#how to cure hair fall naturally

[kakushino]

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground. 

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines. 

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position. 

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching. 

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.” 

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd. 

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom. 

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him. 

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do. 

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber. 

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration. 

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World. 

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?” 

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed. 

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?” 

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size. 

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “WINTER FEVER SURE SUCKS, DOESN’T IT?”

— #. synopsis. this annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture.

— #. content warning! surprisingly none, dirty thoughts, yearning and pining, sloppy blowjob, fluff in all its worth, blushy male robin, feverish male reader and just boys helping each other out, is all.

— #. word count? 3.8k words.

— #. extra extra! ashes snippets : “blowjobs cure your fevers and keep the illnesses away. trust me, I’m a professional doctor.”

Carefully tending to your every whims and needs has always been a part of Robin’s unnamed responsibilities, whether verbally spoken so or not. Each and every one of the naive, little orphans instinctively knew who to call upon when faced with another of your clumsy accidents, an accidental slip of your feet — you’d bashfully say, a muttered ‘sorry’ wistfully whispered beneath your huffed breaths and flushing cheeks.

Perhaps, as a poorly-expressed means of a genuine apology for your inborn inattentiveness, that odd, natural skill of yours you unfortunately possessed to repeatedly find shady trouble in every narrow corner of this filthy town. To be Immediately roped into the worst of situations and somehow, come out somewhat unscathed every time.

Maybe if it were to be anyone else, Robin’s cheery mask would’ve eventually slipped past to give forth to the gradual frustration of the instilled obligation he’s readily set upon himself. This annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. Yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture. Tirelessly complain? How could he when you’d appear so pitifully before him, the subtlest of pouts adorning your rosy lips whenever you’d tearfully gaze up at him, falsely claiming that it didn’t hurt that much because surely, it really did. God, such a clutz, aren’t you? And honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Every slight stumble and fall would simply be accompanied by his awaiting, helping hand to discreetly soften the landing, cheekily embrace you within his arms.

So, you see — this isn’t any different for him either, not when paired by this lucky opportunity set in place which, he hates to truthfully admit the mere fact that merely gazing at your weakened state sometimes, obtains certain.. reactions from him — from his body, precisely. Listen, he doesn’t mean to subconsciously widen his sat stance atop the wooden chair, make some much needed, accommodating room for his twitching cock noticeably stirring beneath his pants. Really, it’s an instinctual urge like any other man, y’know? And well, despite the known moral etiquette that he should be plainly feeling guilty for secretly getting off to your undeserving suffering here, he can’t possibly help himself, can he? Your fault for being so resistant yet, so weak.

Hence the pathetic position you now currently find yourself in, puffed breaths along with a blazing flush across your cheeks, one that Robin finds to suit you very well. Slicked droplets of sweat steadily trickling down the crook of your neck, softened features normally bright as his, now contorted to a blatant show of pain. Strands of hair attentively brushed out of the way so that he may periodically apply a fresh, new cloth onto your sweaty forehead in hopes of cooling your feverish temperature away. Obscene that he’s grown used to the routine of doting upon you every single, chilly winter cuz’— simply put, you get sick pretty easily.

Namely, he’d like to softly reprimand you for your lack of care for your own self, utter out once more that you should’ve properly bundled yourself up in a thickly knitted scarf or some layered jacket to brace for the pristine white snow and shivering breeze.

Though, of course, as per usual, you hadn’t actually listened to his common advice, so evidently, you’ve come down with a heated fever, rightfully reaping the eventual consequences of your thoughtless actions which he hates to say. Forcing him to— no, truthfully, he consciously chose to faithfully stay by your side till you’d get better. A bit of a slow healer though, that’s the thing. As an entire full week has now officially passed by, a week where he has not gone once to school considering your ailed state. Profusely tumbling out a series of muttered apologies, insistently nudging at him that instead of peering so precariously over you like he is right now, that he should be sat in class instead, intently listening to the teacher’s boring lesson or something.

“Really, you don’t have to. I, uh— ah, am just fine on my own, y’know. You don’t have to worry over me, Robin. It’s just a few hours and anyways, I don’t want you failing school cuz’ of me.” Blatantly uttering out falsehoods when in reality, he’s acutely aware of your quickening breaths, glazed over eyes barely focusing on his blurring figure and, ah.. shit, why’re you so pretty when you’re sick? Not that you normally aren’t, just that— maybe, the feverish haze settled upon you accentuated certain part of your features like your pouty lips sinfully glistening with your own spit, little, tentative swipe of your pink tongue poking out whenever you need to moisten the edges of those chapped lips. Wonder what it’d feel like coyly wrapped around his— ah, cut it out, Robin! Holy thoughts, holy thoughts.. Just like Sydney, right. They’d never think such a thing if faced with a sick, heaving boy. Seriously, he should be composing himself.

“School’s not important right now. You are. I’m not leaving till you fully get better and no matter what you tell me, I’m staying here, ‘kay?” Stubborn as a mule, two people set at opposite sides where one will not relent for the other. Typical argument of yours that involves your unconvincing insistence that you’re indeed okay whereas he will point out otherwise.

“Now, stop worrying about me, silly. Class can wait if it means I get to take care of you.” Hastily choking up at the involuntary confession he may or may not have brazenly unveiled his actual feelings for you— ah, did you notice? ..Yeah, no. So oblivious to your surroundings it sometimes frustrates him, but he can’t truly be upset with you for long, perceiving it more as an endearing trait he can poke fun at than an inherent flaw.

“..Fine. I guess if you say you want to stay then you can.. But I seriously owe you a favour for this.” Smiling gleefully at your reluctant act of conceding with a huffed pout, content in his momentary victory to tenderly dote upon you some more. “Mm? You wanna repay me?” That’s a funny thought, you, actually expressing your gratitude for him when he’s been acting more like a coddling mother excessively worrying over her child than anything else — not that he wouldn’t openly accept the idea of you fulfilling a favour for him. Question is, what exactly?

Subtly scanning over the sight of your curled frame underneath the woollen covers, curled fist loosely held onto the material and god, it makes his heart ache to single-handedly witness you being so cute in front of him. Without you even knowing, too. Instinctually trailing over the outline of your lower body below the blankets, skittishly being brought up once more to intently gaze at your bed riddled self.

Well, he’s got an idea maybe, of what to ask.. That’d be too bold though, wouldn’t it? Just friends or more like foster brothers to each other, even if the heat pooling in the core of his tummy is whispering out tell-tale lies. No friend of such should be secretly viewing theirs in a lewd manner, should be shamefully fisting their weeping cock late at night while their shirt is carelessly held back by their clenching teeth bitten between it. Muffling their stifled moans, desperately pumping their cock stupid, collecting the accumulated drool of pre at the tip to pervertedly slide down to the base with a wet squelch! all the while thinking of their supposed ‘friend’. Yeah, a friend is what you’d so cheerfully call him, ever since childhood, you’ve only had each other amongst the mess of an orphanage you’re miserably forced to live in by your cold-hearted caretaker.

However, would it be so bad if he were to consider you as more? Tentatively steer you in the other direction if you were to collectively see him in the same light as he does— “Robin? Can I have some water? ..Please?” Cutting his spiralling calculations abruptly with the timid lilt in your voice, almost shy of solely relying on another to be given something to drink. How you wholly depend on him sometimes for the simplest of tasks, unable to do anything or so, you frantically claim. Hurriedly interrupting his track of thoughts with a meek request and, how could he not obligate to your every whim? You’re only deserving of it, after all.

“Y-Yeah, of course.” Last of things he should be doing is envisioning stuff like sickeningly taking advantage of your bed riddled position, most definitely helpless in stopping him if he were to try.. anything, at all. Hah, no better than those lustful monsters that reside in this town, sneakily hide themselves amongst the shadows. Endless times he’s routinely walked to and back from school with you as per usual, only to encounter another one of those disgusting creeps that’d shamelessly try to land their filthy paws onto your untouched body, disgustingly slobber all over you as though they were deserving of the slightest sliver inch of skin from you. And yes, there is the slight tremor apparent in his voice when he’s actively telling them off in favour of protecting of you, but that’s precisely it. You’re enough of a reason for him to confidently fight back, take a stand even with the apparent wobble in his knees.

Truly, those hands of yours that find themselves clasping at his once the whole ordeal is fortunately over, beaming face filled with admiration is why he does it. Enough with the constant reminiscing however, dutifully reaching for a bottle of water set onto the oaky dresser, hesitating noticeably in his next actions to curiously gaze back at your awaiting mouth. “Want me to hold it for you?” Isn’t he simply enabling your unprompted, lazy behaviour? Bound to turn you spoiled if this readily keeps up, doesn’t mean he still won’t do it.

A subtle nod of your head to his gentle suggestion is all it takes, swiftly uncapping the bottle cap off before directing it towards your parted lips, palm decisively placed along your jaw, carefully titling your head backwards into the cushioned pillow to ease in on your swallowing. Noisy gulps accompanied by the rhythmic bobbing of your fragile throat, sluggishly drinking it all down with a satisfied sigh. Thing is, he shouldn’t be staring so intently at all these intricate details nor particularly zeroing in on the barely noticeable droplet of water that spilled past those moist lips, really— this is going beyond well-intentioned admiration and more like, borderline obsession.

Still, it’s just.. helping, is it not? It’s not like he’s physically harming you in any shape or form when his eyes lovingly peer upon you for a moment longer, stray hand instinctively coming to wipe away at the wet sweat built up there. Lingering contact, just helping in every sense of the word, that’s all it is! Thumb swiping lower to rest upon the gap between your parted lips, right where the wet warmth he so fervently seeks out is, digit dipping shyly with a shaky inhale at the sheer sensation that greets him— A wet and ready mouth, so easily pliable, mouldable for a fat cock that’d happen to be consequentially slipped inside, by chance. Drooling little baby you’d be, looking so very stupid with a mouthful of cock promptly shoved down the rewarding tightness of your throat.. You wouldn’t mind, would you?

At the end of the day, as so often told by many as a shabby excuse for their unforgiving actions — which he, himself, is no better of, at the moment — he’s nothing, but a man. Horny hormones offset from the mere, close proximity he shares with you, his crush, within this narrow space and time. Cock annoyingly straining against the rough fabric of his pants, hopefully palming at the hot, twitching bulge beneath your field of vision — or perhaps, truthfully he wants you to actually see him. Plainly witness the downright degeneracy of his current actions, heated palm clumsily circling over his red, leaking tip frustratingly covered by the material of his jeans, huffing over your bare form as though he’s solely being restrained by the horrifying idea of cold rejection on your part.

Cmon, won’t you rightfully take responsibility for what you’ve done to him? Having him just as equally heated as you over here, dangerously peering at the edge of his chair to unintentionally tower over your confused, oblivious self. See, the weight of those fluttering eyelashes, how you don’t even try to coldly discard his affectionate touch, borderline inappropriate one too — in fact, welcoming it as you subconsciously lean into the cup of his soft palm?? Surely, that’s shamelessly asking for it, a hidden sign of your reciprocation of his sentiments in return. Or so, his self-deluded mind dumbly convinces himself of such.

It’s the meek “Robin?” that stills him, curious eyes peering up at him with a quizzical cock of your head, veiled worry making its way past your strained features in a subtle questioning of if he’s alright. “Something wrong?” Oh, if only you knew that, yeah— something is indeed very wrong, knee now cautiously placed atop the bed, squeaking mattress dipping lower, distinct creak audibly heard throughout the four corners of the walls surrounding you both. Good, think he locked the wooden door nearby and it’s not like.. any younger orphan might upsettingly interrupt you two nor walk in, lest they actually want to be terrifyingly face to face with an angry Robin for once in their lives. A rare occurrence.

“Huh? O-Oh, well— I was just wondering about what you’ve said before. Y’know, owing me a favour for taking care of you and all..” Idly scratching at the back of his neck in a habitual instinct to soothe the spiking nervousness rendering him dizzy, hitched breath faltering in its smooth flow to ponder, briefly hesitate over his next few words. How exactly should he even go about this..? Discreetly hinting is sure not to successfully work if taking into account your naive innocence, albeit adorable to him — sometimes, is unintentionally setting himself up in the inevitable scenario of being direct. Shy as he might be, at times, specially flustered in the presence of you, Robin still determinedly carries on with a drawn out sigh, hovering over your laid frame ever so slightly to satisfyingly catch that split-second, shift of your incredulous expression.

“Is it fine if I use it now? I mean, what I’d really like for you to do right now, is.. take care of this for me. I-If you want to do that.” Swallowing thickly as your inquisitive eyes intently follow his pointed finger, direction openly set onto the growing bulge instinctually twitching in turn from your gaze heavily set upon it, his evident hard-on humiliatingly on display just for you. “Please. I-I just— ah, fuck..” Look at you, how you decidedly waste no time in readily obeying to his flustered request, seamlessly move onto your side where your head is sweetly nestled between the gap in his willingly spread thighs. “..You’re really doing it— hah.” Huffing, nuzzling and nosing along the visible outline of his bulge jutted against your squished cheek, appearing so goddamn pure despite the undeniable fact that you’re— ah, shit.. pervertedly inhaling the musky scent of his fat cock throbbing insistently underneath the layer of clothing, crudely smelling him in such a dirty place before your cute hands come to rest atop the surface of his hips. Slowly unzipping him free to give way to his drooling cock staining a wet patch of pre below the fabric of his boxers, pink, swiping tongue dampening the stain in shade from your little kitten licks.

Suckling attentively on the flushed tip right below his underwear, thin layer of cloth merely separating your skillful tongue from making actual contact with the pulsing flesh of his cock. Where’d you even learn to do such a thing and how did you even— accept so easily to the stumble of his awkward request? Graciously went along with it as if he were simply asking you to fetch some water from the cooling fridge in the kitchen, eyes reflexively shut in a soft hum of appreciation at the responsive twitch you receive from his cock in response to every careful lick. “I guess, it’s only natural to help each other as boys, right? Whatever you want, Robin, I’ll offer you it.” Whispering out so selflessly, fully handing him the ability to maneuver this entire situation to his liking and if that means having you so lewdly strip him down to his bare form, then so be it.

“Y-You really don’t have to.. ah—“ Promptly interrupted by a sharp hiss as his cock is suddenly freed from the annoyingly tight confines of his underwear, crudely smacking against the tender skin of your cheek with a resounding, wet slap! that it further fuels his fluster at the sheer noise. Pearly pre-cum naturally smeared across your face and, fuck— you’re not the least bit bothered by it, being sinfully tainted by his fluids stained upon your body and here you are, teasingly running your rosy tongue flat along the veiny underside of his throbbing shaft before finally, reaching forward to suck up all the salty, oozing pre accumulated at the head.

“But I wanna, Robin.” Stop calling out his name affectionately like that, he’ll really bust a load before you even get to sucking him off! Muttering out so sweetly, absently stroking the base of his cock with your curled fist tight around the girth, a rhythmic up-and-down motion to meanly draw out more beads of sticky fluid, lazily trickling down his quivering length. “You always take care of me and, hah— I think it’s only fair that I return the favour too. I wanna.. thank you for being so nice to me all the time, even if I’m a handful, huh?” Hand coming to rest atop your soft head at the generous gesture you’ve so nicely offered him now, caressing through the stray strands of hair, lovingly brush it out of the way so that he may obtain a better view of your half-lidded eyes, intent on getting him off. “So, let me. Let me take care of you for once, ‘kay?”

Ah, seriously.. Stubborn as always and he can’t help, but to let himself selfishly indulge deeper in this sweet act, widening thighs accommodating you along with his knees firmly planted at each side of your bobbing head, dizzying squelch! of your translucent spit coming to meld with the thick globs of pre. How is it that someone can appear so dutiful, merely carrying out one’s favour when you’re stupidly slobbering all over his balls? Wet, welcoming heat of your mouth— ah, god— pouty lips snugly wrapped around the pulsing girth of his length, obscenely taking him into the base as you automatically repeat the process. Poking tongue playfully alternating between light drags of it across the tip to then coat it once again in the warm depths of your throat.

Though perhaps what comes second to the sheer, slippery heat engulfing the entirety of his cock are the tell-tale signs, lulled whispers of your shared arousal, mindlessly gettin’ yourself off from sloppily sucking him off. Little, cute cock provokingly poking out, smearing a stained mess against the cotton sheets from the pathetic, adorable act of humping yourself stupid along the cushioned mattress. Ah, does having another man’s cock in your mouth, preferably your best friend too — get you off that much? Sucking in a sharp, held breath, gaze observingly fixated on the subtle bounces of your cock with every gentle movement, curve of your arched back laid on its side. “..You’re hard.” He evidently remarks the obvious, normally clear voice coming out all strangled in a stifled groan as your glistening lips instinctively tighten ‘round him to spare him a brief glance of your own.

“..Shut up.”You huff out, not necessarily meaning it cuz’ yeah— you are hard and it’s clear as day as to why. Resuming on with your actions, suckling on one of his taut balls before ultimately letting go with a wet pop! Thin strings of saliva connected to the flesh of your puffy lips, clumsily stroking the rest that your small mouth cannot pitifully reach. Natural reaction is all it is! Same goes for the embarrassing fact that he’s already so fucking close, so close to shooting a straight load down your tight, little throat. Busting his fat seed and surely, you’ll— you’ll swallow it, right??

A stammered hitch in his speech, stuttering hips jolting in tandem with each and every one of your sucks, savouring the feel of his fat cock deep inside your drooling mouth. “A-Ah— wait— I’m, fuck— I’m cummin’—“ Head thrown back, eyes reflexively rolling to the back of his skull which his fingers can’t help to follow on, entangling themselves in the mess of your hair, cruelly sticking you there as he suddenly busts a whole fucking load right down your throat, white ropes of cum spurting past your lips — messily drip over the clean sheets below. Spilling his cum to coat the insides of your mouth all sticky with his seed and truly, he didn’t mean to! Or maybe, he did. As downright, secretly perverted that he is in wanting to bear witness to your eventual ruin. Pretty sight of your chin all tacky and white, dribbling droplets of his fluids all over your shocked face. Ah, he’s gotta be doin’ this again, one way or another.

No time to waste one baseless apologies and such, for having staining you in the filth of his essence— No, those are all past Robin’s mind as he impulsively throws himself onto you like some wild animal, forcibly pins you down below his heaving figure with that familiar, cheeky smile. Plainly chuckling at the stifled whine of protest that draws out of you, settling his position so that he may instead, comfortably rest between the plush of your spread thighs. “Robin! W-What’re you doin’??”

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll clean you up and make it all up to you later. Promise.” He furtively repeats, not exactly meaning it, but can you blame him when an awaiting cock is being so painfully neglected here? And, he’s consciously certain that you won’t refuse his gesture, not with that drawled out whine as he easily pops your cock between his glossy lips, eyes appreciatively fluttered shut to savour the taste of you. Etch it to memory.

Promise he’ll make it up to you in the way he knows most, tenderly inquiring you with one single question he’s all too keenly aware of the answer to. Bright, doe eyes, ruffled brown hair and that boyish grin you’ve seen him in time and time again. As you know him best. “But.. you haven’t cum yet, have you?”

As you’ve stated before, it’s just boys helping each other out, right?

[sunkendreams]

Idk exactly what to ask for, but I have an ✨idea✨

Dwayne who seemingly has a penchant for choking his SO. He just loves the little whimpers and moans they make, and the way they squirm.

Really basic, ik 💀. You can take this and run, or simply enjoy this thought with me, but I wanted to share 🥰

moving in stereo.

( dwayne x fem!reader. )

➾ pairing ; dwayne x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.9K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), making out, dirty talk, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), bloodplay (he’s a vampire), breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, scratching, breeding kink, scent kink, p in v sex, missionary position, rough sex, begging, unprotected sex, mating press (a little bit), choking, bruising/marking, dwayne is hot

author’s note: i am so obsessed with him, it’s not even funny ngl :’) also, I have a couple of other fics/drabbles that I’ll probably post tonight too, I’m definitely feeling very inspired! If you haven’t voted on my poll, please do so! thank you guys sm for your continued love & support !! ❤️

Beads of blood filled your mouth as you absentmindedly chewed at the skin of your cheek, flesh taut between your back molars — you hadn’t intended to bite down as hard as you did. A singular glance at Dwayne’s hands had contorted into shameless ogling, smitten hues discreetly flickering over the veins and smudges of grayish grease coating his fingers.

He had a way with machinery that transcended you — he often claimed that it was simply natural instinct, but your running theory was something buried in his past life. Dwayne was known for his stoicism and quiet demeanor, neglecting to educate you on his background.

It must’ve been a life of hard work — otherwise, his hands wouldn’t have appeared so rough and calloused. They weren’t smooth and spindly like Marko’s, or pretty like Paul’s. They were taut and thick, dexterous and built for destruction, if he let it.

Hands that had held you many times before, touched you in ways that you longed to feel again. A shudder rolled down your spine as you daydreamed, mind floating into a fantastical haze of lascivious thoughts. If it weren’t for the presence of the other boys, a tendril of drool might’ve leaked from the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fucked, isn’t it?”

Paul’s agitated groan reverberated throughout the cavern as he crouched beside his boombox, slapping a palm against the top of the speaker, as if that would cure all ailments. His brows furrowed together, lip curled in annoyance as he knocked his hand against the machine a second time — for good measure.

“You’ll ruin it if you keep it up.” Dwayne’s monotonous remark echoed from the opposite side of the lobby. He was entrenched in repairing his motorcycle after it had gotten vandalized by a Surf-Nazi who didn’t live to tell the tale. Paul’s beloved stereo was the least of his concerns.

“How are we gonna listen to Alice?” A begrudging sigh escaped Paul, whose theatrics weren’t out of the ordinary. He huffed, falling in a dramatic heap along the edge of the dilapidated fountain. “Can’t you fix it, Dwayne?” He asked, peering toward his brother, who seemed entirely uninterested.

Silence filled the chasm between them, prompting you to stifle a smile. Dwayne didn’t enjoy being bothered whenever he was working on a project — he was always one to see it through until the very end.

David and Marko emerged from their abysmal resting place. Once the sun disappeared behind the ocean and dusk consumed dawn, the boys became wildly active. “Paul,” David’s voice carried, always domineering without even trying. “Let’s go.”

Disappointed in the lack of closure for his treasured boombox, Paul relented, rolling off of the stone bannister with an exaggerated sigh. He ruffled your hair in passing, and smacked Dwayne on the way out, who didn’t flinch or move a muscle. He simply exhaled — you could sense the twinge of irritation in his sigh alone.

Paul snickered, hopping up the ledge alongside David and Marko. “See you later, bud.” He sneered, waving at you as he departed with his brothers. Once the trio slunk away into the moonlight, it left you and Dwayne by yourselves in the cave.

You could’ve watched Dwayne work for hours, captivated by the way he dismantled the machinery, handling the finer pieces with nimble digits. He was wrist-deep in the grease-laden guts of his motorcycle, surrounded by a myriad of scrap and parts. His dark brows were furrowed together in stark concentration.

Intrigued, you abandoned your perch — a rickety, velvet-cushioned chair that had come with the hotel’s ancient wreckage. Paul’s stereo was sitting along the ledge, awaiting a tune-up that you knew Dwayne would inevitably provide. You sat down, inspecting it for any damage — it looked unharmed, on the outside.

“Do you think it was a user error sort of thing?” A burst of laughter escaped you as you opened up the hatch for the cassette tapes, noticing a rather banged-up copy of Alice Cooper’s Constrictor from ‘86. It was a good choice — you had to commend Paul’s taste in music.

Dwayne’s soft, bemused huff was all you needed to hear, prompting you to smile. You never mistook his tranquil, halcyon demeanor as indifference — he was a man of very few words. Even his temper wasn’t violent or tempestuous, like that of Marko or David. His placidity in most things was what drew you to him in the first place.

Being a human amongst a den of rancorous vampires wasn’t your intention, but you were happy — happiest with Dwayne, above all. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had, not that it was a lengthy list. You idly fiddled with some of the switches on the boombox, removing and reinserting the cassette before closing it up.

Much to your chagrin, the stereo didn’t work — maybe it wasn’t Paul’s imagination after all. You gently nudged it back along the ledge, abandoning it for now. “How come you didn’t go with the others?” You inquired, folding one leg over the other, tapping the heel of your boot against the dusty stone.

There was a slight shift in his body language — a mere shrug of his broad shoulders, accompanied by the noises of metal clanging, gears twisting, and then he grunted. “I’m not looking for dinner.” Dwayne replied, matter-of-factly. He was in the midst of replacing the engine on his bike, placing the damaged part aside, hands stained in dark ichor.

With a soft hum, you pushed yourself off of the ledge, wandering over toward Dwayne’s scrapyard — a rather cluttered corner of the cave that acted as a makeshift garage. You sat along one of the flat outcroppings of rock, opting to watch him fix up his motorcycle. It would intrigue you more than messing with the boombox ever would.

His pearlescent teeth clenched around a wrench, clutched between his maw as he focused on putting the new engine back in. There was a quiet appreciation that he held for you — you were always respectful of his hobbies, if this even counted as one. Dark eyes flickered toward you, sitting there in your billowing sundress like some statuesque angel.

Dwayne appraised you in his usual silence, eyes carefully raking along your physique, as if he were undressing you through gaze alone. His jaw tensed, a fire beginning to spark within his chest, threatening to spread like an encroaching wildfire the longer he ogled you.

Sundresses were a hot commodity — and they never lasted, either. Dwayne made sure of it, and once he got his hands on you, that pretty fabric shielding you from him would cease to exist. He made it up to you with the gift of another, but rest assured, it would be shortlived.

It was a mutual feeling, the silent staring. His keen hues settled along the supple curves hiding just beneath that thin veil of fabric while you were captivated by the visual feast of strong, capable hands and taut forearms. You folded your hands within your lap, beginning to absentmindedly chew at your inner cheek again.

Your scent wafted throughout the short distance between the both of you, heavy with hints of your favorite perfume, a saccharine concoction that Dwayne had grown accustomed to. He loved your smell — it was unique to you, invading his senses as he continued his work.

Those strong, muscled hands of his were buried in the underbelly of the motorcycle, carefully placing the new engine back inside. He began to fasten it all into place, removing the wrench from his mouth, quickly fixing it all up with a series of bolts, screws, and metallic plates.

“I’ll teach you sometime.” Dwayne was, oddly enough, the one to shatter the comfortable silence between the both of you. He prided himself on playing mechanic — his ability to handle such equipment and repair it was rather renowned. Once he was satisfied with the job, he sat back, peering toward you.

Warmth oozed from those earthen-brown hues of his, coupled with a subtle adoration that only he possessed for you. Your smile only served to further it, the only thing to make his dead heart pump to life again.

“I’d like that,” You mused, canting your head to one side. “I think you should fix Paul’s stereo, too.” Even if Dwayne had brushed him off before, he would fix it and have it ready for him whenever he came back. It was the right thing to do, anyway.

Dwayne huffed, lips twitching into a threadbare smile, wrought with traces of amusement. He didn’t say anything — he didn’t need to. He wiped his hands off along the crimson cloth he carried in his back pocket, ridding his hands of engine grease and oil.

He stood, filling in his full height as he bent down to give you a kiss, hand carding through the back of your skull. It never failed to make you shudder, haplessly squeezing your thighs together as you reached for his forearm. Powerful, taut muscle flexed underneath your fingertips, and his kiss briefly intensified before he withdrew.

That familiar aching sensation flickered to life between your legs, a dull arousal pooling within your stomach. You wanted nothing more than to cling to him, beg for another kiss, but Dwayne was already over to the stereo, inspecting it for any damage it might’ve had.

For Dwayne, your mind was exceptionally loud — he could read your thoughts, hear them screaming from afar, which he happened to smile at from where he stood. The feeling was mutual, but he wanted to make you stew in it for a little while — it heightened the experience.

As he dismantled the stereo, you decided to go elsewhere — to Paul’s nest, which wasn’t the brightest idea, but he had an impressive collection of cassette tapes. You began climbing toward the rocky slope that led off into alcoves, using some of the ropes hanging about to pull yourself up.

“Where are you going?” Dwayne asked, seemingly finding the source of the boombox’s disarray — there were pieces of tape stuck in the machine.

“To see what Paul has to listen to,” You mused, nose wrinkling in amusement. “It’s the least that he can do for you since you fixed it. We should go listen to music.” Truthfully, Dwayne owned that stupid stereo just as much as Paul did — joint custody, you’d called it.

Hawkish, dark hues drank you in from afar, and Dwayne decided that he’d indulge himself in your wishes, picking up the boombox by the bottom. The handle had been broken off long ago — courtesy of Paul, once again. He simply trailed behind you, briefly pressing his hand against the small of your back when you made it up the incline, keeping you steady.

Paul’s nest was notoriously cluttered — in a very fascinating and macabre manner. It was littered in trinkets, things he’d taken from people he fed from, bones and all, or general thievary. The boys were all like this, but not to Paul’s level.

Posters of hair-bands and metal groups hung all around the rock, illuminated by flickering candlelight. It smelled faintly of marijuana, decorated by a patchwork array of tapestries, clothes, and stolen jackets. The guitar he’d lifted off of a traveling rock group sat on his bed — he always talked about starting a band.

A mountain of cassette tapes lay in a semi-organized heap, many of them taken from Videomax or anywhere he could find them. Dwayne simply stood at the fringes of Paul’s nest, watching as you picked through his extensive collection. You smiled at the handful you’d grabbed, rejoining Dwayne as the two of you made for his nest.

In an amusing juxtaposition, Dwayne’s nest was noticeably simplistic — yet, his personality was scrawled all over it. He liked to read, keeping a trunk of books, tools he’d taken from garages, and some trinkets stashed away in a large piece of a drawer.

He hadn’t bothered to invest in a bed for several decades — not until he got entangled with you. When Marko had mentioned it to you in-passing, it was rather intriguing, but you never asked Dwayne about it.

With the stereo now placed at the foot of his makeshift bed, placed atop a rather rickety wooden trunk, you ejected Alice Cooper from the hatch and put in The Cars, instead. Dwayne happened to regard this choice with curiosity, sitting along the edge of the mattress.

Moving in Stereo began to drift through the alcove, and you promptly fell back against the plush surface, tucking your hands atop your chest. “This song reminds me of you.” You murmured, gazing at the cavernous ceiling, focused on the jagged edges and outcroppings of rock.

Dwayne seemed curious, twisting slightly to face you. Even when sitting, he towered over you, indomitable and immovable, a wall of sheer strength and muscle. “Why does it remind you of me?” He wanted to hear your answer, eyes flickering toward your exposed stomach.

You smiled, somewhat embarrassed, but you decided to answer him anyway. “I don’t know,” You began, rolling over onto your side, propping yourself up with one hand. “Just a bit of a mystery, but alluring. It’s pretty magnetizing.” With a soft exhale, you began to pick at a stray string on one of the blankets that covered the mattress.

“Magnetizing,” Dwayne echoed, withholding the urge to smirk. Instead, he joined you, laying on his side as he mirrored your position, face mere centimeters away from yours. “You got a way with words, girl.” His chest shook with a brief huff before he leaned in to kiss you.

If a kiss could have destroyed you, this was it — Dwayne’s mouth consumed you, intensified by your seemingly innocuous words. He tasted good, like spiced smoke and the faint bite of copper.

You were eternally grateful to The Cars — Dwayne was careening into you, broad chest flush against yours, veined hand grasping at the base of your skull. Thick digits massaged at the nape of your neck, coaxing you close until there was no space left between you, lips voraciously tangling with yours.

He ripped all wisps of air from your lungs, as cold as ice as he shrugged off his jacket. Arousal reactivated inside of you, no longer dormant as your warm hands reached for his chest, feeling broad muscle underneath your palms. He felt like a god — chiseled, forever perfect — you were sometimes in-awe of his beauty.

In awe — Dwayne smirked against your mouth, unable to help himself when it came to your overactive imagination and racing thoughts. He pushed his hand underneath your shirt, fingers tracing along your curves as he began to feel a familiar tightening in his jeans.

Your scent thoroughly intoxicated him — your natural musk, the cling of perfume, the arousal coalescing between your thighs — it was a perfect amalgamation. Dwayne exhaled, sitting up and taking you with him, hands hooking into the hem of your shirt as he peeled it off of you.

His lips were on your flesh again, hands tearing your thin brassiere apart with ease, reveling in your warmth. Dwayne pressed a string of kisses along your neck, feeling the thrum of your pulse point pound against his mouth. The shorts you wore still clung to your frame, but they wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Dwayne,” You sighed, The Cars becoming nothing more than atmospheric background noise. Liquid heat pooled between your legs, a shiver rolling down your spine as he laid you down against the mattress, covering you with his body. Your eyes locked together as he stared down at you, gaze boring right through you. “I need you.”

Dwayne kissed your neck, sucking enough to create a hickey before he traveled to the base of your throat, peppering kisses across your collarbone. “Where do you need me, sweet girl?” His husky, warm baritone made you shiver in delight. Those eyes raked over you in rapture, full of reverence.

“Everywhere,” You whimpered, goosebumps coalescing along your spine. Dwayne’s huff of laughter made you smile, and you quickly urged him closer for another kiss. His mouth crashed against yours, passionate and blistering, full of an unrestrained want. “I’m yours.” A sweet moan tore past your lips.

A wave of possessiveness swelled up inside of him, coupled with that innate desire to keep you all to himself. Dwayne didn’t have an issue sharing with his brothers, but you? No — you belonged to him, and him alone. A growl rippled across his broad chest as he tore his lips away, returning to your sternum.

There was a prowess to him that the others didn’t possess — Dwayne was emotionally intelligent, just as vicious in the same breath. He was an enigma of so many things, drawing you in with his arcadian charm. Your fingers reached for his dark tresses, perusing through as he kissed your chest.

“You’re beautiful,” Dwayne’s affectionate baritone rumbled across your flesh as he continued his slow, deliberate string of kisses, making his way to your breasts. He trapped one nipple between his lips, gently suckling on the sensitive mound, the other hand tugging at your shorts. “Perfect.” He uttered.

You sighed, fingers tangling within his mane of black tresses, pulling and carding through. It felt silky between your digits, like velvet. Those veined, calloused hands gripped along the meat of your hips, strong and unwavering as he lifted you to discard your shorts.

Arousal pooled between your legs, honey-thick as it toyed with Dwayne’s senses. He wanted nothing more than to drown himself between your thighs, devour you until you were a trembling, mewling mess. Your thoughts shamelessly echoed that sentiment, prompting him to reach toward the apex of your thighs, hand breaking past the waistline of your panties.

Dexterous fingers languidly slipped along your slick cunt, making a line right for your clit. Your body responded in a near-violent fashion, hips jolting up into him, hands curling within his hair. “D—Dwayne!” You whimpered, chasing after the friction his hand provided. Those dark hues hadn’t left you, transfixed on your smitten countenance as he kissed your stomach.

He looked big when his body was spread over yours, but when he began to slink toward your thighs, he was hulking, a massive wall of muscle. Dwayne’s kisses continued, littered all across your pelvis and thighs, fingers still winding you up as he pushed in between your legs with those broad, bronze shoulders.

His visage was rugged with a fine layer of dark stubble, tangible as it scratched against your inner thighs. He curled his hands into your panties, and instead of removing them, Dwayne simply tore them asunder, leaving remnants of fabric behind. The alcove reverberated with the sounds of material being ripped apart.

A thin sheen of arousal painted your cunt, scent stinging his nose in the most pleasant way possible. The velveteen flesh of your inner thighs were layered in faint bite marks — his own, from the past. He looked to you for approval, thumb lazily circling around your clit.

“Please.” You huffed, head bobbing up and down in an idle nod as he moved his lips toward a patch of flesh, unmarred by any bites. Dwayne was always very sensual, and even when he fed from you, it felt so lascivious. Your body jolted, hips writhing closer as he began to bite down.

Dark, earthy-brown hues melted away into pools of a golden-red, unnaturally vibrant. The initial sting of his bite made you wince, but he was always gentle with you when it came to feeding. As sharp teeth drew blood, a low growl reverberated throughout his chest, causing you to shiver. Your fingers continued to trace through his mane of black hair, a myriad of moans escaping you.

Restraining himself from taking this further, he had his fill, kissing over your now-healing bite. Dwayne licked his lips, effortlessly tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulders as he tugged you closer. You were somewhat folded at the hips, but you didn’t care.

Dwayne’s gaze was incendiary, intense — he stared you down from his perch between your thighs. You were visibly flustered, staring right back, nearly shrinking away altogether. He kissed your thighs, mouth dangerously close to your aching cunt. “You ready, girl?” He asked, inhaling another gust of your scent.

You nodded, feeling every fiber of your being scream with desire, and you wanted him terribly. “Yes,” You whimpered, hands having splayed out at your sides instead, no longer buried within his hair. “Dwayne, please,” His deliberation made it worse. “I want you so bad.” Your hips wriggled again, desperate for his mouth.

A warm, hearty chuckle emerged from his lips, making his herculean form shake between your legs. “Just relax,” He soothed, noticing how coiled and poised you were. Those strong, veined hands wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread apart. The flat of his tongue lapped across your slit in one long stroke. “Relax, Mama.” His voice made your head swim.

Relaxation wasn’t exactly your forte — you were too wound-up, too drunk with desire to simply sit still and melt into the mattress. Dwayne’s tongue began to lap you up, greedily consuming every drop of your sweet arousal, working along your cunt. His fingers clamped hard, enough to leave behind the inklings of bruises, etched into your flesh like his personal brand.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze at his head, but he kept your legs firmly planted on his shoulders, pinning you down and rendering you immobile. Your taste saturated his tongue, and he only chased after it, dutifully lapping at your slit as his nose absentmindedly grazed against your clit.

Dwayne was relatively silent — and you didn’t mind in the slightest. The only ambiance happened to be The Cars, your delighted moans, and your boyfriend’s deep, rumbling grunts. His tongue worked wonders on your aching slit, cunt clenching pathetically around nothing as he lapped you up, gaze flickering towards you.

Your countenance was a vision of beauty, all contorted into an expression of complete and utter bliss. Your hips writhed, with very little room to go considering that Dwayne had you locked down, arms bracketed on your thighs, keeping you caged in against him.

A heavy fire burned bright within the pit of your stomach, demanding to be extinguished. Throaty, noisy moans escaped you in droves, vocalizing your delight as Dwayne vigorously lapped at your cunt. He alternated patterns, between soft and exploratory and recklessly needy. His mouth occasionally brushed over your clit, causing you to shiver.

Each time he ate you out, it was almost like the first time all over again — blissful, filled with a lust-infused passion that threatened to swallow you whole. Dwayne was beyond attentive, savoring you as if you were the most delicious meal he’d ever had.

He lowered himself toward the mattress, musculature flat and poised between your thighs. Those strong, thick arms kept you held in-place, keeping you locked in as he continued to lap at your core. His hips rocked forward, harshly grinding against the bed to relieve some of the friction.

Much to your surprise, Dwayne got off on pleasuring you above all else. There was something intimately carnal about it, knowing that you only made those sounds for him, only let him touch you. Your hips jolted forward, met with a barrage of an eager tongue and mouth as he lapped at your cunt.

Dwayne grunted, lips opting to purse around your clit, instead. Your reaction was visceral, moans ascending to an excitable crescendo as your hands flew toward his hair. He grunted again, attempting to vocalize his own satisfaction of you pulling and tugging on his dark tresses as if they were reins.

A burnished-gold coloration had swallowed brown irises whole, flickering down towards your blissed-out visage. Your body had a mind of its own, twitching and writhing as his mouth relentlessly assaulted your aching cunt. Pleasure licked acros your frame, burning along your sensitive nerves. He was vigorous and attentive, throat itching with a dull, familiar ache.

Hunger could wait — Dwayne merely placed that feeling into the recesses of his mind. His tongue continued to cascade across your slit, lapping at your arousal before he returned his attention to your clit, suckling on that bundle of nerves. He steered you towards your orgasm, mind swimming with a thick haze of lust, overwhelmed by your heady scent.

“Dwayne!” Your voice carried above the nest, echoing throughout your cavernous surroundings. Fortunately, you were alone — you had little desire to mask how you felt about him. Needy digits gripped at his tresses again, hips bucking into his mouth until you were simply a pile of mush, unable to respond.

You were lost to the white-hot heat of your release, an explosive sensation that caused you to quiver and spasm in delight. A glittering perspiration danced across your hot flesh, sparkling from the glow of the candlelight. “Dwayne,” You huffed, a whimper emerging from the back of your throat as he dutifully cleaned you up.

He released your hips from his ironclad hold, crawling along your body until his broad frame nestled between your thighs. That taut, muscled hand rest against the base of your throat, digits gingerly squeezing on either side of your windpipe. You initiate a rather tantalizing kiss, able to taste yourself upon his tongue.

A clattering sound resonates in your vicinity, Dwayne wrestling his belt off of his hips as his jeans sag upon his frame. He’s swift, wrangling his pants aside with one hand, the other clutching onto your pretty throat like a vice, evoking a string of sinful noises from your mouth. You kiss him with a desperation that he matches tenfold.

His hips brush against yours, and the distance is nonexistent, closed by your stoic paramour, whose normally-cold gaze reflects with a semblance of warmth. Your hands clamor for his broad shoulders, sinking into the expanse of bronze skin, nails clamping down when he drags the head of his cock against your cunt.

“Speak up, sweet girl.” Dwayne grunts, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear. He thoroughly enjoyed your begging on occasion, with this happening to be one of those occurrences. His lips briefly press against the side of your face, stubble grazing across your silken complexion.

With an agonizing pace, he continued to toy with you, pushing his cock against your entrance, but declining to go any further. A pained whine escaped you as you tilted yourself closer. The hand around your throat squeezes, effectively commanding your attention.

“Please,” You sputter, squirming in delight whenever those veined digits tense around the slender expanse of your jugular. “Dwayne, please,” Your simpering pleas are met with a hiss as he sluggishly sinks into you, inch by inch. He lets out another shallow rumble when your fingers brazenly dig into his shoulder. “Please move!”

Cold-blooded and dangerous — but not to you, not now. The icy temperature of his flesh swallows the warmth wafting from you as he invades your space, musculature eclipsing any light. His shadow falls across you, visage awash with his own carnal delight. You’re tight around him, aided by your arousal.

Another satisfactory snarl rips forth from his mouth, echoing next to your ear. You wrap your legs around his broad hips, gasping when he began to move. His cock hit new depths, pulling halfway out before Dwayne pushed himself back in again. His pace was rhythmic and passionate — not sloppy or too rough.

The pad of his thumb draws circles along the curve of your jawline, the rest of his hand tight around your windpipe. You moan, legs locked like a vice as he continues to roll his hips forward, cock battering its way into your cunt with a domineering force. Dwayne was taking it easy on you — if he lost control, it wouldn’t be very pretty for either of you.

His lips find yours, kissing you fervently as you reciprocate in a flurry of passion. Heat bled from you, arousal seeping from your core as Dwayne continued to rut into you, one hand splayed beside your head. The sparkling sheen of his ring glints in the lower light, mouth relentlessly assaulting yours in a barrage of kisses.

Dwayne grunts into your mouth, but the entanglement is shortlived as he moves to cover parts of your neck in kisses — whatever parts aren’t covered by his hand. You feel the sudden scrape of razor-sharp fangs drifting over your flesh, testing your resolve. You shudder, eyes fluttering shut as you grip and pull on his hair.

Sometimes you simply forgot that he was a specter of the night, a fanged creature who had the capability to rip you apart at any moment. His fangs continue to hover across your neck before they retracted, lips replacing them as he kissed your pulse point. There was an added element of thrill and exhilaration as you whimpered, his name spilling from your mouth over and over again.

You nearly see stars when he pistons himself into you again, slow and savoring you, enjoying the sluggishness of it all as Dwayne continues to drag out his thrusts. Your cunt clenches pathetically around his length, prompting you to whimper and moan, goosebumps coalescing along your spine.

“More,” It was incoherent, a string of needy babbles that escaped you in droves. “Dwayne, please,” You whimpered, chewing at your lower lip. In the midst of his own pleasure, Dwayne’s calculating stare flickered toward you — it wasn’t a good idea. “Please, please fuck me.” You begged, hearing the growl that echoed deep from within his chest.

“You sure?” Dwayne didn’t want to hurt you, but he was inclined to obey your needy command. Another grunt escaped him as he steadily rutted away into your tight cunt, deliberating in the midst of it all. “Won’t be gentle.” His stark warning was concrete, you knew this — you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you nodded several times over, digits gently curling around his wrist. “Yeah.” You panted, chest fluttering with a tight sensation as he gave you a hasty, passionate kiss, a parting gift as he squeezed at your jugular. That steady rhythm began to pick up instantaneously.

Dwayne made sure to watch you closely, gaze hawkishly trained upon your body as he began to fuck you. The intensity and the heat rose like a tidal wave, consuming the both of you as he pounded away at your poor cunt. Your legs rattled like leaves, attempting to stay locked around his waist.

The taut muscles of his shoulders and abdomen worked in-tandem, body effortlessly exerting strength. For him, it was nothing — for you, it was a different experience entirely. He was rough, manhandling you with one hand as he grabbed at your hips, enough to leave behind faint impressions in the form of bruises.

Moving in Stereo still swallowed any background noise, encompassing the whole of Dwayne’s nest. You were a complete and utter mess, devolving into a puddle of sweet moans and needy whimpers, especially whenever he applied pressure around your throat. He squeezed whenever he thrust into you, force akin to that of a barely-restrained battering ram.

Even in his self-proclaimed roughness, Dwayne was still executing some measure of restraint. “Mine,” His thunderous voice swarmed you from all sides as he fucked you into submission, gritting pearlescent teeth together as he approached his climax. You kept nodding, back arching into his touch.

“Dwayne,” Dwayne — it feels like the only word you’re capable of saying, rolling from your tongue with a wanton moan. You tug on his tresses with an urgency, feeling his hips grind against yours, flesh kissing flesh with unyielding thrusts. His cock continues to bury itself deep inside of your needy slit until it can go no further. “S—Shit! Right there!” You cry.

He huffs, musculature flat against you, chest to chest as you coax him in for another kiss. You whimper into his mouth when his tongue tangles with yours like a heat-seeking missile, teeth breaking the thin skin of your lower lip. Pearls of crimson trickle onto his tongue, fusing lust with hunger — all for you.

Dwayne didn’t stop, showing no signs of stopping as he fucked the both of you through an orgasm, painting your cunt in hot ropes of seed. He doesn’t pull out, a sensation that the two of you feed off of. If it weren’t for his vampirism, you’d be round with his children — the fantasy would continue to linger on for as long as he pleased.

“Shit, Mama,” Dwayne’s strained baritone sends shivers throughout your body. He rarely talks during sex, and this felt like a treat as he continued to thrust into you, feeling your nails dig angry crescents into his shoulder. He groans, savoring the feeling of your constant tugging on his mane of dark tresses. “You’re perfect.” His voice tapered off into a possessive growl.

You want to scream, a raging fire surging throughout your body before it finally comes to an end, extinguished by Dwayne’s rough rutting. He could’ve kept it up, continued all night long with his cock stuffed inside of you, but humanity was both a blessing and a curse. Your thighs shook underneath his grasp, and he began to slow, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

His hand left behind a searing brand around your throat — whether or not the imprints are visible, it’s the sensation that refuses to leave. Your windpipe feels a little sore, but it’s a pleasant burn as he comes to a crawl, nestling his forehead against yours.

The excitement and blissful thrill of the moment steadily begins to fade, composure replacing a very heavy lust. Your heart thrums beneath your breast, beginning to crawl to a more uniform beat as you nudge forward, kissing Dwayne again. Your lips are swollen, split down the middle with a patch of dried cruor.

Dwayne’s exhale of relaxation comes after, and the tension within his body unfurls. He kept himself inside of you still, feeling your poor cunt clench around his cock when he adjusted his position. His kiss is astoundingly tender this time around, able to taste the pang of copper upon your lip, accompanied by your natural sweetness.

A sense of euphoria overwhelms you, body feeling wonderfully heavy as Dwayne peppered kisses all along your jaw and collarbone. “You alright?” He murmured, making sure that he hadn’t pushed the limit with you. It was easy to become lost in the moment, forget about your humanity.

You nodded, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, resting his head against your stomach, arms encircling themselves around you. “Better than alright,” You mused, tracing your fingers throughout his hair. “You think Paul will mind that we borrowed his stereo?” Laughter burst forth from your mouth.

A bemused huff escaped Dwayne as he reached over with one muscled arm, hitting the ‘NEXT’ track on the boombox. He pulled you close, nose wrinkling in disdain as Drive by The Cars came on — it wasn’t exactly his taste in music.

“Like you said,” He rumbled, peering up at you with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. His arms effortlessly tugged you down to his level, lips twitching into a faint smirk, rare for Dwayne yet mesmerizing all the same. His mouth brushed above yours. “Joint custody.”

[b00kdiary]

Better Than Any Fantasy | Ruhn Danaan + Tristan Flynn

Ruhn Danaan x Tristan Flynn x Plus Size Reader

Y/N’s been avoiding Flynn like the plague, and Ruhn knows why and is more than happy to tell him. Especially when that conversation leads to something much better than any of them could have hoped for.

Here's to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some SJM men love too xo

Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and the Ruhn and Flynn being utterly infatuated with their thick, beautiful lady.

MASTERLIST

“Ruhn!” The sound that escapes Y/N is like sunlight, the kind of goodness that could be bottled up and sold, a cure for the worst and darkest parts of a person’s nature. “Seriously, how can I flip the pancakes if you won’t let me go?”

“Then forget the pancakes,” I grin against the column of her throat, inhaling the feminine scent of her as I hold her to my chest, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her stomach, keeping her giggling figure close. “We both know they’re going to taste like shit anyway.”

“Asshole! I can’t believe you!” Y/N exclaims, slapping my hand but she does mercifully drop the spoon in her hand, pouting as she turns off the gas, saving us from having to grin and bear through eating them. “Well, no pancakes for you- The Crown Prince can starve.”

“Ouch, that hurts Princess,” I croon, smirking as I turn her to face me, my hands running along her lush body, down to her soft ass, “Looks like I’m going to have to satiate my appetite some other way then.”

“Really?” She whispers, biting her lip and I can smell her arousal in the air, my smirk deepening at the way her chest rises and falls fast, and she clamps her thick thighs shut, trying to stop the ache between them.

“Really,” I slowly nod my head, watching as her eyes flutter shut as I kiss her cheek, peppering and trailing my tongue over her jaw up to her lips. She gasps into the kiss, her back arching into the counter behind her and it takes everything in me to not lift her onto the edge and feast on the sweetness between her thighs.

I slip my tongue into her mouth, tasting the bittersweet hues of vanilla and coffee and it ignites something in my chest, a dark and intense pulse that burns all the way down to my cock, already hard and throbbing against my jeans.

My fingers curl around the curve of her ass, my nails digging in hard enough to make Y/N moan, and I revel in the feeling of her large tits pressed against my chest, and her stomach too, so comfortable and perfect moulding against me.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall toward the kitchen has Y/N halting, and the second her hands push gently at my chest, and her lips draw away from mine, I groan. She giggles at the dejection in my voice, on my face, before pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek as she peels herself away from me- those footsteps infinitely closer now.

“You really have the worst fucking timing, Flynn,” I spit, my dark eyes lifting over Y/N's head, to the brown-haired, golden-skinned pretty boy smirking as he leans against the door pane, looking more than amused at my irate glare.

“By all means, please continue,” Flynn shrugs nonchalantly, teasing us but my lip quirks up at the way Y/N’s body freezes, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of red at Flynn’s words- at the secret between us that made her so perfectly embarrassed.

“Hm, what do you think Y/N?” I mutter gently, my breath running warm against her cheek, and I have to bite my lip to force down my bellowing laughter at the murderous scowl she gives me.

“I need to go get ready, I’m meeting Bryce in a few,” She bites back, ignoring my knowing stare as she pushes at my chest, brushing past me, the stains of red deepening as her gaze meets Flynn’s, before immediately looking away.

“Hey, Y/N,” Flynn smiles softly, but his brow furrows as he takes in her fast-paced footsteps and the way her head is pointed down, unable to meet his eyes.

“Hi, Flynn,” Y/N mumbles back quietly, and before he can open his mouth to speak again, she’s rushing past him, her curvy body curling in on itself like a flower so as not to feel every inch of him against her.

I fold my arms over my chest, trying to blanket my expression as her footsteps bound away and Flynn stares after her, his face a mixture of hurt and confusion, so unlike the usual carefree nonchalance and humour we were used to.

“Okay- she’s barely said five words to me in days, any room I enter she leaves, and she can’t even look me in the eyes,” Flynn frowns, frustration locking his jaw as he comes to lean against the counter-top, staring at me in expectance. “What the hell did I do wrong?”

“You’ve noticed all of that, huh?” I muse, cocking my head at him, and the way his frown deepens, and he leans forward makes me smile. “She’s not upset with you, Flynn. But she is distracted- she sees you and her mind turns to something I said.”

“And what exactly would that be?” He demanded, folding his arms across his muscled chest, seemingly relieved that Y/N wasn’t angry with him, but the glint in his eyes had sharpened, and I knew he was interested, knew he couldn’t help but be intrigued by my devilish smile.

“Well…” I run my tongue across my teeth, my mind racing back to that night four days ago, and Flynn’s eyes darken with shadows as I recall every last detail.

“Ruhn,” Y/N moans, her head tossing back to rest against my shoulder, and I nibble on her earlobe as I fuck my hips up into her, the sound of her wetness mixing with her breathless gasps driving me insane.

I groan as she rolls her hips, my fingers gripping into the meaty flesh of her thighs and hips, guiding her back and forth, up, and down, and the feel of her back and ass pressed against my sweaty bare chest is like heaven.

“Don’t stop, please, please,” She pinches her eyes shut, and I love the sight of her face as she takes me, the TV light casting over her, highlighting every expression she makes- every time she bites her lips, or rolls her eyes, or opens her mouth to release the most delicious sound for me.

“Look at you, such a good girl, so fucking polite,” I croon, my right hand sliding up to cup her heavy breast, bouncing wildly with her movements, and I grin as I pinch her pebbled nipple, rewarded with another whimpered moan from her. “And yet you’re riding me like a slut right now, making a mess of my cock and in the living room, for anyone to come in and see.”

“Oh fuck,” Y/N cries, her body sweating and her breathing erratic and I know her peak is close, know by the way her knees start to give out, her fingers cutting into my arm as she tries to anchor herself. I chuckle, my voice low with headiness and I take it upon myself to drive up into her faster, deeper, to hit that spot that has her seeing stars.

“Bet you’d love that, huh?” I mutter, kissing her neck, running my canines down her throbbing pulse point, “Bet you’d love for someone to walk in right now, to watch you get fucked like a good little slut, your entire body on display.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” She nods her head erratically, fucked dumb and swimming in the clouds of her mind as I slip in and out of her, her wetness almost ridiculous, her walls clenching me so goddamn tight.

“Yeah? Does my Princess want an audience, does she want to be watched?” She gasps as I bite against her sweet spot, that hurt turning to pleasure as I lap my tongue there, feeling her racing pulse. “What if someone came in right now… what if Flynn came in right now, you want him to watch? Or do you want him to join?”

The whimper that escaped her at my dark words surprised me, the way her entire body arched and trembled against me surprised me- because she did want that.

“Huh? You want him to join? You want to get fucked and worshipped by me and my best friend?” The idea makes my core burn, and I know we’re both reaching that climax, that euphoric tipping point where she comes around my cock, suffocating me and milking me dry. “Answer me, Y/N, or I’ll stop.”

“Ruhn,” She pleads with me, and the sound almost makes me give in, give her what she wants, but I don’t relent and when my hips start to slow down, pausing, she groans, and the satisfaction that fills me as she nods her head, almost makes me finish right there. “Yes! Yes, yes, I want that, Ruhn, I want that.”

“Want what? Be specific, Princess,” I coax, groaning, guttural and low as I move inside her, her pussy throbbing around me, her body so happy, so fucking relieved at the feeling of me moving again. “Tell me.”

“I want you a-and Flynn, I want-want to be watched,” Her voice is shaking as she speaks, the sound of her ass slapping back against me so lewd in the air, and I have to grit my teeth at the pressure building in my gut. “I want you both- to touch me an-and fuck me, I want you t-to worship my body.”

“That’s my girl,” I praise, knowing that my encouragement was feeding into her pleasure, heightening it and I know she’s imagining the both of us fucking devouring her, “bet you'd look so good with his cock stuffed in your pretty mouth, or fucking in and out of this tight cunt,"

My cock, my words, the images tip her over that edge with a devastating cry.

“Ruhn, Ruhn, Ruhn-“

“That’s why she’s avoiding you, Flynn,” I state hoarsely, ignoring the way my cock aches, the image of her body and the feeling of being inside her tormenting me now that I’d opened that box up, allowing myself to remember it. “Because when she sees you, she pictures that fantasy all over again.”

“Shit,” Flynn mutters and I recognise the roughness in his voice, recognise the intense, unsatiated gleam in his eyes and the way his entire body has gone hard with restraint. He’s imagining her- her body, her tits, her cunt, her mouth, and everything he could do to her.

I would’ve thought the idea of my best friend fantasising about my girl would make me furious, make me murderously jealous and yet, the more I thought about it, the better it all seemed.

“So, Flynn,” I know he sees the challenge in my eyes, the hot mischief as I grin at him, and I see his brows raise in shock, in interest, as I lean forward. “How do you like the idea?”

***

“Ruhn?” I call, my heels clicking against the floor as I walk down the dimly lit corridor toward Ruhn’s room, my voice echoing through the silence of the empty house. “Hello? Ruhn?”

My phone beeps in my hand, startling me, and I pause a few yards from his ajar door, not hearing the familiar sound of my boyfriend's voice or any other person's voice for that matter. I click open our text thread, and heat instantly fills my body.

‘Come inside, shut the door behind you and close your eyes- no peeking.’

Another game. Ruhn loved his games, loved watching me pant and sweat and blush under his ministrations and my body pulsed in excitement, knowing that as long as I followed his rules, as long as I played my part, I would get my reward.

I bite my lip, discarding my phone on top of the bookcase outside his door and my knees felt weak as I slowly walked over, the anticipation clogging the air. I close my eyes as I step over the threshold, my hand on the doorknob as I close it behind me, the wood creaking before clicking firmly shut.

It was a mixture of terrifying and thrilling, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but knowing that he was in here with me. That his eyes were on me, watching me, smiling, his gaze running over every inch of me as I stood there.

I hear footsteps echo against the floor, getting louder, and closer, and my nipples harden, the crisp air feeling hot and thick in the silence- knowing he was coming, what he would do, heightened everything.

“Always so obedient,” Ruhn’s voice ran over me like a caress, prickling my skin and I shivered under it, knowing he was inches from me. I swallow as his cold hand traced up the sleeve of my dress, moving slowly before resting against my chest, right over my thundering heart. “Nervous? Or excited?”

“Both,” I whisper, my voice breaking under the pressure of it all, his fingers teasing against my hot skin, barely touching me and yet it felt like I could feel him everywhere.

“Good,” He praised, and I inhaled as he slipped his hand into mine, tugging me forward. I followed, blindly, obediently, walking forward as he led me further into the room before eventually stopping, likely only a few feet from his bed.

His hand slipped from mine and the need to open my eyes intensified, the desire to see him almost overwhelming, especially as he circled me, like a predator, not speaking as he came to stand behind me, his hands clamped down like a vice on my waist.

“Do you want to open your eyes, Princess?” He whispers against my ear, and I can smell the mixture of alcohol and apples on his breath, it intoxicated me, and I whimpered quietly, arching my ass into his already hard cock.

“Yes, yes please,” With anyone else I would have been mortified by how my voice shook, at how desperate and helpless I sounded, but not with Ruhn, no, I couldn’t ever feel anything but thrill and need and comfort when with him.

“I think you’ve more than earned your reward,” Ruhn nibbles against my ear, his favourite tactic to make me dizzy, to fill my head with clouds, distracting me wholly. “Go ahead, open your eyes for me, Y/N.”

I inhale once, deep and steadying, and then with a long, slow exhale, I flutter my eyes open.

And my heart stops in my chest.

“Flynn?” I choke out his name, jumping at the sight of him sitting on the bed before me, leaning back on his strong arms, his eyes racking over me like I was prey, “What the fuck?”

“Breathe, just for a second, breathe,” Ruhn instructs from behind me, and my body seems to melt into calm, melt into him. It was as if I were predestined to trust him, to obey his words. I force the air back into my lungs as I stare at Flynn, my body shaking at the look in his eyes- for me.

“I don’t understand,” I mutter, my throat drying out as I glance over my shoulder up at Ruhn, to the pleased smile he wore. I watch as his gaze meets Flynn’s and something passes between them, some unspoken conversation I wasn’t privy to. “Tell me, Ruhn.”

“Flynn was upset that you’ve been avoiding him, he thought he had done something wrong,” Ruhn informs me, looking far too smug. It would have annoyed me if I didn’t feel so guilty for hurting Flynn. “I was more than happy to fill him in on the real reason you were being so distant.”

The real reason. That night, Ruhn’s words, his taunting, seductive, torturous words that have me picturing it all again- Flynn and Ruhn, all over me, touching me, tasting me, fucking me, absolutely ruining me.

“I see you remember it well,” Ruhn chuckles- the prick was taunting me, and I almost hated myself for how my body responded, how my arousal scented through the air, so obvious to the two arrogant males before me. “And we wondered if that certain fantasy was one, we could fulfil for you, Y/N."

“Oh,” It was an idiotic response, one that Ruhn would no doubt endlessly mock me about later, but I was speechless, breathless, my entire being trembling and weak at his words, at the insinuation, nervous under Ruhn’s watchful eyes.

“Is that something you would like, Y/N?” Ruhn mutters, and I sigh as he runs his nose down the vein of my neck, inhaling the scent of me. My eyes glanced to Flynn, patiently waiting, and the sweet smile he wore told me it was all up to me.

“Is- is that something you would want us to do, Ruhn?” My voice is weary as I glance back at him, and upon seeing the fear and concern in my eyes, that he would think I wasn’t happy with him, Ruhn smiles- one that warms my heart.

“I’m yours and you’re mine, Y/N, always,” He kisses my cheek, tenderly, and it’s enough to drive me mad, “But that doesn't mean I can't share, in fact, I'm more than willing to see you being pleasured by us both."

Excitement and thrill- that was always what I felt with Ruhn.

“Then yes,” I breathe the words and instantly the air in the room changes, the two males change and the predators in them, the hunters in them, the instinct of the Fae comes roaring out, their eyes latching onto me.

A low, rumbling sound reverberated through Ruhn’s chest and I felt it vibrate through me, straight to my thrashing heartbeat. I clench my hands as Ruhn turns my face toward his, and the second his lips connect with mine, every worry withers away.

I melt into the way his tongue laps against mine, smooth and graceful, so skilled in making something as simple as a kiss feel as intimate and real as when he fucks me, and it makes me just as wet.

“Why don’t we show Flynn here what’s under this dress, hm?” Ruhn muses against my lips, and I can feel Flynn’s intense stare and it’s almost terrifying how still he is. “Let him see what he's been fantasising about all day."

I gnaw on my lip, nodding my head and turning to watch Flynn’s reaction. Ruhn begins to tug at the zipper at the back, and immediately Flynn’s beautiful face turns lethal, feral, sharpening in a way that made me clamp my legs shut, so desperate to stop the ache there.

He tugs the zipper to the end, and together, we pull the material down my arms and chest, letting it slip over my wide hips and thighs before it pools to the floor at my feet.

“Shit,” Flynn curses, his jaw locking hard enough I can hear his teeth grating, and at that moment, wearing nothing but a black bra and panties, I’m glad that I hadn’t chosen something silly or unflattering to wear today- because he was looking at me like I was the beautiful one.

“I know,” Ruhn says, agreeing with his best friend, his brother, and my cheeks heat at the pride in his voice, the sheer masculine satisfaction. He was pleased with Flynn’s reaction, pleased that his chest was racing wildly, that his throat bobbed as he traced over my skin, pleased at the hard length imprinted against the seam of his jeans. “She looks even better without these on.”

Nausea fills me at the thought of Ruhn unclipping my bra and slipping off my underwear, nausea at the idea of being wholly naked before Flynn, every single curve and roll and stretch mark, all my cellulite and uneven skin and bumps on display.

It had taken me a long time to be comfortable enough for Ruhn to see me naked, and I loved him. Letting Flynn see me that vulnerable seemed like such a big leap to take.

"Is that alright, Y/N?" Flynn asked, and the tenderness in his face almost made me sob, the kind and thoughtful gleam in his eyes that told me that I could trust him told me that he would respect any choice I made.

"It's alright," I nod slowly, pushing down the insecurity and when Ruhn's gentle hands move to the clasp of my bra and he unhooks it, letting my aching breasts fall free of the material, I'm glad for that choice.

I recalled Flynn once stating he was a tits-over-ass man, and right now I could tell he was being honest. I watched as he ran a hand over his jaw, his gaze flickering back and forth between both of my breasts, a deep groan escaping him at the sight of them.

Ruhn chuckles, far too happy as he kneels behind me, his fingers gently hooking into the material of my underwear and began slowly tugging it down, over the curve of my ass and my wide hips, down my thighs, the material getting stuck between the places that touched and eventually down to the floor.

I curled my hands into fists, my nails cutting into my palms as Ruhn held onto each calf and slipped off my heels, one by one, and I giggled at the sound of him tossing the shoes behind us, my clothes and underwear flung back to some faraway corner as well.

"You were right, Ruhn," Flynn states roughly, his tongue lapping out to wet his lips, and I smiled under his eyes, the way they moved over me, over every inch, not blanching at any of me. "She's definitely better without anything on."

Ruhn stood behind me again, running his fingers up and down the length of my back, and something in me purred.

“I think Flynn should get a better look," I mutter, my confidence spiking as I glance back to Ruhn and his smirk is proud, arrogantly proud, "Or a better feel?"

The air went taut as I sauntered toward him, Flynn looking almost nervous as I came to a stop before him, staring down at his perfect form. I place a hand on each of his broad shoulders, my knees weak as I climb onto the mattress, his hands not hesitating to grab my waist and guide me to straddle his lap.

My sore nipples brush against the material of his shirt and my wet, aching core sits perfectly over the seam of his zipper igniting red, hot embers through my entire body. Flynn remains silent as he stares at me, his hands moving over my naked hips and thighs, waiting for me to make the first move.

Even if I could hear his heart racing, his eyes telling me that he was on the very precipice of his control.

"Kiss me, Flynn."

And by Cthona, he kisses me.

The way Flynn kisses is different to Ruhn, his mouth moves against me, all tongue, and teeth, suckling and biting and tasting, and I moan into it, relishing every second of him devouring me, every second of his hands all over me, palming and kneading my flesh, slapping, and clawing at my ass.

“Fuck me, Y/N,” Flynn growls in appreciation and I don’t have a second of reprieve as he kisses down my neck hastily, not hesitating to pluck a nipple into his mouth and suck at the taut bud. Gasps slip past my lips as he rolled it, bit it, lapped at it, the nerves alight as he moved between each, looking damn near giddy as he toyed with them.

The ache between my legs intensifies as he sucks at my breasts and I start rocking back and forth to ease the feeling, the material of his jeans and the hardness of his cock underneath rubbing against my puffy clit perfectly.

"Tsk tsk tsk," Ruhn muses from behind us, and my eyes flutter as I glance at him, moving to sit on the bed beside us, his shirt gone and stars gleaming in his eyes as he watches us. "The poor girls rutting against your clothed cock, Flynn, give her what she wants."

"And what do you want? Hm?" Flynn taunts, trailing his tongue over my nipple, his dewy eyes looking up at me as he does so, and I groan at the sight, and at the hold he has on my hips, halting any movement I try and make.

“Your fingers,” I croak, gripping his large hand and watching his breath catch as I drag it down my stomach, whimpering as I run his calloused fingers over my wet folds. “Right here.”

“You’re going to kill me,” He snarls, and my eyes clamp shut when he circles my clit, firm and sure, his fingers knowing exactly how hard and fast to go, and he has me arching my back and moaning, glad for the hand he had keeping me from toppling over. Flynn smiles, kissing my lips and cheeks, moving his fingers against my clit faster.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly my orgasm seemed to approach, and I knew I wouldn’t last long, not as that fire fanned in my core, edged on by every smooth flick of his fingers at my clit.

“You wanna come, Y/N?" Ruhn asks darkly and when my head turns, I see him palming his hard cock over his jeans, the muscles in his chest clenching and flexing in restraint, watching his best friend finger his girlfriend, and loving every second of it. "Be a good girl and ask Flynn if he'll let you."

"Please, please," I mewl loudly, my head throwing back as Flynn slips two fingers into my sopping cunt, the friction of him fucking his fingers in and out forcing me closer and closer to that edge, "Please, Flynn, let me come."

"So polite, asking me so nicely," Flynn croons and my thighs quake when he crooks his fingers inside me, pressing that magic button that has a swarm spreading through my stomach and core. "How could I possibly say no?"

He hooks his fingers against that spot again, and again, and his thumb brushes my clit and before I know it, I’m falling off the edge of a cliff.

“Flynn, oh-“ I cry out as his fingers drive into me repeatedly, hitting a spot that has my core exploding, hitting me hard and fast and lasting so long that my head starts to spin.

“Atta girl,” Flynn praises, and I feel his smile against my skin as he slows his fingers inside me, feeling every pulse and quake of my orgasm, before slowly slipping them out of me.

I sag forward, resting my forehead against his shoulder for support as I catch my breath, tendrils of release still coiling through me and gradually melting into oblivion. Flynn’s touch is soft across my back, waiting for me to come back down to Midgard.

“How are you feeling, Princess?” Ruhn asks quietly, his hand running through my messy hair, brushing it from my sweaty face and hooking the strands behind an arched ear. I flutter my eyes and meet both their gazes and again, that vicious, relentless monster of need rears its head.

“I feel like I want more,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and the heat that filled their eyes made my entire body ache. “Please.”

“Shit, Ruhn, you weren’t lying when you said she was a good girl,” Flynn growls and I giggle when his hands clamp down on my hips, lifting me with ease to sit on the bed between them both, the two of them rising from their seats. “She does deserve all the praise and rewards.”

“That’s my girl,” Ruhn winks at me and my cheeks burn at his words, joy and shyness filling me at the smile both males wore, looking at me like I was a fucking dream come true. “Move back on the bed, Y/N, we’ll give you what you want,”

Flynn chuckles as I rush to do so, my tits bouncing as I crawl backwards toward the headboard, stopping when I’m in the middle of the bed, space on either side of me.

My mouth waters as the two boys before me begin to reach for their clothes. I watch as Flynn unbuttons his shirt, one by one, almost agonisingly slow before he peels the material off his body revealing inches of muscle and rippling packs.

Where Ruhn was slender and lean, with hard abs and glorious tatted skin, Flynn was bigger, corded muscle and a six-pack for days. My pussy soaked at the sight of them both, grinning like they knew what they were doing to me.

I bite my lip hard enough to hurt as they both reach for their pants, the only sound in the air is my haughty breaths, the clinking of their unlocked belts and the sound of two zippers gracefully sliding down.

I whimper at the sight, a high-pitched, needy sound that makes them both look at me, Flynn raising an amused brow as he reaches down, tugging off his jeans and throwing them to the side, Ruhn following suit.

They were big, both of them. Big and thick, gloriously hung with strong veins and white pearly pre-cum leaking down their tips.

It took me a long time to adjust to Ruhn’s size, and even now my pussy was always too tight, always wrapped around him so painfully that he said it was the sweetest torture. And as I eyed Flynn’s cock, saw how red and angry it looked, I knew he would feel the same.

“Such a pretty girl,” Ruhn muttered, his blue eyes darkening to a tidal wave, a terrifying tsunami as he rounded the bed, his body glorious under the lights as he climbed onto the mattress, settling just behind me. “So, fucking pretty, right Flynn?”

“I can’t argue with you there, Ruhn,” Flynn smirks, and my thighs clench when he crawls onto the bed, his cock rising and hard as he settles just before me, looking down at me like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “I’m very jealous of your boyfriend, Y/N.”

He runs his hands up my calves, his touch bare as he moves up and down, going as high as my hip bone before swiftly moving back down, all the way to my ankles.

“Poor Flynn,” Ruhn laughs, and I groan as his hand slips around my neck, curling his fingers to grip my jugular, tipping my head back to meet his face above me, “You wanna help make our friend feel better, Princess?”

I grin, and Ruhn’s face is a mirror of mine as his hand slips away and I roll over and onto my front, my knees spreading and ass arching into the air. Flynn’s breath audibly catches, and the sound he makes is animal, purely Fae, at the sight of my pussy wet and bare, waiting for him.

“Flynn,” I mewl, my head sagging forward and resting against Ruhn’s stomach as Flynn runs his hands over my ass, scratching and fondling the flesh, but he doesn’t move further. “Please just fuck me, I can’t wait-“

“There we go,” Ruhn mutters and I can hear his grin as Flynn rubs his tip over my wet fold and before I can even moan, he’s pushing the head into my entrance, choking on a rough laugh as my pussy immediately sucks him in.

The sounds that escape me are high-pitched and restless as Flynn shoves the rest of his length inside me, not being gentle or slow, and I’m glad for it. Glad for the way he stretches me so thoroughly, glad that I can feel him sink all the way in, brushing a spot far and deep inside.

“Gods above,” Flynn growls, his nails cutting into the flesh of my ass as he draws himself out, nearly to the tip before plunging back in, the sound of skin slapping and my wetness making Ruhn groan. He swears lowly, watching as I suck up his length inch by inch, starting to move faster against me now.

Ruhn runs his hands over my hair, his face full of pride as he watches me kneel before him, my body wrecking back and forth, my tits bouncing as Flynn pounds into me, our moans a melody.

“Ruhn, Ruhn,” I plead, my wide eyes meeting his and he runs his thumb over my lip, a knowing gleam in his eyes, “Fuck my mouth, baby please, fuck my mouth.”

He didn’t say anything, nor did he wait, and my entire body trembled as his fingers gently collected my hair behind me, easily guiding me over his erect cock, waiting so patiently before me, and I closed my eyes as he brushed the tip over my lips and then pushed into my mouth.

“Shit, Y/N,” Ruhn groaned as he fisted my hair, guiding my head up and down his shaft, hitting the back of my throat more than once. I gagged and then moaned, Flynn spreading my thighs wider, and sinking deep into a tender spot within me.

There was so much spit drooling from my mouth, making a mess of Ruhn’s cock and stomach as he bucked his hips up, fucking my mouth just the way I liked, and as Flynn moved behind me in tandem, his cock slipping in and out, in and out, relentlessly, I was a whimpering, breaking mess.

It felt so good, felt so fucking right getting fucked at either end of me, and Ruhn swore, his body twitching as I moaned around his cock, the sound vibrating through him, bringing him closer and closer to that sweet edge.

“Shit, Y/N, shit,” Flynn gasped, his voice rasping and hoarse, breathless as he gripped my ass, as he had his way with me, still so painfully big but the hurt felt good, brought me closer to my end. “Look at that pussy, wrapped around me so fucking tight.”

His words encouraged me, and I suckled against Ruhn’s cock harder, tasting the familiar saltiness of his pre-cum, loving the ache of his fingers yanking at my hair, the pain at odds with the fullness of Flynn pounding into me, that dam inside me starting to fill.

“Princess, I’m not gonna last,” Ruhn warns, his fingers tightening in my hair, his hips stuttering, and I take it upon myself to get him there, to hear him moan my name as I suck against him, hard and fast, hollowing my cheeks and taking him even further down my throat. “Oh fuck- Y/N.”

He growls an animalistic, rugged sound that echoes through the whole room and makes my clit throb, his body jerking as I feel the warm, salty liquid squirt from his cock straight down my throat. I swallow, I always swallow, moaning happily as I do.

“Flynn, I’m so close,” I call out, Ruhn’s semi-hard cock resting against his stomach now and my face burying into his hip, feeling the tender touch of my boyfriend's hand in my hair, so opposing to the brutal, bruising hold of Flynn behind me.

“Me too, Y/N,” Flynn hissed, his cock starting to hammer into me quicker, and I can barely stop the shaking in my knees. I gasp when his thumb reaches around me, rubbing messily at my clit, and the angle changes, moving further and every single touch is too fucking much.

“There, there, there-“ I call out again and again and again, teeth biting against Ruhn’s thigh, something he fucking loves, as I’m hit with my release, a wildfire that starts at my core, and just erupts, moving through my veins and blood and bones and I can’t stop the sounds coming from me.

Flynn’s hips start to falter, curses endlessly falling from his lips as my pussy clenches around him like a vice, so tight and unyielding that he roars, stilling and growling as his cock spills inside me, filling me up.

Pleasure, hot and white and blinding, dying out so slow as Flynn moves inside me gradually, spreading his hot cum all over me, and it all feels like heaven.

I huff out a huge breath of air, my eyes clamped shut and head spinning and when Flynn ever so gently slips out of me, his hands holding onto the flesh of my hips and guiding me to turn and lay flat on my back, I don’t even fight it.

Pure exhaustion riddles me, so much so, that I lay there, my head against Ruhn’s thigh and my body trembling and weak against the mattress, unable to stop how my core throbs with the aftermath of my orgasm.

I blink open my eyes after several seconds and I’m met with the two males before me, their eyes returned to their usual bright shades of blue and brown, and their lips tilted up, sweet and wonderful as ever.

We’re all covered in sweat and panting, but as Ruhn look down at me from behind, and Flynn sits between my legs, rubbing at my weak thighs, I know we’re all fucked out- for now.

“Did that live up to the fantasy?” Ruhn mutters, his smile adoring as he brushes the hair free from my sweaty forehead, his fingers so gentle as he rubs the spots on my scalp he had yanked at before.

“Better than any fantasy,” I breathe, my cheeks hot as I grin, and Ruhn’s eyes brighten as he takes me in. I gnaw on my cheek, glancing forward to Flynn, his eyes never once leaving mine, “And for you, Flynn?”

“I agree, Y/N,” He smirks, his grip tightening around my thigh, and the look is so telling, that even Ruhn laughs, “So much so that I’ve got a few more fantasies that we could try.”

----------

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

[dreadsuitsamus]

Cuddling With Saiyans Headcanons

author's note: i love snuggles. also once again the character banners you see in this post were created by the amazing @actuallysaiyan!! ❤️

pairings: vegeta x fem!reader, goku x fem!reader, broly x fem!reader, gohan x fem!reader

warnings: snuggles, mentions of nightmares, light nsfw if you squint

is not much of a cuddler, obviously

or is that just what he wants you to think?

Vegeta, like all saiyans, runs hot and will keep you warm if you let him

key being, if you let him

he will never initiate snuggle time

but if you pull him in, or simply ask him to, he folds

he'll scoop you up in those beefy arms and hold you just how you like

he personally likes to be the big spoon, but he'll never even admit he likes spooning at all

if you get up or move around at any point in the night, you've lost your snuggle privileges only because he sleeps so heavily that he won't be up to readjust anytime soon

and when he's up, he's at it and going to start the day's training

so consider your options carefully next time you have to pee and his arms are locked so tightly around you that it's squeezing your bladder for dear life

nine times out of ten, you'll wake up to find Vegeta on top of you, shielding your body with his

even during slumber, his top priority is your safety

Vegeta likes to rub the tip of that sharp nose against you, be it the curve of your neck and shoulder or against your cheek

he doesn't know it, but he used to do that to his mother as well when he was a young boy

playing with Vegeta's hair is the one surefire way to get him to sleep when he otherwise has a hard time doing so

don't start humming though, it makes him angry. he'll start muttering about his pride and how lullabies are for babies

he'd like you to keep giving him the sweet forehead kisses though

Goku is the king of snuggling

he's already always down for a nap, so if you need some quality Goku snuggle time, just get in bed and wait a few minutes

literally, he's got a sixth sense for these things

likes to tuck his face into your neck because you smell good, and he likes nuzzling into your natural smell that lies below the artificial scents you wear

runs like a damn furnace, so always make sure to wear a skimpy pajama set, or nothing at all

don't rile him up though or the snuggling is just gonna have to wait

he snores, but he's so soft about it that it doesn't bother you

Goku rarely ever feels particularly down or sad, but sometimes he does and snuggles are a perfect cure

sit on his lap and he'll take it from there, hiding his face in your chest and slipping his arms around you tightly

play with his hair a bit and he's putty in your hands, especially when you massage the top of his scalp with your nails

eventually he'll tell you what's on his mind, and after you talk it out, he's feeling better but very much still wants to cuddle

Goku does not. let. go. until he's had his fill

so DO NOT cuddle with him if you either haven't gone pee in a while or have errands to run later

he'd let go if you asked of course, but not without giving you those pitiful puppy dog eyes

so don't break his poor lil heart and just keep snuggling with him as long as he wants, okay?

nobody ever died from a lil bit of saiyan cuddling, after all

Broly isn't keen on cuddling at the beginning of your relationship

he actually craves comfort, but physical touch is hard for him to accept since the concept is so foreign to him

that being said, being around you is quite the comfort in itself for Broly, so laying in bed with you already works wonders

slowly he warms up to you, like sleeping just a tad closer than even the night before

he can feel the heat from your body, and the backs of his fingers curiously brush against the soft skin of your arm

he takes your hand in his one night, and keeps holding it even after you fall asleep

you're warm and soft and it's all he's ever wanted in his life

from that point on, he quickly warms up to your touch and is a clingy saiyan like no other

his hold is almost too tight, and when you start to wheeze is when you decide it would be in your best interests to ask him to ease up

but goodness he loves to hold you to his large chest, one hand on your hip and the other at the center of your back

Broly unfortunately suffers from nightmares

and though he'd never hurt you intentionally, it's definitely a risk to be near him when he's having a nightmare

there's nothing much you can do but wait it out and soothe him when he wakes up

he appreciates it nonetheless, and as your bond strengthens they become less frequent

Broly holds you like you're a teddy bear, and oftentimes will just scoop you up from your place and hold you

it is not uncommon to wake up completely on top of him and locked in those big arms

he loves to cuddle but doesn't quite know how to ask for it, so he literally will just pick you up and hold you as he pleases

if you tell him no then he will obviously respect that

broly is very big on consent, ever since you taught him just what it is and he realizes how he's been violated of it his entire life

he's a gentle giant, and you've really expected no less from him when it comes to cuddling

his tail will wrap around you as well, keeping you as close as possible

he does snore, but his sleeping face is cute so it's okay

Gohan can be a bit of a loner, as a result of his eventful childhood

so when he met you, he was cautious yet anxious to have a connection with someone not an alien or batshit insane!

so he takes your relationship slow and sweetly, and when you start staying over at his place or vice versa he is so excited

he's always touching you, kissing you, in general just being so damn sweet on you that he's practically buzzing

and he's internally kicking himself for being so clingy, so when bedtime rolls around he lays completely still

no touching at all

and it takes everything in you not to laugh at this silly, adorable man

when you finally roll over into his side and snuggle up to him, he relaxes and kisses your forehead while moving those deceptively strong arms around you

Gohan likes to rub his hands along your back and gently digs his knuckles in circles against any tense spots

he normally will wear a long sleeve shirt and a soft pair of pj pants to bed, but usually takes his shirt off before falling asleep since his blood runs so hot

likes it when you trace the lines of his abs, and that alone sometimes is the only reason he gets some training in

Gohan likes to watch documentaries before bed and takes great pleasure in explaining things you may not understand in greater detail

you, on the other hand, just like the look on his face when he's excited, so that's why you ask so many questions

your extended knowledge for trivia games as a result is just a nice little side effect

sometimes work and research can get to Gohan, and when you can't get him out of the office you resort to sitting on his lap and tucking his face into your chest

Gohan is literally defenseless against it and will have no choice but to relax against you and take a break

he takes after his father and hardly snores at all

not-so-secretly likes to be the little spoon

when Pan is born, they become the ultimate snuggle buddies and you only feel a little left out because they look so damn precious when they're cuddling

you're still Gohan's favorite though, forever and always

[railingsofsorrow]

an apple doesn't fall far from the tree (until it does)

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: reader takes care of her daughter while she's sick and some memories of her childhood resurface.

pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader

w.c: 2.2K

warnings/content: being neglected by a parent; reader has mommy issues & spencer has daddy issues; crying; discussions about a difficult childhood; insecurities; mentions of v*mit and fever (the flu symptoms); Eden Reid being everyone's source of joy; Spencer in glasses always; hurt/comfort; very brief (implied) suggestive content; spiders; I proofread this at 2am.

A/N: here's my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins kid fic challenge i was so sad that I didn't see this until after May 1 :( but here it is! absolutely love writing about dad!spencer. it's legit a source of inspiration.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

want to read more works about this au?

→ [recharging] - [day off]

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“No, it's the other way around.” You laugh when Eden places the egg shells inside the cake batter instead of the egg yolk.

“Oh,” she mumbles with parted lips. Then squirms away and giggles when you tickle her sides. You do manage to get most of the egg shells out of the batter. “Sorry, mamma.”

“It's okay, baby. Now what's next?”

She studies every material in the counter thoroughly, her fingers moving as she thinks it over. That's the moment you stop and stare fondly because of how much she resembles her father. Her hair had grown longer in the past few months, it's nearly past her shoulders and the honey brown curls are exactly like Spencer's.

“Sugar!” She raises her pointer finger, giving you an eager look, anxious to know if she's correct or wrong. You take a few seconds to build suspense and reveals the veredic. Eden jumps in the chair in excitement and you gasp, holding her in place so she wouldn't fall.

One of your favourite sounds in the whole word is Eden's laughter. It's contagious and childish and unforgettable. And a bit healing, if you're being honest. In case you're feeling a little down, making Eden giggle is the cure.

When you were called at the school by her teacher today because your daughter had threw up during class, you were finishing up the pile of paperwork in your desk. It took some convincing for Spencer not to immediately run to the school, but when he heard she had asked for you in the phonecall, he caved in. Giving you one condition: to send updates of Eden's wellbeing every hour so he could know how she was.

Your husband listed at least a thousand medications and natural medicine to help with the symptoms before you were able to leave the office.

Eden had the flu, that's what the doctor said. She needed rest, the strawberry flavoured syrup, the medication to avoid nausea and cuddles to heal faster.

Thankfully, she was laughing again by the afternoon, which meant she was feeling slightly better. You noticed her paleness diminished after taking the medication and having a good four-hour nap, her fever had also went down.

“Good girl,” you praise after she takes a spoon of her medication not hiding her grimace. “Now we wait for the cake to be ready so we can have a big bite.”

She nods dutifully, rubbing her eyes with her small hands. You recognise the sign of a sleepy child, so you scoop her up and take her to her bedroom.

Although, before you place her in bed with her stuffed friends, you decide to keep her in your arms for a while longer, mumbling a lullaby softly while rocking her to sleep. Almost like when she was a baby, the difference now is that she's bigger and not bald.

It doesn't take ten minutes for her soft snores to be heard. You put her to bed and leave the door ajar in case she needs you during the night. You would come check in on her every hour anyway, to make sure her fever wouldn't rise again.

There's this weird thing about being a parent: you never quit worrying. It's not exactly weird, it is, in your case, the maternal instinct that you can't avoid. It was there ever since Eden was born.

The reason why you find that odd is because you never had that. Not when you were a child, not when you were a rebel teenager, not as an adult. In fact, you were pretty convinced your mother's maternal instinct was nonexistent.

The only time you remember being held by your mom was when you cut your head when you fell down the stairs and you had to spend an entire night for observation. She held your hand as you slept the entire time, kissed your temple and then told you she loved you. She never did it again. Eden's grandmother wasn't maternal, she wasn't a fan of bedtime stories or mother and daughter times.

But she takes Eden to school and insists on staying with her on some weekends so they can bake Eden's favourite biscuits and decorate it.

She wasn't your mother when you needed, but she is a good grandmother to your daughter.

You don't understand it. You are thankful, of course. It's not like you expected that she would treat Eden bad or anything, but you can't help but wonder if that coldness and distance was just reserved for you as a child? And what did you do to deserve that. You must have done something. Still, she never told you what.

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the hallway in the dark?”

You let out a gasp, quickly covering your mouth. You take a glimpse inside Eden's room through the small space left and notice her sleeping frame tucked in with Mr. Greenie.

You had been sitting on the floor, staring at nothing in the dark in the middle of the hall, which is why Spencer is questioning you, rightfully so. But he startled you.

“I'm monitoring,” you say rather dumbly but out of excuses. “... her fever.”

He lifts his glasses up his nose — he recently went back to wearing because his eyes got too sensitive for contacts — while squinting doubtfully at you, then he turns on the light to sit down crisscrossed by your side after also taking a look inside Eden's bedroom. He would give her a goodnight kiss in a minute.

You don't even realize you're crying until his thumb travels across your cheeks to gently wipe your tearstained cheeks. His mouth tugging downwards at your puffy eyes.

“You told me her fever went down an hour ago.”

“It did.”

“Then what's wrong, angel?”

She's fine, you're not. He thinks.

You sniffle, shaking your head. You feel like a child all over again. This is so stupid. You are an adult, why are you still feeling like this? You have your family now, there is no need to dig into the past and suffer. You cannot change anything about it.

He scoots into your personal space, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. You rest your head on his chest, hearing the thump thump of his heartbeat against your ear. For a moment, that's all you thought about. Spencer's hands drawing invisible patterns on your arms and back, muttering softly about his day as to not disturb the peaceful silence and kissing the crown of your head occasionally.

“She's perfect.”

His hands halt on their way up and down your arm. “Yes, she is.” He knows who you were talking about, he always does, like he read your mind.

“I'm scared I might ruin her.”

This sentence alone terrifies you to no end. It's so much deeper than feeling unloved as a child because it isn't about you anymore, it's about the life you created, the life you are raising and watching grow up. The life who carries your DNA, the same one you share with you mother, who is the person that made you question every single encounter with a human being and if you really deserves to be loved.

Every day, you wonder if you were cold or short with Eden at any moment. If, maybe, a comment slipped last your lips and it would define how her day would be. Or if you gave her a look of disapproval that would make her question her way of speaking or her way of being.

You are scared of ending up like her and to have your daughter regret being raised by you.

“That's just not possible.” Spencer says firmly, squeezing you as reassurance. “You're a wonderful person and a wonderful mother, there is just absolutely no way you would ruin her or do anything remotely close.”

“If I'm so wonderful, then why didn't she love me?”

Parents can impact your life in a good way or catastrophically bad. There's the line in between, the gray line. From what Spencer heard you talk about your mother, she leans a little towards the catastrophically bad. It isn't that she doesn't love you. It is about the way she didn't show it.

“It wasn't your fault.”

Spencer finds your mother a sweet woman who took care of Eden when both of you are away on cases, or just because she wants to be with her granddaughter that day. And that's fine, he likes her. She's okay. What isn't okay is how she left you to drown in doubt in your childhood as you questioned every action you did in your entire life afterwards.

That was cruel and cold and unfair. You might forgive her for how she treated you one day, but he wouldn't.

You scoff, harshly drying your tears as they kept coming. “I must have done something.”

“You were a child.” Spencer insists, caressing your cheek. He understands where the blame comes from, he used to carry that burden, sometimes he still does. Did he make his dad leave? Could he have done something to stop it? The answer is no. A child cannot blame themselves for their parents mistakes.

And that's easier said than done.

“So?”

He sighs, lifting your chin so he can look into your eyes and stick what he is about to say into your brain for good.

“Is there anything Eden could do that would make you treat her with indifference?”

Your brows raise in disbelief, “God, no. She's my everything.”

He gives you a pointed look at your quick answer. You didn't even think twice, you didn't have to. She is your everything. The best part of you. And you would do anything to put a smile on her face. Because that's what parents are supposed to do.

“You know that you're her first source of comfort?”

You tilt your head to show you're listening, focusing on playing with his calloused knuckles. “What do you mean.”

“You're the first person she wants after a nightmare, when she has a bad day at school or even when there's a bug in the room that you're also terrified of.”

You can't hold back the snort that comes out of your mouth.

“You're not talking about spiders, certainly. Remember that night you saw one in our bedroom and screamed so loud our neighbours made fun of us on the weekend?” Spencer rolls his eyes and you carry on, too amused to stop. “They thought we were going at it. like rabbits.”

“Okay,” Spencer huffs, pretending to be annoyed. He can't actually be annoyed at you. “It was huge and what if it had walked all over our bed before we found it? Where was it before? When did it get there? Did you know that the bite of the false widow spider Steatoda nobilis can develop infections that are unresponsive to antibiotics?”

“Baby.” You peck his lips until he stops rambling. You do love when he goes off on a rant but he will just spiral out of control if he thinks anymore about spiders and decide to clean-up the entire house to be convinced there is no spider lurking in the corner. “I killed it, okay? You're safe.”

He hums, leaning forward for another kiss. “My hero,” he mumbles into your lips.

Both of you check Eden's temperature and kiss the mini version of you goodnight before going back to the living room.

“So you do understand, right?” He wraps both arms around you when you sit on the couch, kissing the back of your head. “You're wonderful and kind and lovely and you. Our girl and I couldn't have been more lucky.”

“If you want to make me cry again just say the word, Spencer.” He chuckles, spreading little kisses down your neck, lips wavering closer to your ear.

“Never, but I do want to make you smile, so I got ice cream.”

That makes you turn around fast, an excitement glint on your eyes. “Which flavor?”

His lips twitches into that smug grin when he knows he is right about something. He shrugs pretending to be nonchalant. “Cotton candy, I guess.”

You shoot up from the couch before he can utter another word and run towards the fridge, whispering-yelling I love you so as to not wake up your daughter. Spencer nods with a fond smile, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch you moan over your favorite ice cream and remember the part of your childhood that you enjoyed. Cotton candy, afternoon walks in the park and friends sleepovers.

“I love you,” you confess as your mouth splits into a wide smile while you're kissing him. His tongues travelled through his lips after you split apart and he tastes the sweet flavor of cotton-candy provided by you.

Spencer presses his lips to both of your cheeks and the tip of your nose, gazing down at you lovingly. “I know, and I love you too.”

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie ; @ninkieminjaj ; @hoeshissworld ; @r-3dlips ; @pleasantwitchgarden

[atypicalamortentia]

Your writing is so good~ <3 Would you do a general HC for Sebastian, please? 🥺

Sebastian Sallow General Headcannons

Synopsis - General headcannons for our boy Sebastian Sallow.

Warnings - SFW/NSFW.

Notes - All characters are 18+!

Word Count - 1.2k.

[Caffeinate Me]

SFW:

: ̗̀➛ If you’re in Slytherin, Sebastian Sallow first meets you in the Slytherin dorm room. He’s reading alone when you approach him to say hello. If you’re in a different house, you first meet in Defence Against The Dark Arts class.

: ̗̀➛ You and Sebastian have a duel using levioso, basic cast and protago. To his surprise, you win the duel, leaving him completely dumbfounded by your skills. 

: ̗̀➛ Falls for you immediately after that. He can’t believe he was bested in a duel by the newbie. 

: ̗̀➛ You quickly become really good friends. He tells you about the situation with Anne and his uncle Solomon. You vow to help him search for a cure for his twin. 

: ̗̀➛ Will sit next to you in classes and annoy you until you’re both laughing discreetly at the back of class. Ominis elbowing you both in the sides to try and get you to pay attention to the professor. 

: ̗̀➛ Takes you to Hogsmeade quite a lot after your first trip. He just likes being out of the castle, and especially with you by his side. 

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian takes you to his home back in Feldcroft eventually. You meet Anne who immediately pulls you into a hug whilst saying “I’ve heard so much about you!” 

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian is a blushing, bumbling mess as his sister continues to tease him about his obvious crush on you. You just laugh it off, thinking Anne is playing some kind of prank on her brother. 

: ̗̀➛ You stay over at the Sallow residence that evening. You sleep in Sebastian’s bed and he sleeps on the sofa. 

: ̗̀➛ While you’re sleeping, Sebastian enters his room looking for a book to read before he goes to sleep himself, but he stops when he sees you sleeping peacefully. 

: ̗̀➛  His eyes widen as he sees you curled up under his covers, snoring lightly. Your hair was over your face and he couldn’t help but move it to make you more comfortable in your sleep. 

: ̗̀➛  You wake up slowly upon feeling his hand graze your cheek. “Sebastian?” You ask, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

: ̗̀➛ “Y-Yeah, it’s me,” he stuttered, quickly moving his hand away from your face. 

: ̗̀➛ You end up talking for what feels like hours after he accidentally woke you up. It was in that moment that Sebastian realised he loves you. 

: ̗̀➛ After that night, Sebastian can’t look at you the same at all. He looks at you with love in his eyes and affection in his heart. He wants you to be his, so badly. 

: ̗̀➛ Will ask you out awkwardly during dinner time. 

: ̗̀➛ “Hey Y/N… Do you maybe wanna uhm… Maybe wanna grab a butterbeer with me some time?” 

: ̗̀➛ You obviously say yes. Why wouldn’t you?

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian was delighted that you had agreed to go on a date with him. 

: ̗̀➛ Is VERY nervous. He’s stammering and stuttering all over his words. Constantly saying how perfect you look and how he’s so happy you agreed to the date. 

: ̗̀➛ Orders a million drinks and ends up getting quite drunk to calm his nerves down. It works though, eventually he’s able to have a natural conversation with you.

: ̗̀➛ Takes you back to your common room that night. You kiss him on the cheek and his brain short circuits. 

: ̗̀➛ Oh my, she just kissed me…

: ̗̀➛  Is extremely affectionate with you; giving you kisses on the cheek and holding your hands even when you’re around people. 

: ̗̀➛ Says ‘I love you’ alot once you get to that point in the relationship. He wants you to know just how much he cares for you. 

: ̗̀➛ You spend your time together hanging out in the undercroft, practising your magic and a variety of different spells. 

: ̗̀➛ You also help Sebastian with trying to find a cure for Anne. 

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian is quick to ask you to move to Feldcroft with him, offering you space in his home with his uncle and sister. 

: ̗̀➛ As soon as you graduate Hogwarts, Sebastian proposes to you. You’re having a little party with your friends in the Three Broomsticks when Sebastian gets on one knee, looking up at you with his beautiful brown eyes filled with so much hope. 

: ̗̀➛ You’re definitely shocked. You had no idea that Sebastian had any interest in getting married, but you agreed. 

: ̗̀➛ As soon as he placed the beautiful engagement ring on your finger, Sebastian pulls you in for a deep kiss. Your friends are all whooping and cheering for the two of you. 

: ̗̀➛ You get married a year later in Feldcroft.

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian lets you pick where you honeymoon. So pick wisely! 

: ̗̀➛ It’s so cliche, but you get pregnant on your honeymoon. 

: ̗̀➛ You end up having twins, a boy and a girl. Once again, Sebastian lets you pick the names of your children. 

: ̗̀➛ You both end up getting your own home in Feldcroft shortly after you have the twins. It’s a beautiful home, one that you had always dreamed of. You knew that you would stay there for many years to come. 

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian couldn’t be happier with his life now that you were in it. 

NSFW: 

: ̗̀➛ Your first time is at his home when you visit. 

: ̗̀➛ His uncle and sister are out, getting groceries when Sebastian makes his move. 

: ̗̀➛ He pulls you on top of him, kissing you deeply while his hands roam your body desperately. In between your whimpers and moans, Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk. 

: ̗̀➛ “Merlin, I want you,” Sebastian whispered huskily into your lips. 

: ̗̀➛ You couldn’t reply with words. You just nodded your head excitedly, giving him your consent. 

: ̗̀➛ He was quick to remove your clothes, throwing them into a pile on the floor. 

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian took his time with you, letting his inexperienced hands trail your body. He wanted to explore every inch of you. 

: ̗̀➛ “Don’t tease me Sebastian,” you groaned to him.

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian laughed and nodded, pulling down his own trousers and pumping at his cock slowly. You watched with wide eyes as it went from semi-hard to hard almost immediately. 

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian had you lay on your back, legs spread wide. He watched with wonder as he slicked his tip against your cunt, coating it with your incredible wetness. 

: ̗̀➛ He slowly slipped inside of you, his mouth hanging open as he felt the warmth of your cunt envelope him. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before. 

: ̗̀➛ You let out a soft moan as Sebastian began his movements. Slow and steady, he looked down on you, admiring the way your face contorted into pleasured expressions. 

: ̗̀➛ He was proud of himself as he thrusted into you. Bagging a beautiful woman like you was something he never thought he would ever do in his life. 

: ̗̀➛ Sebastian cums pretty quickly the first time you have sex. He’s slightly embarrassed but you reassure him that it was okay. 

: ̗̀➛ His favourite position is any where he can see your face. Whether he’s on top or you’re on top, he doesn’t care. As long as he can see your beautiful face. 

: ̗̀➛ Doesn’t like to use protection often and will make you a potion to prevent pregnancy until you’re ready for children. 

: ̗̀➛ Long, deep kisses always turn into sex. 

: ̗̀➛ Will fuck you anywhere at any time. You’re cooking dinner? You look so good taking care of him. You’re watching TV? You look so beautiful while concentrating. 

: ̗̀➛ At the end of the day, Sebastian is deep in love with you and he always will be.

Thank you for the support anon. I hope these are okay for you&lt;3

[whereireid]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇 — based on this ask | masterlist

pairing: miles quaritch x fem!reader

Summary: What Colonel Quaritch misses most about planet Earth are the woman. Luckily, you're a human whose more than eager to please to your superior.

— warnings: interspecies relationship ! nsfw content MDNI: tit fucking, imbalance of power, ruts

There is nothing that Colonel Quartich misses about Earth.

Nothing but the women.

Pandora is beautiful. A world with extravagant wildlife, the nature of the planet so beautiful and blue, with specks of lilac purple and lavender hues. It's foolish to not be in awe of such beauty, and Quaritch is no fool. He is in awe of everything that Pandora has to offer.

Except the women.

The women of Pandora. The Na'vi, and the Avatars, made of carbon fibre — body hard, rigid and strong, conditioned to survive the difficult climate. Though beautiful, with specks of Aqua blue and long, delicate limbs, they're not plush. There's nothing soft about the women of Pandora.

Quaritch wishes that he could be attracted to them. Especially since a perk of being an Avatar now means he suffers through a rut — a period where he literally gets so horny that the only way to cure his arousal is to fuck something.

Anything.

Even when in a rut, though, he can't bring himself to do it. His hands will linger on an Avatar, falling on their skin, which is hard and rough, and every feeling of arousal will disappear.

Quaritch needs relief. Desperately. His hand isn't enough anymore — it just leaves him with more frustration than before he even tried.

So, when he spots you, it feels like fate.

You're a scientist, a newbie, with pinned-up hair, two curls crusading down the sides of your face, a soft smile on your lips. A soft smile, which meets your eyes and has the corners crinkling. His eyes fall, tracing your body with his eyes, and he realises that he's found exactly what he's been looking for.

Quaritch waits, and watches. He's not sure when the right time to approach even is. He's been out of the game for a long time, now — the women of Pandora don't need charisma. They're easily pleased.

So, when you approach Quaritch, he's incredibly thankful.

"Colonel," you squeak, staring up at your superior officer, your small frame practically trembling beneath him. "I was asked by some of the other members of the science team, to ask you if on your next mission to the forests of Pandora, if — if you could bring back some fresh fruit."

He blinks down at you. Once, twice. You shuffle on your feet, neck craned in an impossibly awkward position to be able to see him. You're smiling, and it doesn't waver. Not even when he scowls, and grunts, "I can."

"You — you can?"

"Do you make your other superior officers repeat themselves?" Quaritch asks, trying to ignore the discomfort in his pants when your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"No, Colonel."

"I didn't think so." He kisses his teeth, tongue darting over his fangs. "I can get you the fruit, but only if you can do something for me."

"Anything."

Quaritch smiles.

That's how he manages to sort his issues out.

You're so delicate that it drives him crazy. All sense of dignity was abandoned long ago, when he'd first made his proposal — how could you say no to somebody whose so desperate for relief? Perhaps you are, too, with your crush on the Colonel consuming you, day-in, day-out.

"You're so soft," he says, his voice so low that it sounds like he's growling. His fingers toy with your nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers, watching as your breath hitches as he does so. "Sunshine, you have got no fuckin' idea how hard you make me."

"Show me," you whisper, voice sultry and seductive, tensing as he fingers pinch at your nipples gently.

There's nothing more perfect than you. In that moment, every issue of Quaritch's erodes away. He's got you exactly where he wants you — on your knees, your tits pushed together as much as they possibly can be, his cock sheathed between them.

"That hurt, sunshine? Squeezin' 'em so tight just to please me?"

You nod your head, your lips drawn between your teeth, your eyebrows crinkled in concentration. His cock is all lubed up, making it that much more slippery. It's so soft, so plush, your tits so perfect and round. So big, on human standards, but so small in comparison to his cock.

Holy shit, you're perfect.

You let him use your tits like you're a fuck-doll. Quaritch fucks into you, rolling his hips into your tits, groaning as the squelching sounds of the lube clap around his office. They bounce, they jiggle, they take him so well, and your eyes are so focused and you're pushing your tits together so hard, just so he can get a good grip.

It makes his orgasm that much better. His cock twitches, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. There's a heat which pools in his lower belly as he finishes, painting your chest with his cum, some shooting onto your chin and lips.

You're such a pretty mess. Quaritch collects his cum from your face, pushing it between your lips, and you suck, and he groans. His cock is still nestled between your tits, basking in the softness of you, the pillow-like cushion of your flesh.

He's going to have to do this again.

[myheadhurtscutely]

i'm craving some fluff with sam monroe rn. sharing my thoughts and curious for yours?? just rambling lol ❤️❤️❤️

listening to music in sam's room with him, maybe getting ready for something? a concert? and fixing his makeup, his hands unable to leave your hips as you work. ofc his eyes are glued to your lips (and occasionally drift down to your tits) and there's just a soft, unspoken connection between you two. i'm imagining he listens to The Cure (idk if it's really his type of music i'm not all into that culture ngl) and it's just a gentle scene. ofc later on after the concert is over (or whatever event) he can't help but wanna make out with you, maybe you're sitting on his lap in his car. maybe there's a bit of tension- but you two make out until the sun comes up, and return to your respective houses with the both of your makeup messed up. i also feel like he's the type to either be too nervous to hold onto you in public when he's sober, but if he's had anything at all he's all grabby and aggressive with it. I think he'd get jealous a lot when he's not sober too. Definitely the type to get into a fight if he thinks some guy is looking at you too much.

idk if it's too in character but i love my emo bf💋

friends to lovers?Sam Monroe x Reader

wc' 878

Warnings! mention of a tiny bit of violence, marijuana use, sexual implications but nothing crazy. crazy amounts of fluff tbh.

LORD HAVE MERCY THANK YOU

i love this.

you and sam are best buds, like comfortable silence type close. You have always gone to concerts together and what not. You were both the social rejects, and that was okay. Because you had each other.

whilst the friendship was cute and close, it was extremely abnormal in some ways like you laying on his chest after school in his room while he showed you some underground pierce the veil and souxie and the banshees. He knew you liked them so he would do everything he could to peak your interest. His odd fixation with your body, lips, and face was not a friend kind of normal either.

You and sam had eagerly been waiting for months. concert tickets ready. and outfits picked and packed. It was your guys favorite band and some how you had snagged tickets a couple months back for a birthday gift to sam. He obviously was overjoyed when you surprised him with this. it gave him a reason to be delusional. he'd often lie awake, listening to your breathing on the other end of the phone whilst you slept, practicing his confession.

Today was the day. Sam came over with his pre rolls, tickets, and his dingy old eyeliner stick. He tried to fix his hair up a bit so he could look good for you guys wouldn't have to loose anymore time getting ready.

You opened the door to your room, guiding him to your bed to sit where he's sat countless times before. "go ahead and light one while i get my stuff ready." Sam might as well been in a trance, not listening to a word you said. you looked perfect. You were already ready to go, make up, hair, outfit, all perfect in everyway.

Sam fumbled with his joint and lighter after finally coming back down to earth and recalling what you told him. You and him both took drags of it as you put your pallets near you on the bed, sitting yourself on sams lap. His head leaned back against the pillow to look at your pretty face hanging over him.

sams hands naturally rested on your hips, like every other time you did his makeup but this time was different. His hands drug up your sides, his mind falling between his imagination and reality. He had done this a million times in his head, though he'd never admit it. He couldn't fathom how soft and beautiful you were sat on his waist like that. He hoped you didn't notice the prodding object growing underneath you. He had always told you it just does that when he's high. You shrugged it off.

His lips were mere inches from yours as you gently smudged his liner, looking up closely to make sure your work was perfect. He couldn't do anything but smile. even with his eyes closed he felt your divine prescence warming up his insides.

Your lips quickly brushed his cheek as you excitedly praised your handy work, urging him to look at the mirror. His face was beat red, almost as if you smacked the fuck out of him and left the imprint of you. He smiled the whole way to the concert.

"have you ever shot gunned before?" you asked him in the back of the taxi with a plotting grin, joint slowly burning in your hand.

the ride back home after the concert was quiet. you and sam had gotten the both of you kicked out.

Some guy had tried to dance with you, and eventually went as far as to borderline grope you. In no world would sam let that happen, so in response, he busted him in the face. you were quick to follow with a swift kick to his gut as he was knelt at your feet. so now here you were. back in the taxi, already on the way back home

Neither of you knew what to say. You felt bad cause it was sams birthday gift, and he felt bad cause he couldn't imagine how distressing that must've been.. and did you see him differently?

your hand slowly slid over to his in the backseat. you both knew peace in that moment. everything was ok. tired eyes met the others as you both give crooked smiles, to further affirm your feelings.

you and sam took turns, brushing each others thumbs the rest of the way.

You and sam didn't wanna go home yet. The taxi driver dropped you off at your car in the lot near home, and you both escaped the frigid air by climbing inside. The backseat was pretty empty except for some blankets and a couple of sams clothes from the last sleepover.

The both of you climbed to the back, seeing as neither of you planned on getting home for the rest of the night, feeling too weary and disoriented to travel any longer, much less separate for the night.

A cold chill shook you against sam as your body laid in between his, propped up against the passenger door. "Cold?" Sam asked, rubbing his hands up your arms, sliding over your goosebumps.

Sam adjusted himself sliding off his oversized jacket, opting to make it a blanket for you instead. As the hum of cars passed you both by, and the rain pattered on the windows of the car, he pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head.

note' i know this wasnt exactly what you had in mind but i loved this idea and i kinda ran with it, tysm!

[azullumi]

“heart to heart” ; kaveh, wanderer, xiao

summary — he could only watch as you die ; alternatively, he’s there to comfort and hold you as you take your last breath.

characters — kaveh, wanderer, and xiao (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — angst but not that heavy but not that light also, grammatical errors bcs i don’t like to proofread, established relationship ; scenario/one-shot

words — 1431

note — u all had too much fluff these past few days, anyways, this is part 2 out of 2!! read the previous one here (^^)/

;; KAVEH

not again.

you were his but right now, death seems to hold on to your hand as if you were never his own, the half of him, his heart and his soul. they cannot take you from him, not again, not you—why does he always someone dear to him? why does it have to be you?

“how about a house on top of the hills or the mountains?” you say over the warm beverage that you held in between your hands and a short sound of laughter escapes him, “wouldn’t that be dangerous? a landslide could occur while we’re inside our home.”

“at least we’re going to die together, right?” he pauses, turning around to meet your tender gaze and he answered with a small smile on his lips. “that is romantic but i would rather grow old with you and die together by natural causes.”

“i can’t fight anymore. i’m… tired.” you muttered, loud enough for him to hear, as you could only stare at the same boring ceiling—he insisted that it was beautiful by the time this very home was built but if you were to always see it, wouldn’t you be tired of its beauty?—and lay on the soft bed. it’s almost like you were a corpse and oftentimes, the thought of death being the kindest thing for the both of you two occurs in your head.

“don’t say that, please…”

you couldn’t live until you were old and frail with him but even so, you were happy. you were happy that you got to meet him, you were happy that someone as lovely as him was willing to kiss your scars gently as if all that you were was a fragile being. in the short amount of time you have spent together with him, he made you the happiest, the most loved, the most cherished, he made you feel alive.

“i don’t care where we are as long as i’m there with you.” he murmurs against your lips, a pretty shade of pink and smiling. you tangle your fingers in the strands of his blonde hair, feeling his breath fan your skin and it was ticklish yet comforting at the same. “what if you’re not there?”

he presses yet another kiss, a short one but the sweetness lingered on your own when he parted. “i will be there, always, holding your hand.”

“i’m getting sleepy, kaveh…”

he chokes on his own sob, hand coming up to hold your own and intertwine it with his. he squeezed it rather softly and you tried to do the same but there was nothing left in you, just a slow heart and a weak body that is holding on to the faint light that you call life. “p-please, hold on a little much longer, okay? i’ll find a cure, i’ll find the medicine for you so please—stay awake.”

“i can’t—i’m sorry I won't be there until the end.”

“but i—i love you so much, i love you. please always remember that, kaveh.” he wasn’t even given the chance to answer when you had already closed your eyes and anything he would say at that point will not reach you.

as your hand loosens and slips off his hold, so does he falls to the floor. nothing could have prepared him for your last goodbye.

;; WANDERER

“i have a confession to make.”

you spoke weakly, voice nearing to a whisper, a testament to your state, and in contrast to your loosening grip on his hand, he holds you rather tightly as if you’re going to be taken away from him—a denial, eyes choosing to be blind to avoid facing the dreadful truth. “shut up, stop acting like you’re going to die!”

he continued, holding back a sob, “you are not going to die.” you never failed to notice the smallest falter in his expression—his crumpled expression relaxing into a soft one when he sees you, the small and genuine smile tugging on his lips, and right now, especially at this moment when his voice cracked and softened while speaking. he had already expected the moment when you’ll leave him, he was a puppet that can live long and you were just a mortal, a weak one. he was going to outlive you but why? why does it have to be this soon?

“you can tell me your confession later so please…”

but you knew better than that, you know there wasn’t going to be a later for both of you—maybe for him and only for him—, you weren’t foolish to not know that, death was already waiting for you with an open door but he was still tugging and holding on to your hand.

“i—i love you, kuni.”

he doesn’t respond, only holding his tongue back as he brings your hand to his lips and presses a long kiss on it but you were numb, you were already feeling numb and you hate how much his warmth was slipping off you, you hate how you couldn’t feel him underneath your touch, you hate that you’re dying right now and you don’t get to live your fullest with him.

“i love you, say it back, please?” a sad smile engulfs your lips as you try to meet his eyes with your unfocused gaze, was it the tears or was it the fact that your consciousness is fading off you?

“i—i love you. i love you, i love you, so please just stop talking, just stop it.” if you truly love him, you’ll stay. “don’t—“ his voice breaks out into a sob, tears that he had been holding back since earlier came like a waterfall. to love is to stay, is to be with him.

but you didn’t, you couldn’t, and for the last, you mouth those three words at him with a smile on your face, feeling your body going limp as your eyes closed.

he whispers, “—don’t leave me,” to the ghost of you.

;; XIAO

thoughts still continued to haunt his mind every time the memory resurfaces on a silent cold morning: if only he was a second early, if only he was there, if only he was able to protect you. if only he wasn’t so foolish.

“xiao.”

he could still recall your voice and the way you called out to his name, it was distant, almost seemed to be fading and everything started to piece together into the sight before him as soon as the environment changed when he answered to your feeble call of his name.

it looks like a fight has occurred, the scent of it wafting to his senses—it reeks of blood, it reeks of death, and his frightened gaze laid on your figure on the cold ground, almost lifeless.

he calls out to your name and in contrast to your soft voice, his was audible, loud enough to keep you holding on the last strand of your slipping consciousness. it was a shout, deriving from panic and fear, and you noticed yourself being picked up by a pair of arms, familiar ones soon after.

“xiao…?”

“i’m here, don’t talk. i’m going to find you some hel—“

you quickly interrupted him with a cough, blood sputtering out of your mouth as you did, and his eyes widened, a breath getting stuck on his throat. and just for a brief moment, he saw his world crumble down seeing that rude warm liquid staining your clothes. his body shook, he was all too familiar with this sight, all too familiar with the scene—he had taken many lives in the battlefield to not recognize the death that seeps into your ragged breath.

and he yields to his crumbling resolve because even if he chooses to deny what is happening, it still won’t stop you from dying. he wanted to scold you, he wanted to reprimand you for putting yourself in danger, but that’s not what you needed, not when all you needed was him and his comfort in your last.

“why…?” was all he could say as he dropped to the floor, tear-stained eyes clouding his vision while he holds you close. you knew what he was asking and you knew the answer to it but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him—if ever he’ll learn the reason, he’ll blame myself and you don’t want that, you don’t want him to be in such misery when it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t there.

“you’re here… thank you.” and with all the strength left in you, you spoke to him in a low voice, a smile plastered on your blood-stained lips, before your vision dims and you lay limp in his hold; he could only cradle your head closer to him as weak sobs started to escape his lips.

if only.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[daydreamingyuta]

Innocent Touches | Mark Lee

One thing that Mark made sure to never take for granted was your innocent touches. He relished in them. Whenever he was having a hard day and couldn’t wait to come home to you, it was your sweet soft touch that made him long for you the most.

He loved holding your hands. There was something so pure and elementary that he loved so much about it. The feeling of your hand in his, like you two were perfectly made for each other. Rubbing his thumb back and forth on the back of your hand because he knows it relaxes you. He loves the fact that such a simple touch can bring such strong emotions to the both of you. 

He loved that every time you two do hold hands, it brings him back to your first ever date. You two were walking down the street when you reached for his hand to be in yours, butterflies going crazy in his stomach. You weren’t usually the type to make the first move, but after your hands brushed up against each other all night long, holding his hand was all you wanted to do, so you did. And his sweet smile and the slight blush in his cheeks were enough to make you fall so hard for him. 

He also loves when you play with his hair. It’s almost always when you two are cuddling late at night, the smell of his freshly washed hair filling up the room as you rake your fingers through his hair gently. 

He finds it so soothing and it’s one of the only things that makes him fall asleep instantly, which he both loves and hates. He loves it because it makes him so calm and it’s basically a full proof cure for his insomnia, but he hates it because he falls asleep so fast and he can’t enjoy it for as long.

But his favorite is how your hands naturally drift to him when you are feeling anxious. This usually happens in public situations when you are feeling a bit overwhelmed. If you two are sitting, your hand would go to his thigh, tapping each finger on him as if you are playing the piano. This was a way of distracting yourself from everything that was going on. 

You always gravitated toward him when doing this because having him so close is such a comfort to you. He loves that he can have such a calming effect on you because he hates seeing you get anxious. Doing this always makes you feel better, and he adores that he can help you in anyway even if all he’s doing is just being right there next to you. 

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 3, Wave 2, Poll 6

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included. 

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Eda Clawthorne-The Owl House

Qualifications:

She has a magical chronic disorder which has flare-ups, is mitigated by taking medication (potions), and has similar side effects to many real disorders such as fatigue, greying hair, and physical impairment (drains magic, a natural ability of *most witches). Unlike in other stories however, her condition is NOT ever completely cured. It does evolve and become more manageable over the course of the story, but she still experiences symptoms from it. Eda also loses one of her arms later in the story. She does get a replacement hook, but it is never shown whether she has a functional prosthetic or not. Most likely, she only has one fully functioning arm after this. As for being queer, she is in a relationship with a nonbinary person and is all but confirmed bisexual (has a secret box with the bi flag on it seriously why else would she have this). Also the owl house has a Lot of queer characters in it and I mean. just look at her. I would be surprised if she wasn't queer somehow.

Bisexual, and has a curse that affects her day to day life

Bi & lost arm and has a chronic illness metaphorically

Propaganda:

Has canonically dated both men and a non-binary person. Her curse affects her ability to use magic (and at one point outright stops it), which is very important in witch life. Said curse also causes her body parts to fall off sometimes. Many have said her curse is like a metaphor for depression but really it's more like a magic version of a physical disability (although I wouldn't be surprised if she actually also had depression).

Uuuuh she’s great and stuff idk I can’t propaganda well sorry

Ballister Boldheart-Nimona (Flim)

Qualifications:

He has a boyfriend (and then they have a sort-of-breakup but they're back together by the end) and he has a prosthetic arm.

He’s gay and missing an arm.

He’s explicitly gay, in love with a man. He loses his arm then builds himself a prosthetic while on the run like a badass.

His boyfriend cut his arm off :( he uses a prosthetic now.

His arm got chopped off after being falsely accused of killing the queen, he spends the rest of the movie with a prosthetic metal arm. His arm was also chopped off by his lover, Ambrosius Goldenloin, during said false assassination.

His boyfriend cut off his arm

Canonically has a boyfriend and built his own prosthetic

Qualifies by both being canonically disabled (amputee) + canonically gay

Propaganda:

Please plz plz vote for him

His boyfriend cut off his arm. He made himself a prosthetic. He used his arm to block someone’s sword. He kissed his boyfriend. He has sad wet cat eyes, which isn’t relevant but still. He has them.

He’s so GOOD even though he’s having like the worst day ever (specifically talking about movie but webcomic also applies). He has the biggest wettest eyes how can you not root for him????

People love him! He kinda looks like a sad, poor little cat. A real soggy wet kitten man.

Let's see. He and Ambrosius are lovers, or at least boyfriends, from the moment they're introduced. Ballister gets his arm chopped off by Ambrosius during the false assassination. Ballister spends the rest of the movie trying to convince Ambrosius and the kingdom of his innocence, with a metal arm replacing his missing one. It originated the phrase "Arm Chopping is not a love language!" Did I mention he's a main character too?

Is a science nerd, built his own prosthetic arm with his non-dominant hand, accidentally adopted a trans chaos demon of a 1000yo being

A knight, Nimona's best friend and father figure of sorts, but the plot mostly revolves around him- Ballister is framed for murder and has to hide while trying to figure out who framed him and how to prove he's innocent. Nimona becomes his sidekick (he didn't want one, she just showed up at his place one day like a very chaotic stray cat) and together they form a great duo against the corrupt government. This is complicated by Ballister's ex Ambrosius, who accidentally cut off Ballister's arm and is a bit brainwashed by government propaganda. Oops. You should watch Nimona it's great 💞🦈

The qualifications and propaganda paragraphs correspond, @foulfirerebel is the fifth submitter, and there were at least 7 others.

[shippingmyworld]

Got any 🐯👻 headcannons?

I've got a million, but here's a bunch of ones related to them cuddling/being physically intimate with each other and not just because my next tigerghost fic is a make-out fic

Manny is more clingy than Danny is and usually the one to initiate affection.

Danny is slightly uncomfortable with pda, but also low-key touch-starved.

Manny picks up on this (any honestly any small change with Danny's mood) without being explicitly told so and keeps his hands to himself while they're in public. But because he's clingy by nature, he still does things that can fly under the radar like bumping shoulders, sitting next to each other a little closer than normal friends would, or discreetly reaching out and holding/squeezing Danny's hand when he can do so without being seen by others.

All bets are off when they're hanging around HQ or hanging out with friends. Manny pretty much always has his arms around Danny's waist or is draping himself across Danny in some way like an over affectionate cat. Danny lets him because he feels more comfortable around friends than strangers in public (and again because he's touch-starved and secretly enjoys the contact, but will never admit it openly).

It's a rare occurrence for the others to find Manny and Danny in the same room and more than three feet apart from one another because of how they are.

When they're completely alone (away from friends/family & HQ), Danny becomes just as clingy/touchy as Manny is. He specifically likes to play with Manny's hair and will trace the outlines of Manny's scars with his fingers.

Manny likes the fact that Danny's body temp runs colder (due to his ghost powers/ice core) because it reminds him of one of those self-cooling pillows, so Manny will regularly doze off on Danny whenever they're cuddling.

They fall asleep on the couch more regularly than a bed, mostly because Manny will conk out within minutes of their cuddle sessions and Danny can't bring himself to wake his sleepy tiger.

Typically, Danny is the big spoon when they sleep on the couch (because that way Danny's arms are still free to watch tv/read/play with his phone) and if he has the energy and motivation to wake Manny up and move the both of them to bed, Manny will be the big spoon there. However, neither really has a preference, that's just how it ends up.

Danny has a severe case of insomnia that he's tried to cure countless times. It's a result of a lot of things like generalized stress and anxiety, but a large part of it is his trauma of dealing with Dark Danny/Phantom. He's constantly having an existential crisis about what he would do if he ever ended up in a similar situation. It's partly why he never branched out from Tucker and Sam for his friend group back home, because it opens up him up to the possibility of more loss.

His insomnia isn't miraculously cured once he and Manny get together (like it sometimes is in other romances). Sure, holding Manny while they sleep does help a little bit and it's pretty nice to have someone he loves by his side when he wakes up and falls asleep. But now, Danny spends more of his time on those sleepless nights just taking in everything about Manny's existence. He's spent hours listening to the way that Manny breaths when he sleeps (and snores), observing all the little and subconscious movements Manny makes, just committing everything he can to memory and it makes him feel calmer.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Western Nights.

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Javier Peña x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3.6k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content at the end. talk and themes of PTSD. brief mention of domestic abuse. several mentions of panic attacks. age gap (but all very legal and consensual). smut in future chapters.

Author's Note - it's finally here!! i've had this idea for so long and i'm so glad to finally put pen to paper. the dads best friend trope is one of my biggest weaknesses and javier peña is my favourite character ever, so naturally this was born. this fic will tackle some topics that may be a little tough for some people, so make sure to read the warnings!! can't wait to get this up on its feet and running, and for javi and peaches story to develop <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Healing isn't linear. Recovery is a journey. This is a choice I have to make. No one else can make it for me.

You're repeating reassurances to yourself in your mind as you descend the stairs to the basement.

It's dimly lit, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust. When they do, you're able to make out an old, heavy, oak wood lectern at the front of the room. Rows of flimsy plastic chairs are set almost as an audience, and tables line the edges. The carpet is worn, beige, and stained, the entire space smelling like must and bad coffee. You wonder how many girls like you have stepped foot in here in the past.

You pull the sleeves of your sweater down over your wrists and stick to the back wall, willing yourself to become invisible. Watching as people mill in slowly, you take a deep, steadying breath. In for 4. Hold for 4. Out for 6.

"Hi!" a middle aged, dyed blonde, motherly woman screeches at you. The cadence of her voice makes you jump.

"Sorry, sweetpea! Didn't mean to scare you," she looks you up and down before continuing. "You're new here, ain't ya?"

Her southern accent, albeit very high pitched, is somewhat comforting. It's something familiar in this room full of the unknown.

"Yeah," you just about manage to choke out.

She surveys you again, this time with no judgment. You realise she's just trying to figure you out, as you are her.

"If you need anything, just come find me. I'm Primrose."

You smile gently at the floral moniker, and decide that Primrose might be some much needed support. Her motherly aura was calming you ever so slightly.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, if we could all talk a seat, that'd be fantastic."

A tall, curly haired man - who can't be more than 30 - wearing a name tag sticker that reads 'Tobias' has taken his place behind the lectern, gesturing at everyone to sit down. You pick a chair near the back, slouching down and ducking your head.

"Wonderful. Hi, everyone."

A chorus of hellos echoes around the room, everyone clearly used to this routine.

"For anyone who's new here, I'm Tobias, but everyone calls me Tobi. I've been a Priest for the last five years, and I've been running this group for the last two. Usually, how it works is that we get a few people to come up and speak through their experiences."

Your chest tightens, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. As if he sees your panic, Tobi continues.

"Most people find that being able to talk freely and without judgment is a useful coping mechanism. PTSD is complex, and it isn't something that can ever be fully 'cured' - but we can find ways to make things easier. You're in a room full of ladies and gentlemen that might not understand your experience, but definitely understand your feelings."

He catches your eyes across the depth of the room and smiles gently. You muster up the strength to smile back cautiously, and he nods before speaking again.

"Some just come here to listen. Others find it beneficial to talk. No one is going to pressure you, judge you, or scald you. This is a safe space. Share as much or as little as you'd like. Okay?"

Everyone nods and murmurs in agreement. Tobi seems to have a way of reassuring the entire room without really trying. He's calming, tender hearted, genuine. You like him already.

"Who wants to start?"

Primrose shoots up out of her chair on the front row and makes her way to the front. Tobi squeezes her shoulder as she passes, and she beams at him.

"Hi, y'all! I'm Primrose."

The room is clearly familiar with the blonde ball of excitement. Everyone yells greetings at her, her energy almost infectious.

"Most of you know my story, but just in case you don't -"

Her eyes flit to you briefly, and she smiles. You half smile back, relaxing slightly.

"I was in a marriage where I suffered domestic abuse. He used to hit me, manipulate me, call me names. You think it, he did it."

She takes a breath, putting the smile back on her face where it's faltered.

"I have some news to share. I'm engaged!"

A few people jump out of their seats to hug her, congratulating her with pats on the back and yelled excitement.

"Thank y'all, thank y'all! I couldn't wait to tell you guys. I just... I never thought that I could ever be happy again. I certainly never thought that I'd ever find the courage to be with another man, after everything. But I've found someone amazing. And he treats me like a queen. So, to anyone who's new here - it is possible. I promise you. Y'all better help me pick out a dress!"

The room erupts into applause, and Primrose smiles so bright you're surprised the lights don't shatter.

After Primrose, an elderly man named Walter takes the stage. He explains his experience in the military, and the trauma and violence he witnessed for years. You learn that he's a recovering alcoholic, who wasn't had a drink for 9 years. He shakes slightly where he stands, leaning against the cane in his hand. You can tell he's lived through hell.

Finally, after Walter, Tobi stands at the lectern. He's the sole survivor of a car accident that killed his two best friends. After struggling to cope, he turned to God, and became a Priest to better help people just like him in his community. He speaks with such ease, such grace. A wave of calm sweeps over the room as everyone listens intently.

He checks the brown leather strapped watch on his right wrist before clicking his tongue.

"Well, folks, that's all the time we have for today! Feel free to stick around and chat to each other, as always. There's coffee and cookies on the table, and Janet made some of her famous honey loaf too. Thanks for coming. Same time next week?"

Everyone agrees in shouts and thumbs up directed towards the front. Slowly, people rise, stacking their chairs away before making their way over to the table where the coffee sits next to the styrofoam cups.

You remain seated for a little longer, catching your breath. Your teeth are digging into your bottom lip, knawing at it anxiously. You suddenly taste pennies, and lick up the blood quickly with your tongue.

Standing up shakily, you fold your chair at its hinges and add it to the stack at the front of the room. A yawn overtakes you, tiredness suddenly settling into your bones.

Coffee. You need coffee.

You make your way over to the tables, timidly smiling at Primrose as she shows off her ring to a small group of people. Just as you reach over and grab an empty cup, you become suddenly aware of a presence behind you.

"Don't drink that."

A warm, rich, booming voice hits your ears. The large, looming presence comes a little closer, towering over you.

"Trust me, honey. It's the worst coffee you'll ever taste in your life."

You know that voice, it's familiar timbre.

Javier Peña.

You turn around to be met with the sight of him peering down at you intently. He's wearing a flannel and blue jeans, heavy boots on his feet. He smells like musk, sandalwood, and the Texan heat.

God, he looks good. He's strikingly handsome. Objectively attractive. Everyone in your town agrees that Javier Peña is one beautiful man.

And seemingly unattainable. Since leaving Lorraine at the altar years ago, no one has heard any word of Javier so much as dating.

"Such a waste," your mom always says. "Gorgeous man like that. He could have anyone he wants!"

And it's true. Chocolate hair, broad shoulders, strong thighs. The man is a heartthrob.

A heartthrob with a secret, apparently.

"Javier?" you question. "What are you doing here?"

It's now you realise that he's here. At the meeting. You've done such a good job of keeping your head down, going relatively unnoticed. And now, staring down at you, is your dad's best friend. So much for covert.

He must see the realisation on your face. Or maybe he notices the way your breathing quickens. Either way, he places a warm palm on your shoulder, looking at you carefully.

"Hey. It's okay," he reassures. "I won't tell if you won't."

You nod meekly, trying to stay calm. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

The basement suddenly feels too small, too dark, too stuffy. The carpet is too scratchy, the chairs too hard, the table too white. You need to get out before your chest caves in.

"You know, if you still want coffee, there's a diner like ten minutes from here. They do really good pie," Javier tells you, distracting you from your impending panic attack.

You take a breath and nod.

"Yeah. Okay. I like pie."

"Come on," he encourages, gesturing at you to lead the way. "Walk with me."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Javier walk steadily side by side in silence, fingers occasionally accidentally brushing each other. After it happens twice, you decide to put your hands in your pockets the rest of the way, ignoring the warmth that radiates off him.

You eventually arrive at Cherry Pie Diner. The neon sign is blinding, shades of bright pink, yellow and blue flashing and flickering. Inside, the white overhead lights illuminate classic red leather booth seats and waitresses in pinafore aprons.

"Here we are. When you go in, ask for JoJo. She'll take care of you," he winks.

You stand stuck in your place on the sidewalk for a minute, processing his words.

"You're not coming in?"

He seems taken aback by your question. Now he's the one processing.

"You... uh - you want me to?"

"I, uh, yeah. I mean... if you're not busy... I just, uh - nevermind. Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"I didn't want to overstep, you know, it, uh- But if it's okay with you... I could do with some coffee."

Javier smiles at you gently, gauging your reaction. When you smile back hesitantly, he pushes open the door to the diner, gesturing at you to head inside.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"What looks good, honey?"

You raise your eyes from the menu you were staring at intently to quirk your brow at Javier.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if anything looked good," he repeats kindly.

"I, um, I'm not sure. What do you recommend?"

"The peach pie," he says without hesitation.

The quick response makes you laugh, the melody of it tugging at Javier's heart strings. He realises, sadly, that he hasn't heard that sound in a hell of a long time.

"Listen, I know it's not anyone's go to," he justifies, "but it's honestly the best thing on the menu. There's nothin' like it."

"Okay," you say with complete certainty. "Peach pie it is."

JoJo is a bubbly, Southern woman with rosy cheeks and a smile that never seems to falter. She takes your orders happily, flirting with Javier like you weren't sat watching, confusion and awkwardness plastered across your face.

"You two seem close," you approach gently, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, I know her husband. JoJo's been serving me here for at least 10 years. Peach pie, every time," he laughs.

"I'm usually a cherry pie girl. Maybe you'll convert me."

You both sip steadily at your coffees, humming in contentment at your first bites of pie. Halfway through your slice, you break the silence.

"Okay, fine. This might be the best pie I've ever had."

"I told you," he smirks. "I'll never lead you wrong, honey. Promise. Not where pie is concerned, anyway."

You finish off your slices in comfortable quiet, neither of you quite sure what to say next.

"So, uh... about tonight..." you begin nervously.

"I won't tell anyone I saw you, cariño. I swear."

You breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Javi. Really."

Javi. The nickname so rarely used, it makes his heart stutter for a second.

"You're... you're not gonna ask what I was doing at that meeting?"

He tilts his head slightly, gazing at you carefully before replying.

"If you wanted to tell me, you would. I'm not gonna push you. These things take time."

He smiles like he knows. You think, maybe, he does.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, sweetheart."

A breath. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

"Was that your first meeting too?"

He shakes his head, soft curls rippling.

"I've been going for a few months. I sneak out of town every week, so I'm pretty sure Chucho thinks I'm having a secret love affair. He doesn't ask questions."

You both laugh, and JoJo's head whips up, her curiosity peaked. She's never heard Javier laugh like this. Sure, he chuckles at her jokes, but the sound doesn't usually reach the corners of the room like that.

"He'd probably love it if you were, you know. Your love life is often a topic of conversation in my house, among many others in our neighbourhood."

He scoffs, and kicks your foot under the table teasingly.

"Man, nothing happens in that damn town, does it?"

"Nothing at all. Think we're overdue a secret love affair from you, Mr Peña. It might liven things up a little."

"Shut it, you," he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

You pull the sleeves of your sweater back down over your wrists again.

"I haven't seen you in a while. Think my dad is starting to get worried, you know."

A deep crease appears between his brows abruptly, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah. I've just been busy, I guess. Tryna sort my shit out," he snickers dryly, no real humour in it.

"So did you do it?"

"Hmm?"

"Sort your shit out?"

Now he laughs genuinely, bright smile gracing his cheeks.

"Absolutely fucking not."

"Man, I know the feeling," you reassure.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your breathing speeds up slightly, eyes darting around the room. Javier notices, reaching across the booth to grab your hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours, thumb rubbing comforting patterns on your skin. You take a deep breath. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

"I feel like... like I'm... uh...," he nods at you reassuringly, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "I feel like I'm drowning. I'm barely keeping my head above water at any given moment. And I'm tired, Javi. Fuck, I'm tired."

A warm, salty tear escapes you, running down your cheek. Javi leans forward and brushes it away with his thumb, big brown eyes never leaving yours.

"It's okay, cariño. You're okay," he murmurs. "I get it. God, I get it."

"You do?" you sniffle.

"I do," he confirms. "More than you could ever know. And I know how lonely it feels. But I promise you, sweetheart. You're not alone. Not anymore."

His voice is like warm honey, soothing and golden. It melts into you, releases some of the tension from your shoulders. The tightness in your chest loosens slightly, and you take a deep breath. You find the courage to look at him again, and find that he hasn't taken his eyes off you once. His gaze is like an anchor, tethering you to reality. You surprise yourself by not wanting to shy away from the intensity of it. No, you want more.

Javier lets go of your hand to trace his fingertips up your forearm. He draws patterns carefully, as if he's learning every inch of you, committing you to memory. Like he isn't sure when he'll get to touch you like this again. If he'll get to touch you like this again.

You're still looking at each other, neither of you gathering the courage to look away. It's as if Javi is reading the words off the very surface of your soul. You're not sure you've ever felt so understood in your life. It terrifies you.

Without thinking, you grab a hold of Javier's hand and raise it to your lips, kissing each of his knuckles gently. The tenderness makes his heart ache.

"Hermosa," he sighs almost wistfully.

The sound of his voice snaps you back to the present moment.

"I'm sorry," you stutter, letting go of him. "Fuck, Javi, sorry. I don't - oh, I... fuck."

"Why do you do it?" he asks.

"Do... do what?"

"Apologise for everything. Every other word out of your mouth is 'sorry'," he chuckles affectionately.

"Sorry," you mumble without thinking. You pause, registering your words. The two of you break out into laughter, clutching at your stomachs.

"Are you?"

"Am I...?"

"Are you sorry? Or do you just say it because you think people want to hear it? You can't apologise for your entire existence, cariño."

You look into those warm, chocolate eyes, and realise he's read you for filth. He's right.

"I'm not sorry," you whisper.

He quirks a brow and nods attentively, urging you to continue.

"For... for what I just did. I'm not sorry."

You're praying that he understands what you're trying to say. I'm not sorry for my tender gesture. I'm not sorry for this connection we've made. I'm not sorry for my soft heart.

"I'm not either," he replies, barely above a murmur. You hear him, clear as day.

You reach out, this time, and interlock your fingers with his across the table. His large hand envelopes yours, and he squeezes. It effects you more than it probably should.

JoJo drops a plate behind the counter, the red and white china shattering across the checkerboard floor. The smash snaps you both out of the moment, making you jump. Your heart kicks into overdrive, battering against your ribcage.

"Hermosa, it's alright. Just a plate."

You hear him, but your nervous system doesn't seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths become laboured and frantic, and your hold on Javi's hand tightens almost painfully.

"Come on, Peaches, let's get out of here. It's getting late."

Javier stands from his bench seat and pulls you up with him, never once removing his fingers from where they're locked with yours. He shoots a smile over to JoJo, who returns it with glee. The two of you walk across the parking lot, hand in hand, illuminated by the neon light of the diner's sign. The colours dance across Javier's cheekbones, reflecting off the brush of his mustache, painting the rich brown warmth of his hair. He's never looked more handsome.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Peaches."

"Hmm?" Javier asks from where he's leaning against the side of your car, back in the church parking lot.

"You called me Peaches. In the diner."

He nods, smirk etched on his streetlit face.

"Because of the pie."

"Because of the pie," he echoes.

"I like it," you confess quietly. "Peaches."

Javier pushes off the vehicle and stands, towering over you. Without a second thought, he brushes a thumb over your cheekbone in a featherlight touch.

"Sweet like peaches," he murmurs. "Too fuckin' sweet for a world like this one."

You look up at him, breath catching in your throat when you meet his eyes. He's gazing at you with adoration. With tenderness. With so much softness. Your knees go weak with the weight of it all.

It hits you, suddenly. The realisation.

You want to kiss him.

You want to kiss Javier Peña.

You want to kiss him more than you've ever wanted to kiss anyone in your entire life.

You're stood in the parking lot of a church on the outskirts of town with your dad's best friend and you're feeling the closest thing to happy you've felt in months.

You take a step forward, closing the gap between you. The warmth radiating from the older man settles itself in your bones, shielding you from the chill of the night. Just as you tilt your face up towards his, your phone buzzes.

Jumping apart as if you've been caught, you check your messages with shaky hands.

"It's my mom. She thinks I'm with a friend, so she's just checking in. She doesn't like it when I drive in the dark."

The mention of your mother snaps Javier out of his peachy haze.

"You should get back, cariño. It's late. Sorry for keeping you."

"Now who's apologising for no reason?"

He laughs, and you feel like you've won a gold medal. An achievement in its own right.

You climb into the drivers seat of your car, starting up the engine. Just as you're about to leave, Javi taps on the window. You roll it down.

"Same time next week, Peaches?"

"Same time next week, Javi."

You drive away with a smile on your face and a warmth in your stomach, the taste of peach still lingering on your lips. You notice that Javier drives behind you steadily, following you carefully to make sure you get home safe.

✵  ���    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're staring at the ceiling.

You're plagued by insomnia.

According to the Internet, it goes hand in hand with your PTSD. You make a mental note to work up the courage to ask Tobi about it in the next meeting.

You lie in bed, watching as the sunlight slowly illuminates the room. Usually, you'll make a cup of tea, read a book, watch a TV show. Pace around the room like a caged animal. Count sheep. Do yoga. Listen to music.

Tonight, you take a different approach.

Tonight, you slip a hand under the waistband of your underwear, and replay the way Javi murmured your name in the diner on repeat.

It does the trick.

@frogers @farintonorth @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pedrobaby @grace46 @harriedandharassed

[etherealphosphor]

Stay With Me, Please.

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Reader has an incurable disease, Reader is married to Dottore, Sfw, Angst, No happy ending, Death, Mentions of blood

⟡ Edited <3

Dottore valued you above anything else in his life; you were his one real joy. Before he met you, his life had been dull and monotonous, the days almost seeming to blend together. Passing out at his desk after working too late into the night was a common occurrence back then. However, that wasn’t the case anymore, as his career was far from his biggest worry.

You, his lover and his number one priority, suffered from an incurable disease. That ailment caused your body to become fragile and weak, and as time went on, more and more of your strength was slipping away without any hope of recovery.

You coughed quite a bit, too; the sound made Dottore’s heart sink awfully every time he heard it. It was beyond painful for Dottore to see you in that state, and he tried his best to make life as easy as he could for you.

However, naturally, he did mess up on occasion. Although he promised to stay by your side every night and never to choose work over being next to you, he’d sometimes lose track of time. When that happened, you’d slowly walk step after step to the door of his office to ask him to come back to bed.

When he’d see you standing at the door, your legs shaking with the effort to keep standing, a wave of guilt would come crashing over him. Immediately, Dottore would drop all of his research and run to wrap you up in his arms, apologizing over and over for working as late as he did. 

You’d always put your arms around Dottore’s neck as he carried you, resting your head on his shoulder. Even just walking to his office drained you of all your energy. As you two reached the bedroom, Dottore gently set you down before laying down next to you and pulling you into his arms. 

He’d stroke your hair gently as you were lulled by his heartbeat, whispering to you about how much he loved you and how things would be okay. Only in those moments did you feel truly alright, as you almost forgot all about your debilitating sickness. If only things could stay the same way forever. 

As the months passed, your body only got weaker. Your hands shook any time you tried to use them, and when you walked, you’d only fall over. You could feel your time slipping away. You would die, and you could only wait for it to happen. Stuck in the same bed, day after day.

All you wished for was to become even a just a little bit stronger. To regain the strength in your hands so you could pick up a hobby or two would be a miracle. But as much as you wished for your disease to be gone, nothing would improve. 

Dottore could sense you were dying as well. Your cough had gotten worse as of late, and when he held you at night, your body was so fragile it was almost like glass. He was terrified he’d break you just by being beside you. 

He knew something had to be done. Dottore began working all day—and some nights—on a cure for your disease. Since you could no longer walk properly, you weren’t there to remind him to come to bed, and he’d get swept up in his experiments. 

On the nights he didn't end up by your side, you cried yourself to sleep, hugging your pillow for the comfort you were missing, until you eventually ran out of energy and passed out. You couldn’t let Dottore see you like this; you knew it would absolutely break his heart. 

Dottore hated being away from you all day, but he felt that if he put in enough effort, maybe he could find a breakthrough. Maybe he could save you if he tried his hardest. All the time he spent away from you would pay off once he was able to cure you, right?

This was the only time in his life that he was really, truly worried about anything. And he’d never say a word out loud, but this was also the first time he doubted his abilities on a subject. You were what brought him joy when nothing else did; you were his entire world. He couldn’t lose you. He needed to try everything in his power to keep you alive. 

One night, while you were lying in his embrace, you spoke slowly, your voice shaking. In recent times, you hadn’t been speaking much since your throat had begun to feel painful due to how much you had been coughing. 

"Dottore.."

His eyes widened; your tone sounded serious. "Yes, my love..? What is it? Also, please try not to speak too much; I know how much it has been hurting you."

"There’s no progress, is there? In the cure, I mean. Love, I think you should just drop it at this point." You said, coughing a little.

"What? Why would you suggest that? Don’t.. don’t you want to live?" Dottore stared at you with a worried look in his eyes. He didn’t like what you were suggesting at all.

"I do, darling.. I do, but I don’t have much time left as it is, and we both know that." You stared into those deep red eyes of his. When you first met him, you thought of them as quite unsettling, but now they were one of your favorite things about him.

Dottore ran his hand across your cheek, giving you a sympathetic gaze. "Just give me a while longer, okay? I promise you, I’ll make progress, just—"

You cut him off. "No, darling. If you keep trying to cure me, I’ll be gone before you know it. Just.. spend these last few months with me, okay? I just want to make every second last with you."

Dottore’s voice was filled with concern. "But then.. [Name], you’ll surely die; shouldn’t I at least try to save you? There’s still a chance; I’ve made a little progress—I just need more time, my love. Don’t give up yet."

You put your hand on his, the one that was already stroking your cheek. "Darling, I know it won’t work; I’ve already come to terms with that. I just need your company, that’s all. I can’t die without regrets if you stay in your lab all day."

Dottore tried to object again, saying, "I—[Name], we can still spend time together. I can set up a bed in my lab for you to rest in while I work; I promise you won’t be lonely again. I have to try to save you, don’t I? We’ll never know if we don’t try, [Name]."

You felt awful; you knew that you were all Dottore had, and telling him this was making the realization sink in: he was going to lose you. He had tried to deny it, ignoring it by working on a cure, but the truth was that you were dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"[Name].. please. Let me try it." Dottore begged you, his eyes shimmering with tears.

It hurt you to see him like that—it really did. But you couldn’t give in. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to spend your last days the way you wished. You knew Dottore was desperately holding on to hope; he was the smartest person you had ever met, so of course he already knew that his efforts were of no use.

"Dottore.." You reached out to stroke his hair, which was something that always calmed him down. "You know that it’s not going to work, right? You’re the one who’s been studying my disease for years now; there’s no way you don’t know."

A tear fell from Dottore’s eye, and it rolled down his cheek. A couple of years ago, Dottore practically didn’t even know how to cry. He was a stern man back then who showed no weakness. 

Nowadays, though, it was commonplace to see him with tears running down his face. Often times, he would lay his head on his desk in the middle of his research and let himself sob where nobody could hear him. Dottore never let you see him cry, as he didn’t wish to make you lose hope in finding a cure.

However, now that you had accepted your fate, silent tears flowed down his face. You tried wiping them away and saying gentle words to soothe him, but it seemed like nothing would calm him.

"I— I.. I don’t want to lose you, [Name]. There has to be another way, something.. anything. What can I do? I don’t want you to die. You’re my everything, [Name]. I can’t live without you. If only I could just switch our places.." Dottore’s voice was choked up, and he was speaking in between sobs.

"Dottore, my love, it’s okay. Please don’t worry so much. I still have a couple months left, maybe even a year. We’ll spend every minute together, and make the most out of what we have. That, or you can spend your time cooped up in your laboratory. How does the first option sound to you?" You continued to stroke his hair, speaking in a very comforting tone.

Dottore just nodded, tears still flowing down his face. He wanted to make you happy, but it was so hard to let go of his hope of saving you. Eventually, you and Dottore fell asleep together, with him holding you tightly. 

In the month following that conversation, Dottore reluctantly dropped his research on your disease to spend all of his time with you. Winter was soon approaching, and your condition was only getting considerably worse. Dottore could feel that you didn’t have as much time left as you thought you did. 

One day, Dottore woke up to the sound of your coughing. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over a little.

"Love..? What’s wrong?" Dottore asked, moving closer to you.

When you turned your head toward him, Dottore’s eyes went wide. Blood was dripping from your mouth.

"[Name], are you okay!?" Dottore took your face in his hands, gently wiping the blood off of it with his thumb.

"I’m alright, Dottore.. it doesn’t hurt too much." You assured him.

"I need to get you to my lab immediately." Dottore said, moving an arm around you to pick you up.

"Love, I’m not getting any better; there’s no need." You objected, but he scooped you up regardless.

"I didn’t say I was going to cure you, darling; I intend to get you some pain medication." Dottore explained, faking a calm tone as he walked.

Once you reached his lab, Dottore sat you down on the medical bed and began to look around the shelves for the correct medicine. Once he found it, he brought the little orange bottle back to you.

"Here, take one of these with water; it might hurt a little, but I promise you’ll feel better in the end." Dottore handed you a glass.

You quickly took the pill, wincing as the water touched your throat.

"Good, good.." Dottore said, distractedly. It seemed his mind was elsewhere at the moment, but you didn’t know exactly why. He snapped back into reality and went to pick you up again, saying, "I’ll take these pills with us."

Throughout the rest of the day, you coughed up small amounts of blood. The next day, it was more. And the day after that, still more. You could see it in Dottore’s eyes; you didn’t have long left to live. At night, Dottore silently cried while holding you in your sleep. He knew you’d leave him eventually; he always did, but not like this. Not this soon.

Another month passed, and now you could barely keep yourself awake. Dottore had to make sure you took your pills and that you didn’t choke on the blood you coughed up. Blood stained your white bedsheets, a constant reminder to Dottore that you had a couple of days left, at most. In the few minutes you were awake at any given moment, he had to tearfully tell you how much he loved you, or else he might never get another chance to.

You were so exhausted. Mentally and physically. At this point, you just wanted the pain to be over. At the same time, you wanted to cling to life, but archons, you were so tired. You drifted in and out of consciousness, almost to the point where you didn’t know what reality was anymore. All you knew was that tears flowed down your beloved husband’s face, and he was desperately trying to take care of you.

"Please drink your water; you’ll feel better, okay?" Dottore put the bottle to your lips, his voice shaking with sobs.

You just stared at him. You really didn't have the energy to drink water right then. However, you took little sips anyway, hoping that maybe he’d smile just a little bit.

"There you go, [Name].. that’s good.. drink some more. It’ll help you." Dottore spoke gently as you drifted off into sleep again. The last thing you saw was him trying to force a smile to encourage you through his endless tears.

Your dreams were all odd and terrifying, blending together into a chaotic mess. This made for restless sleep, contributing to your drowsiness and lack of energy.

The next time you woke up, it took a minute to make sense of where you were. However, once you remembered what was going on, you felt strangely calm. Blood flowed slowly from your mouth, making new stains on the sheets.

".. Dottore.." You managed to sputter out.

"Yes, my love?" Dottore said calmly, but inside he was quite surprised that you were speaking. He hadn’t heard your voice for a while now, due to your condition. 

"I love you, Dottore.." You smiled at him, blood still leaking from your mouth.

Dottore stroked your hair gently and cleaned the blood from your face. Tears still fell from his eyes, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. However, he smiled back to reassure you, his voice breaking. "I love you too, [Name], more than anything."

You gazed up into those deep red eyes of his. Oh, how you loved those eyes. "Can I have one more kiss?"

Dottore nodded. "Of course you can, my love."

Dottore gently tilted your chin up and leaned in slowly, pressing his lips to yours. Your lips tasted distinctly of blood, but that was the last thing he cared about. He hugged you closer to him, running his hands through your hair and kissing you passionately. Tears still flowed steadily down Dottore’s cheeks as he pulled away from you. He could feel your breathing getting slower.

"No.. no, don’t leave me now. [Name], hang on!" Dottore’s eyes went wide, and he spoke in a panicked tone.

You simply gave him the faintest of smiles, whispering again, "I love you, Dottore."

Dottore held your face in his hands, desperately willing you to stay alive. "No, no, no, no! Don’t give up! You’re all I have left; you can’t leave me now!"

However, he could feel your heartbeat slow. His tears were flowing down his face faster than ever. "Please, [Name]! I can’t take this, please!"

Dottore had his arms tightly around you, and so he knew exactly when you took your last breath. He knew there was nothing he could do now.

The sorrow was too much to bear, and Dottore began to scream in pain. "NO! PLEASE COME BACK, [NAME]! DON'T LEAVE ME! I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU! STAY WITH ME, PLEASE!"

That scream was the anguished scream of a man who had just lost everything he had left to live for. He buried his face in your chest and let out a wail of pure agony. 

You were gone, and you took everything Dottore loved with you.