x stolas #stolitz #Stolas really thinks he's as bad as the people who hate watching think he is #Blitz's abandonment issues result in him being misunderstood like crazy

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seelestia · 10 months

Text

— thoughts of saccharine.

two cubes of sugar for each daydream.

#STARRING: wanderer, kaveh, alhaitham, cyno, tighnari, wanderer w/ gn!reader.

#GENRE: fluff, crack-ish but that's just how i write fluff, headcanons/hcs.

#NOTES: mentions of kisses, one implied injury but nothing graphic, cyno's reader isn't a qualified doctor (sorry to the med students).

#THOUGHTS: comically enough, i spent more time on the formatting than the writing itself. maybe i'll play around with them more often? anywho, here is a little smth before fontaine and while i work on other stuff per usual! �� ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

thinking about . . . how wanderer says he 'could care less' about what you do or where you go, always averting his gaze with that disinterested look. it's true, he hates getting caught up in people's business but good riddance, why does he find himself sticking to your side? maybe, he finds your company tolerable (preferable) or that he might even possibly harbor worry for your safety. the wanderer doesn't have a definite answer to this and so, all he can do is insist that he is only here to make sure you don't do anything 'stupid' — yet, he stays so close to you that he could've reached out for your hand if he wished. right, if only pride wasn't an option.

thinking about . . . how wanderer drums his cold fingers on your bare skin while knowing that they are as cold as ice, for a puppet is bereft of humanly warmth, just to incite a reaction out of you. whether it be little yelps, flinches or frowns, he'll drink them all up with an amused snicker. "too cold?" he'd ask oh-so teasingly — but bring his hands up to your lips and press a kiss to them, then you'd see how his eyes dilate and his lips quiver. who's got the upper hand now? (you do, before he snatches his hand away flusteredly and calls you 'an impulsive fool', that is.)

thinking about . . . how you're the first person kaveh looks for when it comes to everything (literally). sorry, he can't help it; but if you think it's good, then it must be really good, right? his clothes today, menu suggestions, your opinion on a performance you saw at the bazaar together and more — but oh, his architecture drafts can be a different story because he gets pouty with those. (just give him a kiss and it'll wipe itself away, easy peasy?)

thinking about . . . how kaveh would set aside some mora with you in mind. when it comes to food or other expenses, he complains about them with no reservations — but your favorite dish? or the item you were eyeing the other day? knowing that you will tell him not to trouble himself, he can only beg the traveler and paimon to keep quiet when he keeps stumbling into them when he's out buying a secret gift for you. seriously, why does this always happen to him? (huh, who would've thought that kaveh finally learnt a bit more about financial management thanks to you? "how surprising," a certain someone with gray hair and green clothes comments.)

thinking about . . . how instead of one, there are two mugs on alhaitham's kitchen table every morning. as an early bird, he knows that hydration is something much needed in the morning, so he always prepares two; one for his daily dose of caffeine and the other for your preferred drink. you never recalled asking him to do so — "and you didn't," he affirms, he just gradually incorporated it into his routine. alhaitham states it's for efficiency because he can handle sleepiness somewhat better than you (how offensive). but maybe, the way you always sleepily press a kiss to his cheek as thanks meant something too.

thinking about . . . how alhaitham lets out just the quietest sigh of relief when he realizes you're the one entering his office and not a colleague. for someone so diligent about work (he never claimed he is), he sure perks up when you visit him at work. ask him about it and alhaitham will say that he doesn't know what you're talking about — but the moment you go behind the desk and offer yourself for him to lean on, believe it or not, he melts into you so easily. (...just a little, though.)

thinking about . . . how cyno places his hood on your head when no one is around. you're not a hanger for hats, but he says that you're "cap-tivating" so it makes sense (please send help). regardless, the general does it as his own unique form of affection; he only ever takes off his head accessory around people he trusts and he thinks you look adorable with it on. not to mention, it also has his scent so he's technically marking you as his territory. relax, he's just joking. (or is he? just make a note to ask about his shampoo next time... unless he's into that all-natural stuff.)

thinking about . . . how as a general, cyno is used to speaking in a clear and precise tone with his subordinates and co-workers. but when he's here, sitting beside you while your nimble fingers make light work of bandaging his arm, his lips can't part themselves to say anything else besides a "sorry" mumbled with a pang of guilt. you tell him it's alright as long as he comes home to you at the end of the day and he refuses to be treated by anyone else ever since. ("sir, but they're not a qualified doctor." "...your point is?")

thinking about . . . how tighnari's tail always seems to have a mind of its very own; curling around your leg or wrist almost idly, almost as if it's just second nature when you're near enough to be reached. you have a suspicion that he's trying to communicate an unspoken wish — but ask tighnari about it and he'll say it just does that sometimes. you're pleasantly shocked he didn't ask if you sniffed any odd mushrooms that day (...you didn't, you think).

thinking about . . . how tighnari gives your head a little pat after you complete a task he gave (or didn't give) you. finished sweeping the floor? pat, pat. taught collei how to do her homework? pat, pat. oh, you rearranged the bookshelf when he complained about not having time for it last night? pat, pat, pat. at this point, you don't even know if he realizes he does this — but really, this is just a way to say that he's proud of you without being too overly mushy. no, it's not patronizing and no, he isn't going to admit that he has a soft spot for you in a professional setting. though, the way he'd pull back his hand at the speed of light when a ranger walks in on his patting you is a little funny.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @hcikazu @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgblade-starrail @coquettemaiden @lemontum @herdrops @lleoll @xiaosonlybeloved @chiisananingen @irethepotato @ainescribe @blooodyvampy @starlightaura @jihyuniepark @duhsies @maybemiko @lordbugs @sakkakuu-squared @lupicalbestwolf @c-a-v-a-l-r-y — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged due to visibility settings / unnotified url changes + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #cyno x reader #tighnari x reader #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #genshin hcs #genshin impact #wanderer #scaramouche #kaveh #alhaitham #cyno #tighnari #seelestial.inks

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fawnpires · 20 days

Note

hihii idk if ur requests are open but I'd like 2 kindly question for a konig x hyperfem! reader?? just konig falling in love with cutesy fm reader -🎀

୨୧ — anon, you’ve just blessed me with creating the concept of college!könig + hyperfem!reader together as a pair.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ -> COLLEGE AU, hyperfem + fem!reader, college!könig, undertones of pining, strangers to lovers, dumbification, size difference, oral sex [fem. receiving], mutual loss of virginity, messy sex, tons of manhandling, usage of pet names.

There's something about him that appeals to no other girl; he's around a year or two older in comparison to you – a kept-to-himself, socially bordered-off type of guy, barely knows how to communicate with others, barely knows how to converse with girls at that.

Hell, you don't even think you've seen him up until now, – excluding the classes you have with him – perched up in some corner of a borderline sketchy frat party, spread-legged on the couch and stiff as ever with a red solo cup cupped in his equally tense fist. Not his kind-of environment. Not the sort to be here. Makes you wonder where he'd much rather be right now.

You're smitten by him, as early as those feelings sound and fully embedded itself in your head. But who were you to deny them about a guy like him? – a lean, tall structure with just a sufficient amount of softness and toughened muscles around the edges, the kindest hues of blue gracing the formations of his eyes, and that nearly dreamy shade of pale-sandy that his shaggy hair and light stubble takes on.

And you don’t have the faintest clue how, but you would never expect to end up on that couch, the bared skin of your thigh beneath the pleats of your little mini-skirt rubbing up against the coarse fabric of his jeans. although it’s probably the alcohol, or the closely intimate atmosphere of the party, but either way, you had no doubts that his mere presence was to have you hooked onto him. (save for the innocent school-girl crush that you'd never owned up to until right about now.)

"König, right?" you asked, striking up benevolent conversation all while giving him a timid yet sweet smile plastered against the puffiness of your glossed-over lips.

The moment you had first made your way over here and politely invited yourself directly next to him, it left him paralyzed, constricted in his own body to some extent. He couldn't deny your beauty as much as you found his own; a bit ditsy in all the right places appearance-wise, but possessing your own personal fashion sense which he found quite endearing. Little pale-pink ribbons he had always observed you wearing around campus and during classes somewhere in your hair, a variety of mini-skirts and dresses, or the occasional crop top and a track-suit. The cliché feminine kind.

This particular exchange seems to pique his interests. He comes across as oddly indulged in you, eyes discreetly alight than usual.

“Mhm. I know you,” he nodded, a delicate gruff-ness lingering in his tone. “you’ve become a common sight to me, not to sound strange, but I'm sure we have most classes together.”

“Not strange at all. Though, I barely see you around outside of classes.”

“Yeah, I figured. just not the partying-type, it’s a mystery as to how I ended up here.”

You snorted. “The frats are my best guess, complete assholes. Must’ve gotten to your head about letting loose, stupefying yourself… somethin’ like that.”

He chuckles, ending it in a brief dragged-out sigh, sincere and throaty, his lips left agape.

“You know, they may not be entirely wrong,” he ponders aloud, eyeing your doe gaze before aimlessly staring ahead. “there’s no harm in loosening up every now and then – but still, I fear the farthest I can go is alcohol.”

“No girls?” you remark teasingly, tilting your head like a curious puppy. “That’s hard to believe.”

The tease of a compliment causes him to roll his eyes in a light-hearted manner, his head sloping back down to stare down at you as he’s left with a raised eyebrow – along with a small, stupid-plastered grin smudged across his semi-thinned lips. Focused. strange, charming, loser of a man he was. It was probably just the alcohol really enhancing on his actions and speech, but who was he to not take advantage of such abilities?

In some subconscious portion between his assumed temporary self-confidence and original, reserved and sweetheart-of-a-man self; an arm reached around the expanse of your back, keeping you close to him in a fragile way of handling you. His hand had itself in your hair, lightly toying with the satin material of your ribbons in the most tender way possible.

There’s evident potential amidst the both of you – he knows it, and you know it.

“Not so hard to believe when I'm talking to one right now.” he comments, blinking at you with a subtle smirk. “I've never told you or anyone this but… god, you’re a beauty.”

His flirtations were kept sweetened, innocent and a tad shy still. He's pleasant enough to converse with rather than fraternities. They weren’t much of empaths, just insufferable pains in the asses. Turning girls into their insignificant wet dreams. At least König beat the poorly-set expectations of getting together with a man like that as a last resort out of you, a chance at more ideal circumstances.

You found yourself enamored with the guy the second you walked into this party – gaping over at him through the corners of your eyes across the room, across campus, – and now, without a train of moral thinking in your head, you’ve got yourself in the same position like every other girl at a college party; settled in some handsome stranger’s lap, and making out with him your life depends on it. The last thing you remembered was the way his words in the form of a compliment came to you, before you had your legs rested on each side of his spread legs and large hands caging gently at your waist.

It’s an ambiguity as to how quickly your body molds into his, ridges and curves sculpting as if they were familiar to one another, almost like they were predestined to attach like a hidden prophecy. His kisses are a far cry from how you initially expected them to be. (unfortunately rough, messy, just like how you’d seen your friends get it on with their boyfriends.)

A heavy hand palms at the back of your head while the other is left at one side of your hip – the cushion of his lips meeting yours with a lenient, mutual desperation. You barely know anything about him, yet here you are caught in this trance of letting him take guidance in this, all you’re doing is pursuing in whatever he does. Your arms wrap around his neck, chest rising and falling against his as the intimacy of the kiss begins to naturally register in your brain. He had you in the palm of his hand, clearly.

You’re so deeply in savoring the exhilarating taste of him that it was beyond your realizations he’s up and lifting you off of his lap, instead leading you on with only both of your arms clinging to one of his own – leaning onto him in a love-drunk predicament. You could’ve sworn he was looking down at you with the most adoration you’ve ever seen on a man’s face, nothing surprising when he was being the right amount of considerate to accompany you back to your own dorm – to lose his heart’s worth and devotion to. He had such a pure heart, virtuous even. That is, until you’re at the foot of your door, and you’re unlocking it without a realistic thought in mind – were you really this yearnful? – lacing fingers with a foreign individual, breaths lost in a slight stagger until you’re swinging the door wide open and stumbling inside along with him.

It’s when your legs wrap around the dips of his hips, and your arms once more caging in framing his neck, you definitely knew that this was something beyond casual. He ghosts kisses against the course of your jaw, trailing down to your neck, a hungering fluctuation. Your head is leaned backwards, body held in the confines of his towering-self and the solid wall; truthfully, it was a reality of euphoric suffocation with his hand gently resting around your neck and the whole situation with him and the wall, fingers resting on the skin for some stability rather than the purpose of choking you out.

In all of his honesty, he doesn’t know where he’s obtained this abrupt ability to turn such a pretty girl into a melted pile of mush in his hands, considering his substantial lack of experience. However, he couldn’t deny putting it to good use.

With a share of his hoarse huffs and your choked-up intoxicated sighs, he rounds the corner of your living room area and nearly trips over the threshold of the bedroom bringing you into it. You project your gaze onto his face – and bizarrely, find that you are unable to stifle a smile at the sheer sight of him, girlish and one possessing the aspects of authentic love, a rosy color blooming across your facial features. He cups the softness of your ass beneath the stretched material over your skirt, chuckling beneath his breath at the show of flusteredness occupying your face. He pecks chastely at your forehead before laying you down in the center of your mattress, hunched over, affectionately trailing his lips across the stretch of your shoulders and collarbones. He's gentle, stroking at the outlines of your sides soothingly, getting your heart-rate spiking and the blood in your veins pulsating, reveling in a newer warmth.

“You might just be the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he says to you in a hushed voice, palming at the dough-like flesh of your breasts through your top and bra before shedding them off of your chest. He stares dumb-founded at the caused nudity, his eyes downcast and a slight bob in his adam’s apple. “you must really like me a lot to let me do this to you, huh, prinzessin?”

You bit the region of your lower lip, teeth sinking into the kiss-swollen rawness while you nodded your head, eyelashes fluttering up at him. “Like you so much, König. I…” you swallowed, brushing the back of your hand against the contours of his face. “I think you’re the sweetest guy in the world.” you finish breathily, eyes half-lidded in a sensual-ardent craze.

He kisses your knuckles, and then the area beneath. “Yeah? I've got a bunch of feelings about you too.” König says, his hands now finding their way to the edges of your skirt and pulling the piece of fabric down to discard on the floor next to your bed.

“Really?” you respond with a ditsy little smile.

A small smile creases his lips. “Of course I do. How do you think we’ve even managed to end up like this in the first place?” he says, “Feelings and a beautiful girl do have their tolls on a man.”

And there is when those carved, rugged hands of his do the most predictable; fingertips over lace and hooked into the waistband, dragging down that last article of modesty down and giving him a full worth’s perspective of the girl he had longed after, and not so shamefully, fell in love with in a single night. Desperation is put at the forefront of his mind from this point and on – since the manner of which he plants his knees into the mattress and nestles himself in between the spread of your legs that now rested curled and caging around his hips was something truly explicit in nature.

Calloused fingers slip between your thighs within a matter of a few seconds, the pads of his fingertips massaging from your clit and right to the center of your puffy folds, glossed over with copious amounts of your slick. Your benefit of bringing him right back to your dorm room, a man with an eagerness to pull an orgasm out of such an angel of a girl.

König has that terminal objective in mind as he observes the way your lashes flutter over your lash-line, his index and middle finger extended – pressing against your clit and moving with just enough pressure to draw a few gasps and softened mewls from your lips. You’re left writhing on the sheets, hips elevated off of the bed due to the sensual arch of your back, and panting out his name so pathetically your own voice was far from recognizable; like you would lose all genuine sanity if he wouldn’t just get straight to the point.

To your luck, he doesn’t hesitate – because he to is way too pent-up, and in some dire need of simulation – and disengages his fingers away from your pulsating cunt just to lock your legs in two muscular biceps, his head finding its own heaven right there in between your squeezing thighs wrapped around his head. Drills his tongue into your silken walls and gives you the blissful sensation of being stuffed full with just that. He’s only ever seen this in the casual porno here and there, sure, but the real thing was something distinctly new to him; made him feel like not a beginner, but more on the side of heavy experience on knowing how to coax a pretty cunt to open up for him.

You feel his stubble graze over your sensitivity, and the curved ridge of his nose bumping right up against your clit additionally. A union near impossible for your cunt to not squeeze around his tongue that was so expertly getting you stupefied for him in all the right ways – it was overwhelming in some sense, but you would surely not be lying if it you said that König, withdrawn and mannered-craze, had definitely ruined you for any other man on sexual terms.

“Doing good up there so far, engel?” he asks, a slight growl to his accent with the muffle of his mouth stuffed of you.

“Yes! just… don’t stop, please,” you manage to whisper back breathily, fingers lacing and gently tugging through the now-unkempt bits of his hair. “feels so good.”

Your mouth is left open, head slanted back, and your doe eyes now hooded-over as you gazed down at where his broad, large figure had resided. His tongue fills you up, plunging in back-and-forth motions until the messy combination of his spit and your arousal began to make a soaking mess right between your thighs, drooling down your skin and collecting in a small pool underneath you in a lewd sight. He’s got you quite literally trapped between this bordering exhilaration of his euphoric ministrations and his rooted physicality below you.

He’s rather sloppy with how he’s eating you out, lips kissing at your folds in a near-disgusting-erotic implication of making out with them. You feel the warmth of his breath against you; the coarseness of his stubble simultaneously pressing there. He drags the muscle of his tongue over your clit repeatedly, his gaze fully focused on the overwhelming neediness that was slowly beginning to dissipate your natural consciousness. At this point, his cock was straining up through his boxers and the suffocating fabric of his jeans – albeit his belt being undone and his pants pulled down to only his hip-bones in a poor attempt of getting them off.

On your end, you were submerged in the hands of his treatment. Your glistening, doe eyes glazed over with arousal and the small bits of wetness gracing the lengths of your lashes. Your lips are kiss-swollen and tinted a faint blush-red, lip gloss smeared at the corners and difficult to really make-out if it was really product or the residue of his own saliva from his sensual, hungry kisses. Your hands rest on top of his that were keeping your thighs parted – that is, until he fully registers your touch and instead keeps a gentle hold on both of your hands amidst the intimate scenario. Large fingers laced with your manicured ones, his thumbs drawing small circles into the forms of your knuckles poking out while his sweaty palms lovingly press up against yours.

König’s going down on you like his life depends on it, some excessive lapping and kissing, over and over again. one of his hands release from yours, two of his fingers nudging their way into you beside his tongue – a stuttering in your breathing patterns to accompany the fucked-out expression of your pretty, ruined face sleeked with sweat. You’re fully convinced that was the peak of your euphoria, cunt squeezing so firmly around his tongue and fingers pumping without pause, hitting that sensitive spot of nerves. it was a requited sentiment – his rigid cock aching to be freed from their denim confines, your cunt dripping out of neediness and warmth – and you both knew it, though not verbally expressed, that you needed one another to really get down to being the pinnacles of each other’s deepest physical wants. perfectly-timed.

It's not long before you succumb to his doings, hips lifting off the mattress a few inches and squirming against him, hand tightening to his as your mouth locks in a momentary position of being hung open, and nearly all the possible sounds of an orgasmic reverie pulling from your throat. König kisses against your folds, more delicately this time, then grazing his lips up to your pelvic bone and worshipping the skin there. Slow and sensual. A tender contact to contrast the aftershocks of your release you were still inevitably riding out at the moment. Your cunt flexes around his remaining digits one last time, before softening and releasing; he takes this as a sign, hesitantly pulling out with a coarse sigh.

He sits on his heels, durable hands easily maneuvering your body to his chest and sitting you up against the nude sturdiness of himself. “You put on quite a show, don’t you?” he muses, kissing the side of your head with the smoothest of pecks.

You arch your back into him, entire head mentally stimulated on all of him. “Where'd you learn how to do that?” you question, mildly-dumbfounded and wallowing in his sexual expertise, dexterity.

“That's for me to know, and you to find out, meine liebe.” he teases to you, rubbing the tip of his nose against your scalding cheek.

You huff out, rolling your eyes. Cheeky. “Then… enough chat and let me ‘find out’.” you bit your lower lip at him enticingly, sore cunt almost-instinctively rubbing up against the erected, center portion of his jeans and staining the fabric with the pearl-esque mess of your arousal. A whine, docile and lenient, comes from you at the grasp of understanding what you were doing. König’s aware, too. None of you were a cut above. An orchestration of deep groans and much more higher, feminine sounds of an equal intoxicating high. The denim deepens in its color, thanks to that pretty little thing at the core of your legs painting all over it.

König’s a big man, and a strong one at that. (for a nerd like him, he’s awfully muscular. has he got a side hustle? it really makes you wonder.) So, what kind of a man would he be to deny giving you just one more fuck? A genuine one, one that could really make you fall head over heels for him and have your little heart beating for him days after this night.

He can just see it in your dolly little eyes, lashes batting at him while you were sat, naked, grinding on his lap like a bitch in heat, waiting for him to just do something. Anything at all. Before he knows it, he’s almost immediately giving into you, hands ridding the rest of his clothes and fishing out his fat cock from the last remnants of material.

His cock smacks against the lower region of his abdomen once released. Bulky and heavy. In this state of a longing, aphrodisiac-like crave, the veins adorning him are more prominent, the blunt head leaking of an abundant quantity of pre-cum and decorating his subtly-tanned skin. The sight has you flushing and sent straight to a mindset of dumbification, some place where you’re pliant and completely in love with all of him; his seraphic body of masculinity seemingly crafted by the gods themselves, the profuse amount of worship he held for you. It’s almost comical how fast it’s taken you to fall for him in such little time.

There’s so little to do now except to take you in position, give you the satisfaction of an unconditional, non-negotiable fuck out of reverence. You’re given an eyeful of him once he turns you around, bending you over to linger above a disheveled bed – a safe haven made up of a messed, cum-stained mattress. He’s seductive, obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t be all vulnerable for him right now; fucked-over with the case of an ample heart, and an ache in your pussy – is this really the effect of a hunky-loser austrian had on you? No complaints. The guy’s sultry in his own way.

He's as tall as always behind you, even on his knees. menacing, gentle bastard. His hands find a purchase on either sides of your bare hips, fingers molding into the flesh. A place carved out just for him. Sturdy hips attach to the fullness of your ass, sweat-on-sweat; has you whining beneath your breath like a sniveling dog, especially when the lips of your puffy cunt cushion the length of his cock as he slides in between yours folds – collecting slick, an audible squelch from the mess reverberating through your heated ears. The flushed head taps against your swollen clit before gliding into you with precision. Your back automatically forces itself into a deeper arch to push back against him, arms encased to one of your pillows to which you muffled your incoherent pleasure-made sounds.

Your once-stubborn pussy, now so well-trained to be compliant for him, took in his shallow thrusts. Not much, but what was there to expect? A rough fuck wasn’t your thing – and a majority of campus’s male population wouldn’t even put a girl’s vulnerability during intimacy in the forefronts of their minds – so you were thankful for him.

“Christ, you’re huge.” you nearly sob out in a whimper, with the divergence of a dumbified, slack grin on your ruined lips.

He grunts, “Takes a little to get used to, eh?” the smack of a kiss lands against the face of your right shoulder. “You doing okay? Could always eat you out again, y’know… doesn’t hurt to.”

“Yeah – yeah. I’m fine,” a small gasp leaves you, unfamiliar with something so foreign filling your guts up at such a pace. “fuck what I feel, god, just fuck me.”

He rubs the sides of your hips with his thumbs, stilling within you, and slightly hunching over in position – the chiseled and softened fat of his torso rubbing up against your sheen, curved back, his hands falling from their grace at your hips and instead settling between the crevices of your smaller-in-size fingers. They lace like ribbon through eyelets, fingertips pressing down intently at the tops of your palms, and his head plummeting to the curve of your shoulder to your neck where he conceals his face with ease.

His thrusts are no longer those of a gentle, bonafide lover, but instead restored with something more starved – like he’ll die a poor man if he doesn’t modify your insides into the shape of him.

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, engel.” lips pucker and latch onto your neck for gentle caresses, “You needed this, can see it in – Scheiß – those little eyes. “

“Mmph – yeah.” you croak out, throat hung out and dry. Sandpaper for a throat.

“Smart girl. you love me, huh?” König forces you into a deeper arch, coercing that love right out. No oral communication needed. He collapses further ove you and takes the angle of your chin, tilting it in a fragile-hold from the pillow as he holds it up – right enough to meet his dilated, enveloped-of-eyelids gaze. so he takes advantage of this posture and kisses you and shares the taste of him, licking you, worshipping you, tongues overlapping one another right about to define the proximity; pistoning, widened hips and a malleable receiver.

Then you do the sluttiest thing a girl like you has ever done – grind your hips back onto the canvas of his crotch, his single hand holding you tight against him, rubbing intermittently across your lower stomach when he shifts all his of his focus onto his calculated motions and the way your cunt drips onto him. Down the length of him all, and discarded below to the sheets.

He's so explicitly hard he could feel it all around him, his muscles, his throbbing head, and you’re no better, squeezing him so tightly that he’s suffocated. The good type of suffocation, one that makes you feel like you’re all blissed out. It’s one whole mass of flesh and intimate rapture. He thrusts harder, squeezes harder, and you continue to grind back onto him – the cycle continues, dragging on and on, and you’re aware this is no longer some hook-up – it’s gotten way too intimate now to be classified as such.

A string of higher-pitched yes, yes, yeses! are spoken like a prayer from you and your unable-to-be-shut mouth. And then, because he can’t really help himself anymore, he wraps his arms around your full torso and presses into you more, thrusting and thrusting to the point where he’s too psychologically stimulated on sex, fucking you, desperate, adoring, each motion enhanced with the softcore-aggressive, dragging, shoving, capture of this fragile body of yours. The pressure’s a give-and-take situation on you and him.

You;re inclined to a drawn-out call of his name as he drives all mustered force right into you, nails clutching crescents to the surface of stained linen, and your cunt coating him in that same wetness that’s been drooling down your legs.

König mutters a gruff fucking take it, prinzessin, before just one single plundering thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm so suddenly, so harshly, occurring out of you, a fervent gushing erupting. Man’s first one-on-one orgasm, and he’s just so managed to make you squirt. A madman, surely. Even he thinks it’s unreal – something straight out of his PC monitors, out of the porn websites he’s browsed when his hormones were on a high every other day; he’s a degenerate turned man-of-his-dreams.

A soft cry is perceived from you as he grinds his hips once more, cock kissing sweetly up to your cervix, his pelvis rubbing into your pubic bone – and you mewl, orgasm dragging itself so needlessly that another surge of fluid spurts from you, painting his abdomen in an array of glistening transparence. He won’t stop, you think.

That is, until he’s feeling all sensitive in his lower abdomen, sharp and tangible by a sensual inebriation. He pulls out – avoiding the next-few-days-consequence of knocking some poor girl up – and cums across your folds, spewing lines; hot, scorchingly hot. “You’re something else,” he says, totally out of breath, exuding heat and sweating, rivulets tainting his skin of moisture.

He’s an accomplished man now.

“So hard to believe you were a virgin before this.” you said, rolling onto your back, the side of your face smushed into a pillow, the quivering of your body signifying the aftermath of his relentlessness still existent. He’s laid down next to you on another pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling with an opened, heated mouth.

“Porn’s pretty accessible, not that hard to pick up on some skills.”

“Oh, you’re a perv,” you say, half-jokingly. “But what’s new? Can’t expect an innocent man anymore. Clean slate and all.”

“It’s a fucked-up world, schatz. You’re just a little, eh… stupid, oblivious, when it comes to the male gender.” he shrugs.

You smack him blithely on the bicep, a mock-irked expression to the ceiling. “You’re all sickos, that’s why,” you shoot back, “and I’m just a proper lady. I don’t indulge in such things.”

“Proper lady my ass. You look the part, but anyone can see past those sweet ribbons and beady eyes of yours – minxy piece of work you are.”

You pout. “You’re mean.”

He turns his head to the side. “It’s all honesty,” he says, sitting up to the headboard and stretching out his aching shoulders. “And if you’re ever in the mood again, I’ve got my practice, and I can say – I’m not that bad at this whole ‘screwing’ thing.”

Sighing, you rest your cheek on his slick thigh. “You make it sound like you’re just another campus-fuck offer,” you giggle sweetly, “What did I really do to you, König?”

"Nothing, nothing at all,” he responds, brushing your disheveled hair and making the poor attempts at adjusting your little girlish ribbons to their original state. “Other than having the most prettiest little thing at my disposal, nothing.”

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