#just touch starved tings

[springtyme]

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 ♡

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: You’re up late at night, alone and touch starved, when you get a phone call from the man you miss the most.

word count: 3.3k

warning/tag: Smut (18+, mdni!) Language. Fluff and a little angst. Mutual masturbation (phone sex). Reader is wearing one of Simon's shirts. Mention of cunnilingus, tit sucking, unprotected p in v with creampie, implied breeding kink on Simon’s side. Use of ‘good girl’.

"Girl, you know I miss you, I just wanna kiss you But I can't right now So baby kiss me through the phone”

Simon is away again and holy fuck how you miss him. Every moment feels incomplete without him by your side. The distance between you seems unbearable at times, and the ache in your heart grows with each passing day.

As you are lying in bed, wearing his t-shirt, thoughts of him consume your mind. The soft fabric against your skin carries his scent, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You imagine his smile, a smile so few people get to witness, but you are one of the few lucky ones who he let see it, you imagine his laughter. The warmth and security you feel whenever he holds you tight in his strong arms. As you replay cherished memories in your head, the longing intensifies, turning into a thumping pain in your chest, but it also brings you a sense of cathartic comfort.

If you just could call him it’ll be easier, but you can’t, you understand the need for secrecy and the importance of protecting his mission. You just have to be patient and wait till he can call you.

Now every time you hear a phone ring, your heart skips a beat. When it’s your own phone you find yourself hoping that it’s Simon on the other end, ready to reassure you that he is alright and that your fears are unfounded. But at the same time, there’s always a tinge of fear, a nagging worry that the call might bring news that your worst nightmare has come true.

And, as if on cue, as you lay and think about these things, the sound of your phone breaks through the silence, causing your heart to skip a beat. 

Your heart races, and you can’t help but wonder if it could be Simon. With trembling hands, you reach for the device, hoping beyond hope that it’s him. You glance at the screen and can’t see any number, it is an encrypted line, and a surge of emotions overwhelms you.

Heart pounding with a mix of anticipation, excitement and fear, you answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, love,” Simon’s gruff voice comes through the phone. He sounds knackered, but definitely alive. His voice crackles through the line, but the sound of it instantly soothes your worries. 

Relief floods over you, and tears well up in your eyes. “Hi, Si,” you greet him, trying to keep your emotions somewhat in check so you don’t use the precious time you get to talk to him bawling your eyes out. 

“I didn’t wake you did I?” His deep voice, laced with concern. 

“No, you didn’t,” you reassure him, not that you would have given a damn if he had, you’re just happy to hear his voice, alive and well.

“Well, you should be sleeping, I hope you’re taking care of yourself, love,” Simon says, his voice filled with genuine concern. “How have you been holding up?”

A mix of emotions floods over you at his question. You appreciate his thoughtfulness, knowing that despite the dangers he faces, he still worries about your well-being. But at the same time, you don’t want to burden him with your own struggles and fears.

“Well, you know me, I’ve been managing,” you reply, trying to sound strong. Afterall, he is the one who is facing danger and dodging bullets, not you. “Just looking forward to having you back.” 

Simon laughs softly, his deep voice filled with warmth. “I look forward to that too, love. But I promise, I’ll be back before you know it. We’ll have a proper cuppa together in no time, I’ll make sure we don’t have to deal with any of this long-distance rubbish for a while.” 

You can’t help but smile, a mix of love and longing in your heart. “I’ll hold you to that, I’ll keep the kettle ready. And I’ll make sure to get some proper biscuits this time.”

You had bought some fancy biscuits with rosemary and bergamot once, and Simon had absolutely hated them. Not that he had expressed it like that; he had been very polite about it, carefully trying to mask his distaste for the treats. However, you could see right through him. You had run down to the corner shop under your flat and bought some milk choc hobnobs, cause despite looking like a big scary bloke your boyfriend has the tastebuds of a child.      

“That sounds good,” Simon says, a longing sigh coming through the phone.

The simple thought of sharing a cup of tea with Simon brings a smile to your face. It’s the simple moments like those that you cherish the most, the moments of normalcy amidst the chaos that his career brings. But it also makes you miss other things to do with Simon. 

“Yeah, it does,” you agree, as your heart yearns for him you let a short silence unfold between you before you continue, your voice now sounding a little lower and more breathy. “I miss you, Simon.”

There is a brief pause before Simon responds, his voice filled with a mix of longing and determination, and holy fuck how you love that voice. You feel heat creep up your cheeks, at the sound, warmth pooling in your stomach, spreading through your body like a wildfire with longing for him. “I miss you too, love. Can’t wait to hold you again.” 

A surge of anticipation courses through you, and you can’t help but let your voice drop to a sultry whisper. “Yeah, I look forward to that.” 

Simon’s voice takes on a husky tone as he reads your switch in mood. “Consider it a guarantee, love. When I get back, I’ll make it up to you, show you just how much I’ve missed you, okay?”

“Mmm.” You hum to let him know that you are hearing him, but it comes out closer to a moan really. 

A brief silence hangs in the air between you before you break the silence again. 

“Si…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m wearing your shirt,” you confess, the words escaping your lips with a mix of vulnerability and desire.

There is a short pause between you, one that feels way longer than it actually is, before Simon finally says something. “Which one, darling?” His voice carries a hint of curiosity and anticipation, as if he can already picture you wearing it.

“Your Zeppelin one,” you confess.

You can hear how Simon’s breath quickens on the other end of the line, becoming more throaty and shallow. His voice, when he finally speaks, is filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness.

“Yeah?” he responds, his tone laced with anticipation.

“Yeah, it smells like you,” you whisper down the phone. “I just miss you so much.” 

There’s a moment of silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, Simon replies, his voice filled with the same desire that echoes within you. “Believe me, love, the feeling is mutual.” 

His words carry a warmth that wraps around you, bridging the physical distance between you both. It also makes a warm sensation swoop through your stomach, and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together as you begin to feel a warm throbbing between your legs.     

“I wish you were here,” you say, meaning it from the bottom of your heart. 

Simon lets out a low chuckle, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Yeah, me too, love, you have no idea. But I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”

Squirming slightly in your seat by his words, the warm throbbing of your cunt increases. You take a deep breath grabbing the fabric of his shirt to bring it up to your nose, the scent of him lingers, providing a sense of comfort and reassurance but also making you miss having him close so much more, making you crave it. 

“Are you alone?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.     

“Yes.”     

“Wanna tell me what you’re going to do to me when you come home?” You feel a swoop of anticipation run through you as you ask him.

The sound of Simon swallowing audibly comes through the phone, his voice filled with anticipation. 

You put your phone on speaker, placing it on a pillow beside you. 

“I’d take my time with you,” his voice crackles through the speaker, deep and raspy. “I’d start by kissing that sweet mouth of yours. I’d drink up all those little moans you always make for me. You have no idea how much they turn me on. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I hear them, making me so fucking hard, baby. and I’ll have to get up to rub one out.”       

And as if on cue you let out a whiny moan as you imagine him in his tactical trousers, the imposing bulge of his hard-on restrained against the fabric, how his big hand will squeeze it though the garment. 

“Yes, baby, just like that,” he says with a sound that you think was supposed to be a laugh but ends up sounding more like a throaty groan. You hear the clang of metal through the phone, like a belt being unbuckled.  

“I’d kiss you until we are both out of breath, until we would have to break apart, maybe even a little longer. Fuck, miss kissing you so much, lovie.” 

“Miss that too,” you whimper, your hands now on your breasts, softly squeezing them through the soft cotton of Simon’s shirt as you rub your thighs together, feeling how the throbbing of your cunt reaches a whole new high, your panties getting more and more damp.      

“I’d start going down, kiss your jaw and down your neck,” Simon continues. 

Your breath hitches, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You can almost feel how your skin tingles in the places Simon describes kissing. 

“I’d keep going down, kiss you everywhere, love. Let myself taste just how sweet that body of yours is,” he groans softly. 

As his words reach your ears, a vivid image takes shape in your mind. You can picture the way he would hold you. How he would slowly trace every contour, every curve, as he maps out your skin with his lips and tongue, savouring the taste and texture of your skin, leaving a trail of desire in his wake.

“I’d take those pretty tits in my mouth, give them the attention they deserve.”  

You let out a little squeal as you imagine his tongue around your nipples, licking and sucking at your sensitive nubs. 

“Then I’d have you laid back on the bed, all naked and spread out for me. I’d get between your thighs and eat that sweet pussy out just how I know you like it, wouldn’t stop until you’ve gushed all over my face.”  

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself instinctively responding to the memory.  You can feel the weight of his touch, the warmth of his breath against your skin. Your head tilts back, lost in the sensations that flood your imagination. The mere thought of his touch elicits a tantalising twitch of pleasure through your body, a physical manifestation of the connection you share.

You let your legs part, spreading them wide on the soft mattress, and you let your non-dominant hand creep down the soft fabric of the Simon’s shirt, continuing lower until you reach the hem of the garment and slides it up under the shirt, slowly tracing your fingers up over the warm skin of your naked abdomen and up through the valley of your tits, until you cup your breast again, this time without the barrier of the shirt, gently squeezing at the soft flesh before you start playing with your hardened nipple. Your dominant hand is wandering down to your panties, the pads of your fingers gently tracing a line over the now soaked fabric. You haven’t been this wet in a while, at least not since Simon left for deployment.   

Through the speakers of your phone, you hear him curse softly, his voice filled with a mix of longing and frustration. The distance between you feels unbearable, as the desire to be together intensifies with each passing moment. As you close your eyes, your imagination takes flight, allowing you to indulge in the sweet memories of your bodies entwined. The anticipation builds, fueling the fire within. 

Now feeling so damned desperate you dip your hand into your panties, slowly sliding your fingers through your wet folds, coating them with your arousal, before you start to, oh so slowly, circling around your clit.  

“I’d let myself drown in that sweet, sweet pussy of yours. Sweetest, fucking thing I’ve ever had. I can still taste it whenever I think about it,” he continues. His tone is damn near dangerous, so low and growly. You almost cum from the thought alone, the thought of being completely at his mercy. “What about you, love? What would you do with me if I was there?” He coaxes you. 

“I’d let you have me however you want me. I miss having you inside me so bad, Si,” You admit with a whimper. 

“Oh, missing my cock that much, lovie?” he teases, but there is a tenderness and a longing hidden behind his words.   

“Mmm.” You nod even though he can’t see it. “I miss all of you, Si.”

The sounds of him pumping himself is now audible through the phone. The sound is making you even more desperate to have him back. You can’t help but imagine him, his big fist sliding up and down that big girthy cock of his, the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, throbbing and dripping with precum, just for you. 

“Fu-uuck, what I wouldn’t give to be inside you right now, sweetheart.” he almost growls, making you whimper. “I’d make you feel so good, baby. Turn you into a babbling cock drunk mess.” Simon’s voice grows huskier, filled with primal desire. “I’d fill you up so good, again and again until you you’d be fucking dripping, with my cum.” He growls down the phone. “Fill you up and give you a piece of me to carry, a piece of me you could have forever. Fu-uuck, and everyone would know that I’m yours, that we belong together.”    

A soft moan escapes your mouth as you imagine the scenario he’s describing. Your fingers now moving in fast tight circles around your sensitive clit. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, huh, love?” His voice, dripping with hunger and desperation, and you whine out for him, giving him those sweet sounds that you know makes him go feral. 

“Good girl,” he praises. “Fuuck, doing so good for me.”

A hot shiver runs up your spine at the praise. You remove your fingers from your clit, instead sliding them down a little further, making your panties push down your hips to instead dwell around your thighs. You drag your fingers through your slick folds, collecting your wetness before you slide first one then two fingers inside of your pussy. You bring your other hand, that until now had occupied your sensitive nipples, down to your clit, flickering the sensitive nub while you pump into yourself wishing that it was Simon’s skilled fingers or girthy cock that was thrusting into you instead. His name starts spilling from your lips in a line of whiny moans. 

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty,” he sounds like he is as close to ecstasy as you are, his voice low and breathy. “Are you close, baby?” 

“Ye-yeah, so close, Si,” you pant. The slick sound of your fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt ring in your ears and you know that Simon must be able to hear it over the phone. 

“I’m close too, love. Can you cum for me, sweetheart? We can cum together. Imagine me filling up that sweet little pussy, have you dripping with my cum, yeah?”  

“Yes, Simon, want that so bad,” you moan, “Fu-uck, I’m so close, Si.”

“That’s good. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he groans. “Come on, baby, cum with me.” 

You moan out his name as your walls clench around your fingers, your other hand flicking over your clit in a fast steady rhythm as you feel how the tight coil in your stomach finally snaps, your orgasm rushing through you in hot, blissful waves as you fuck yourself through your high. You can hear Simon’s throaty moans coming over the phone, cursing and panting under his breath as you both ride out your climaxes.

Your walls flutter around your fingers as you slowly come down from your high. Aftershocks are still pumping through your cunt as you slowly pull your soaked fingers out, wiping them off on the sheets. You’ll change them in the morning, but right now you can’t be bothered. 

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Simon’s voice crackles through the phone again. “How do you feel?”

“I’m good, Si, really good, just wished you were here to feel good with me.” You grab the phone, turning it off speaker again and bringing it up to your ear. You lay yourself down on your side, curling up on yourself  as you let your body sink into the soft mattress. You pull the duvet over you, suddenly feeling very tired and alone, wishing that Simon was there to cuddle with you.     

“Yeah, I’d like that too.” His voice sounds much softer now.  

A little silence falls over you, the both of you needing to land again and you both feel the other’s absence all the more now, but you don’t want to stop talking with Simon, not when you finally can, but you also know that he only has limited time for phone calls. You just have to stay strong until you finally have him back again.  

“Si?”

“Yes, love?” Simon responds, his deep voice gentle and reassuring.

“Come back to me safe?” you plead, the weight of worry evident in your words.

A small pause follows. Then, Simon’s voice breaks through, filled with determination and devotion. “Love, I’ll come crawling back to you if I have to.” 

The words hang in the air for a moment, the intensity of Simon’s promise sinking into your heart. Tears well up in your eyes as you whisper, “I don’t know what I would do without you, Simon.” The vulnerability in your voice echoes the depth of your emotions, the fear of losing him almost too much to bear.

Simon’s voice softens, filled with tenderness as he responds, “You won’t have to find out, love.” 

Though you still worry about him, you let his words offer you solace for now.  

“It’s getting late,” Simon’s voice comes through with a hint of playfulness. “I think it’s time for you to get some beauty sleep.”

You can’t help but let out a tired giggle at his teasing tone, despite your worry for him, feeling the warmth of his affection even through the phone. “Oh, so you think I need beauty sleep, huh?” you reply, a mischievous twinkle in your voice.

Simon chuckles softly. “Well, only because you’re already the most beautiful person I know, and I want you to wake up even more radiant tomorrow.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, lieutenant Riley,” you say, a playful lilt in your voice and he chuckles softly at your remark. “Can you stay on the line until I fall asleep?” you ask softly, a gentle plea in your voice.

“Of course, love,” Simon replies, his words full of unwavering devotion. “I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.” 

A sense of comfort washes over you, knowing that even when miles apart, Simon is there for you. The ache in your heart is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the knowledge that Simon is safe, for now.  

Closing your eyes, you listen to the steady sound of his breathing, a reminder of his presence and the love that binds you together. In this moment, sleep comes easier, your worries momentarily eased by the knowledge that you are not alone.

As you drift off into dreams, you hold onto the promise that soon you will be reunited, and the ache in your heart will be replaced with the joy of being in Simon’s arms once again.

[catopoliscat]

next time / kento nanami/fem!reader.

who would have thought that kento nanami was a virgin? not you. not after this long. perhaps he was saving himself for someone. perhaps he was waiting for you.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab reader. penetrative sex. alcohol. dry humping. virgin!nanami. mutual pining. friends to lovers. creampie (wrap it kids). unprotected sex. touch-starved!nanami. canon!verse. you've known nanami since school. tinges of angst. nanami wanted you bad lmao. it's love babey. reader has experience. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever. wc: 7.7k. a/n: i kind of fear nanami's a little ooc here lmao, but i've spent too long on this so fuck it we ball he deserves this

also how mad would you be if i said this was set a week before shibuya arc be honest

mdni.

You’re a bottle and half of zinfandel deep when Nanami tells you. 

Although you’re both a little warm, tipsy perhaps, you didn’t think either of you were quite drunk enough for this conversation just yet. It was a regular occurrence for the two of you to share a drink on a Friday, or a bottle in more pressing times. 

There were more bottles than glasses, lately. 

It was just two old friends, catching up. Talking. Complaining--usually about Satoru. Often you’d reminisce on easier times. Warm summers in the Jujutsu High courtyard, the cold tin of a soda in your hands, a bottle of water in his. Quiet talks of dreams and eventualities. Ignoring the gaping absence of a third at between you. 

Tonight though, you’re not sure when the topic had changed. Somewhere between the last dregs of the first bottle and the beginning of the second, the conversation had grown more sombre than usual. Talk of love and relationships always seemed to make the air heavier around the two of you, for different reasons. A stark air of loneliness that not even the most tart of white wine could overpower.

You had offhandedly mentioned turning down one of the windows you had met on your last mission. He had been younger than you, still full of life where the holes in yourself had long since emptied it out. You had shaken your head, flattered, but tired. There were better options for a man like him, still full of hope and vitality, a whole life ahead of him… when you knew any day yours could be cut deftly short. 

You had told yourself it had little to do with the fact that the man’s bright smile had reminded you of another, so many years ago.  

In the quiet of Nanami’s living room, swirling the last drops of your wine in your glass, you had mentioned that you had no real desire for relationships anymore. Other than sex, of course, but only sexual. A temporary release, one of the few you had left. Nameless faces and hurried touches. Sometimes clinical, sometimes primal. Always quick, and never the same person twice. 

You know?

To which Nanami had replied, “No.” 

Misunderstanding the gravity of what he was saying, you had raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing at your lips. “Not one for one-night stands?” 

It occurs to you distantly that you don’t know a lot about Nanami’s romantic life. Close as you two were, or so you liked to believe, he had never really mentioned it. And you had never asked. 

Nanami had shook his head in response to your question, and you had nodded. It aligned with his character, you thought. As cold and stoic as he liked to act, you couldn’t imagine a world where he would use and discard someone. He felt too much, cared too much. He would love too much too, if given the chance. If he gave himself the chance. 

In your musings, you had almost missed what he had murmured next. 

“I’ve never had sex at all.” 

Kento Nanami. A virgin.

The confession has your lips parting, your eyes blinking. Once, then twice, akin to an owl. You glance down at your wine glass for a moment, as if it had been the slightly smeared glass that had been speaking to you instead, and not the esteemed stoic sorcerer you had known for the better part of ten years. 

You look over at Nanami on the couch, but he’s staring at the carpet, his expression contemplative, almost pensive. His brows are drawn taut, a small knit on his forehead. His lips are drawn into a thin line, a slight crease in his chin. There was a specific emotion dancing in his eyes. You almost dared to use the word vulnerable.

It seems… ridiculous. Nanami? Attractive as he was? Kind, considerate, hard-working, to a degree. A woman’s dream. In another life, perhaps your dream too.

Had it not been for Nanami’s serious demeanour, and the fact that ‘joke’ and ‘Nanami’ rarely went together in the same sentence, you might have thought he was pulling your leg. A joke between friends. 

But he wasn’t. He very clearly wasn’t. 

“That’s… fine,” you finally say after a small moment, fearing you had let the silence linger too long. “There’s no rush for these things.” 

Nanami’s hum is short and clipped. Gruff, almost. He still refuses to meet your eye for now, and you make no move to change that. You get the distinct feeling that this newfound vulnerability doesn’t stem from him never having sex, but rather, the reason why he’s denied himself - because you know for a fact it has little to do with opportunity. 

You had lost track of how many women you had watched Nanami turn down, clipped and short, yet always polite. 

The silence is heavy between you. In the other room, you can hear the hum of his refrigerator, the buzz of the bulbs in the lights. Nanami’s apartment has always been quiet, but this silence feels suffocating. Paired with the wine, your head feels thick, your tongue thicker. 

A few moments pass, and as the revelation of his virginity settles into your stomach like seltzer water, you realise… it makes sense. Nanami wasn’t the type to use someone for sex, even if eager. He’d only have sex with someone he was in love with. Someone he trusted at the very least. 

And Nanami, as he had told you and a few others before, refused to entertain the thought of love whilst he was a sorcerer. No one with two working brain cells needed to ask why. He wasn’t alone in that choice, either. 

You toy with the stem of your wineglass whilst you toy with a reoccurring thought in your mind, one that you entertained often, but had yet to voice aloud. 

“You shouldn’t keep depriving yourself, Kento,” you say quietly. The use of his first name, rarely used in your adulthood, garners you a glance from him. It’s a small sign that you’re taking this seriously. 

“I’m not deprived of anything.” 

You scoff at that, small and quiet. “You deprive yourself of a lot, apart from pain,” you drawl, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table. Like always, the wine and Nanami’s masochistic tendencies have your tongue loosening more than it should. “I understand not wanting to have sex with anyone you’re not in a committed relationship with. It’s kind of… admirable, and definitely you.” You fold your arms across your chest, fixing him with a stare that he still refuses to meet head-on. “But why deny yourself the chance of love?” 

In the back of your mind somewhere is a voice chanting ‘hypocrite’, but you ignore it. Nanami, however, does not. 

He finally turns his head to face you, the lines underneath his eyes seemingly heavier in the dim light of his apartment. An eyebrow arches. “And meaningless sex is different?”

You scoff again, louder this time. “It’s not meaningless just because I don’t love my partner.” 

“Or even know their name?” 

You raise a sharp eyebrow, your own lips now pressing into a thin line. A part of you wants to retort, to snap, but you remember the vulnerability in his face from a few moments ago, and you just about hold your tongue.

With an exhale, you grab the half-empty wine bottle off of the coffee table instead and gesture for Nanami to hold out his glass. He does, and the glug of the wine fills the space between you.

“You ever thought about it?” You ask, filling up your own glass. In your peripheral, you see him sit quietly for a moment before he nods his head. 

“I’m only human.” 

You hum. “You should experience it,” you add. You swirl the wine in your glass once before bringing it up to your lips. “Even once. Even if it means nothing.”  

With one glance, you can tell immediately that the idea doesn’t sit right with him. It was easy to forget sometimes how rigid and traditional he could be. Formalities that few seemed to care about these days. Always on the things you least expected. 

“I couldn’t,” Nanami replies, shaking his head. 

Oddly, you feel the desire to insist. Days of a sorcerer were short, and getting shorter every year. Younger than yourself and Nanami had already died long before they would ever have the opportunity to touch another, kiss another; to feel the warmth of a body against your own. They would never know what that distinct pleasure was like, even if they desperately wanted to. Time was infinite to the young, until it wasn’t.  

It occurs to you quickly that you’re thinking of Haibara, and everything you and Nanami had experienced that he never would. 

Something must show in your expression because Nanami raises an eyebrow at you. You swallow, before setting your glass back down on the coffee table with a dull clink. You look at him, your face surprisingly collected and casual for what you’re about to ask. 

“What about me?” 

Nanami’s questioning look only deepens for a moment, before something passes by his eyes. His lips part, his version of a falter. You know he knows what you’re implying, but still, he asks, “…what about you?” 

“What if we had sex?” You say without hesitation. “You know me. You trust me.” 

Nanami falters further. He straightens in his seat, his glass resting on his thigh, the thick muscle straining against his slacks. His whole body is thick with a tension you usually only see before a fight with a particularly highly graded curse. A vein protrudes from his neck.

His eyes flick between your face and your own glass, clearly wondering if it is time to call this night done, but you rise from your seat before he can, taking a small step toward the couch he’s sitting on. 

You sit down next to him, a little closer than you usually might. He doesn’t move away. Your thigh brushes against his, and this close, you can hear his breath hitch in response. 

“I’m not going to push this any further, Kento,” you say quietly, “but I’m letting you know it’s an option.” 

Although you and Kento were hardly affectionate with one another like most friends, you decided to take a chance tonight. You had already taken several, what was one more?

Reaching out, you take his glass from his hand and set it next to yours on the coffee table. Hesitating only a moment, you place your hand on top of his, your fingers curling around until your fingertips touch his palm.

His hand is stiff and warm underneath your own. The bones and knuckles press against your skin.

Something in the back of your mind is wondering why you’re pushing this at all. Would it matter if Nanami died without experiencing the pleasures of the body, really? Would the world stop turning for either of you? You know if Nanami really wanted to, if he felt the want, the desire - then he could leave this apartment right now and find someone willing, someone other than you. He could have done so years ago, during those few years he had masqueraded as a normal human being with a nine-to-five. 

You were risking a friendship over… what? The implied hopes and dreams of a dead fifteen-year-old? Haibara was dead. It didn’t matter to him whether Nanami experienced the things he never could. 

Nanami’s gaze flickers between your eyes for a moment, and this close, you can see the faint traces of the wine staining his lips. Your gaze must linger for a touch too long because his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. The pink skin glistens with the faint glimmer of his saliva.

When you look up, you see his eyes trained on your own lips, before they quickly flick back up to meet your eyes. 

“We’re friends,” he murmurs, his voice low, slightly thick. 

“And we always will be,” you reply.

He glances down at your hands. Somewhere between your own thoughts and Nanami’s reiteration of your friendship, your hands had interlocked, fingers intertwined like vines. He was gripping your hand a little too tightly to be comfortable, but you didn’t flinch. 

You’re not sure whether it had been your subconscious doing, or his. 

“I… can’t,” Nanami mutters finally, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not like this. Not… now.” 

Something clenches in your heart at his rejection, although you had expected it. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s denying you, or himself. 

You smile softly nonetheless and nod. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” you say quietly, going to pull your hand from his grip and give him some space. 

Only he doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly. 

Your eyes flick between his hand and his eyes, still trained on your face. You raise an eyebrow, your lips parting to speak, but he beats you to it. 

“But I’d like to kiss you.” 

Something resembling a very quiet ‘uh’ pushes past your lips in a long exhale.

You’re not sure why the idea of kissing him felt more… intimate than the fact that you had offered your body to him only seconds prior. You’re not sure why there’s a prickle of heat at the back of your neck or your lips burn with a sudden need.

“Nanam-“

As if remembering himself, he shakes his head slightly, blinking away whatever stupor had just possessed him. He looks away, his grip on your hand loosening, but not quite pulling away. 

“I… don’t know why I said that,” he mumbles. “You should go-“

Your free hand is already gripping his chin, turning his face toward yours a little too sharply. A subtle grunt leaves his throat as he looks at you, his gaze foggier than usual. From the wine, you, or the whole situation? Who knows. 

Fingers against his neck, feeling the quickened thrum of his pulse, your thumb brushes against his chin, pulling the skin until his lips naturally part. You feel Nanami’s shaky exhale against your lips as you lean forward, warmth breath mingling with yours, the scent of wine heavy on the air. 

You close the distance slowly, giving him time to stop this, to pull or push away. To draw an end to this nonsense before it went any further. 

Instead of pulling back or pushing you away, he closes the gap so quickly your noses almost bump together. 

The first press of his lips against you feels hurried and unsure. It’s off-center slightly, barely hitting the corner of your mouth, but Nanami is quick to correct it. He slots his lips against yours more firmly the second time, his lips parting to capture yours fully. You feel a rush of air against your cheek as he exhales through his nose. 

The kiss is unhurried, curious almost, yet there’s a subtle urgency in it that surprises you. Your free hand moves from his chin to his jaw, fingertips softly caressing the sharp curve of it. The sound and feel of his sigh against your lips makes you shiver, and you become enamoured with it. 

Enamoured with him.

You part your lips further, your tongue swiping against his bottom lip, finally tasting the remnants of the wine that you had spotted earlier. An odd sound builds at the back of his throat before his mouth parts too, his tongue brushing against yours. 

Something changes quickly then. His hand, larger than you ever really noticed, cups the back of your neck, his calloused thumb pressing against your jaw, drawing you closer. Your other hands, still intertwined, seem to tighten around one another like a snake's coils. The wet smacks of your lips grow louder in the quiet of his apartment, just about overriding the sound of increasingly ragged breaths, borderline panting. 

Your head feels thick. Dizzy. The kiss is indulgent, almost sloppy now. Nanami’s tongue is in your mouth, exploring every crevice, tasting you with an eagerness you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Every time you brush your tongue against his, your taste buds wetly sliding against his own, a small sound rumbles in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and grumble. 

After a moment that feels like an eternity too short, you pull back slightly, just enough to see his eyes as you open yours. Nanami denies you this, however, because when you open your eyes, his are still closed, almost scrunched. A faint frown tugs at his brow. 

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. The heat of his skin against yours feels searing, your noses softly brushing against one another’s. He sighs deeply, as if pulled from the back of his chest. It almost sounds like defeat. 

“Kento-“

“I want you,” he breathes out, and your voice almost hitches as you feel rather than hear his voice. It’s a deep, husky sound, more rumble than syllable. But there’s a crack in his tone belying a raw vulnerability that you weren’t familiar with. Not from him.

His eyes finally open, looking up at you from underneath his brow. His hazel eyes are almost black, you realise, the familiar colour you’ve always admired swallowed up by a sea of coal. You wonder if yours are the same. 

He’s trembling too. You can feel his fingertips shake where they press against the nape of your neck. 

“I thought you didn’t want… this,” you murmur. ‘Sex’ suddenly feels too…

“I changed my mind,” he replies, a touch too quickly for you to believe that he was thinking clearly. 

But God, did you want him too. You want him so fucking bad it almost makes you ache. Your feelings toward Nanami had always been friendly, respectful. He had been your closest friend, your ally, your confidant. You had been through so much together. You liked him, every part. 

And somewhere along the way, between the four years apart as he pursued a different life and the first time you had hugged him when he finally returned, Gojo grinning over his shoulder… you think, that like had changed to love.

It quickly occurs to you that you weren’t pushing Nanami to experience sex for fear of him missing out. That was you. You were scared of missing out on him.

It’s that revelation that makes you pull back slightly, and Nanami’s eyes widen a little, some of the hazy fog clearing. His hand slides from the back of your neck, falling limply against the couch next to your thigh. 

“I… I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” you mutter, glancing away, staring at the two wine glasses on the coffee table before looking back at him. “It’s your choice. Your first time should be on your terms, not because I think you’re missing out or depriving yourself.”

You go to remove your hand from his, but once again, his grip tightens, but there’s a tenderness to it this time. A gentle squeeze, almost begging you not to go. Not yet. 

He looks serious now, staring at you squarely, as if about to deliver a mission report, and its the first familiar expression you’ve seen on his face thus far. He swallows thickly, the only thing belying his hesitation. 

“I said I couldn’t have a one-night stand.” 

You frown. “And th-“

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.” 

Some of the breath flees your lungs as you look at him. His lips are still pink and slightly swollen from kissing, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the wine and your touch. You become distinctly aware of the scent of his cologne, faded but warm from his skin. It’s soft, smoky almost. You have the urge to bury his nose in the crook of his neck and breathe.

You know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to ask. You know what he wants because you want it too. You realise you’ve wanted it for a long damn time. 

Words fail you. They feel… inadequate to describe what you’re feeling, what you desire, what you’ve always desired buried down underneath the guilt and trauma. 

But you still can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not here. Not yet. 

And neither can he.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, all you know is that your lips are pressed against his and he moans into your mouth as if something had finally let go. It’s like a cork had finally been released, a lifetime of pent-up feelings pouring out in one gush. 

His hand is back at the nape of your neck, holding you tightly this time, unwilling to let go. His lips part more readily with every press, his tongue seeking yours with a pinpoint determination. You skip his jaw this time altogether, aiming straight for his hair that you’ve been dying to touch since… you don’t know when. 

The hand that had been holding yours hostage finally releases, only so his fingers can brush against your waist. His fingers brush against your ribs through your clothes, tugging you closer until you’re rising up onto your knees on the couch just to oblige. He’s tilting back, his broad shoulders bumping against the couch cushions behind him - and it’s only distantly you register it’s because you’re pushing him back against it. 

Something shouts at you in the back of your mind to take your time, to savour this, to savour him. You may want each other badly, but this is Nanami’s first time. It should be done carefully, respectfully, the way he would treat you if this position had been reversed. 

But then Nanami’s hand has moved from your waist to your thigh, blindly grabbing it as he pulls it over his lap. Before you know it, you’re straddling his hips with a huff against his lips, and something like a sharp, pained groan leaves his lips. 

You pull away from his lips with a ragged breath, concern knitting your brow until you realise what the cause of his groan was. 

Straddling him, you can feel the pulse of his desire underneath you, the hard ridge of the bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core through your own clothes. One hand is grabbing your hip tightly, almost too tight, as his forehead rests against your shoulder. The other hand is on your thigh, his thumb digging into the plush flesh there. 

His breathing is ragged, extremely so. Hot puffs fall against your skin. You weave your fingers through his hair softly, and you watch with reverence as a strong shudder rolls down his spine in response.

“We can stop, if you’d like,” you murmur against his ear, going to rise up on your knees to give him a little breathing room.

“Don’t,” he grunts, the grip on your hip and thigh quickly stopping you. He exhales again, a shaky sound as he keeps his forehead stamped against your shoulder. His voice emerges again, barely audible, slightly pained. “...I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your grip in his hair tightens in response. In a flood, memories of him rush through your mind. A thousand different glances, subtle touches, small clues. Even in school, the way he would linger, a touch closer every time Suguru or Satoru would appear. The hand at the bottom of your back in a restaurant. The way he would lean in to hear you in a crowded place. 

The way his arms had tightened around you when he had returned after four years away. I missed you too, almost inaudible against your ear. 

Nanami didn’t want a one-night stand. What was the point of sex at all, if it wasn’t with you? 

The thought has you rolling your hips down against his before you can stop yourself, feeling the firm length of his cock grind against your core. A moan leaves your lips, and something guttural leaves his. 

The hand on your thigh moves up to your other hip, pulling you down tighter against him as if he could slide inside you right now. “Don’t tease,” he hisses between clenched teeth. He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against your neck. He leaves a searing, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point. “Not now, not after this long.” 

“You think you’re the only one who waited?” You pant as you grind again, firmer this time. His hips buck against yours in response, a muffled groan leaving his lips, imprinted against your neck. You can feel his cock throb against you, twitching against the fabric that separates you. 

“…you wanted this too?” He breathes out after a moment. 

You nod, though you doubt he can see it from the way his face is buried against the crook of your neck. “Since you came back. Since you hugged me back and said you missed me.” 

His hands move from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear for a single slither of space to be left between you two. His hips jut up against you once again, a ragged breath leaving his lips. It seems the idea of you wanting him for so long the same as he had the same effect on him as it had on you. If not more. 

He holds you a little tighter, running the sharp point of his nose along your throat as he tilts his head up. Finally, finally, he breaks free of your neck to look up at you, lips parted, eyes almost desperate. 

With a thick swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, he goes to say something but falters, and murmurs your name instead. His dark eyes flick between your eyes and your lips. His cock twitches underneath you. 

“Please,” is all he can croak out, and the moan that almost leaves your lips would have been primal. 

You nod your head, giving his shoulders a small squeeze, pushing him back slightly. He seems reluctant to let go, but finally relents after a little insistence, reclining back against the couch. His arms unwind and his hands drop to your hips. He looks up at you, clearly waiting for your lead. 

You sit back slightly on his parted thighs, the muscles firm and supportive underneath you. Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you drag your fingertips slowly down over the expanse of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his wrinkled shirt. As your fingers skate over his abdomen, you feel the muscles flex and roll. Nanami looks at you readily. 

“We should do this properly,” you murmur, your eyes trained on the lower buttons of his shirt, near the waistband of his slacks. “In a bed.” 

Nanami, to your surprise, shakes his head quickly, giving your hips a small squeeze. “We’ve waited long enough.” 

You raise an eyebrow but don’t disagree. Despite the need, the ache, the pulse of your own core, you can’t help but think of if the positions were reversed. The image of candles, roses and soft music fills your mind, Nanami’s guiding hands and murmured praises. It would be slow and romantic. Perfect. 

“Nanami,” you breathe out, almost chastising. With the way his cock is pressing against you, you have no doubt he’s not thinking clearly right now; the thought of having what he had wanted for so long within his grasp clouding rational thought. 

He shakes his head again, a lock of his mussed hair tickling his brow. “Next time.” He shifts, sliding down the couch a little more and spreading his thighs - and in turn, spreading yours. He grips your hips tighter, pulling you a little closer until you’re seated right on top of him. “Next time,” he repeats in a groan. “We’ll go slow. I’ll explore every inch of you, taste you. Now, I just want…” He exhales an unsteady breath, sounding like your name. “I just want you.” 

Your fingers linger near his shirt's lower button, and one of Nanami’s hands unclasps itself from your hip to gently grasp your wrist. He guides your fingertips to the belt buckle, the metal cool against your hot fingers. 

You meet his eyes once more, and his gaze is a paradox of firmness and vulnerability. He’s nervous, you think, but ready. Almost desperately so. 

Without another word, your other hand reaches down to join your other one, and your fingers are surprisingly deft as you slide the leather through the metal. Nanami watches your hands with rapt attention until the belt is loose. Your fingers slide over the metal button of his slacks, and you don’t check in this time. You pop it open before sliding his zipper down, the crackle of the metal teeth as loud as a gunshot between you.

A small sigh of what you think is relief leaves his lips as the fabric parts, giving you a small glimpse of the dark boxers underneath, straining over his cock. A small wet patch blooms at the top, wear his tip would be, and a shudder runs through you. 

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his underwear, lingering for a moment. You look up at him at the same time he looks up at you. Without a sound, Nanami lifts his hips and you rise up to your knees. 

With a few firm tugs, you manage to inch his slacks and boxers down enough to free him. A small huff leaves his lips as the cooler air of the apartment hits his overheated flesh, and you watch in rapt attention as his cock twitches, the flushed tip glistening already.

It’s longer than you expected. Thicker too. Uncut. A prominent vein runs up the underside of it, and you have the sudden urge to follow it with your finger, or your tongue. 

Nanami shifts underneath you, and you realise you’ve been staring a touch too long.

You pull your eyes away from his cock to meet his eyes, and his breathing seemed to have quickened. Anticipation is making him stiff, almost antsy, a rare sight on a man you’ve rarely ever seen anything of other than composed. 

It’s endearing. 

Reaching down, you satisfy your own urge and run your fingertip up his shaft, following the vein, feeling it pulse steadily to the rhythm of his heart. Nanami’s hips twitch, his eyelids fluttering. Dark eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

When you curl your fingers around him, gripping him firmly at the base, his eyes shoot open, snapping to the sight of him in your palm. You give him one pull upwards, and a bead of pre-cum wells in the divot of his slit. 

“Fuck,” comes out in a very quiet, gruff choke. Your eyebrows rise in surprise, a small smile on your lips. Nanami didn’t always curse, and especially not like that. 

“Language, Nanami,” you tease, and his eyes flick up to you, something indignant and impatient in his eyes. You usually weren’t one to tease, and he wasn’t one to be teased. 

You continue to stroke him slowly for a moment, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip. You fingers quickly become tacky, the glide of your hand more fluid, until the lewd wet noise starts to rise to the same level as Nanami’s breathing. He grunts with every upward stroke, his hips twitching underneath you. Had it not been for your weight on top of him, you get the distinct feeling he’d be bucking up into your palm a little more eagerly. His head falls back against the couch, lips parted, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he relaxes more into the sensation. 

It occurs to you that you’ve seldom seen Nanami this relaxed. 

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” you ask, “with me on top?” 

He nods but doesn’t open his eyes. His hands run up from your hips to your waist, a soft caress. “It’ll be… easier for me- hah-“ Another choked groan leaves his lips as you give the head of his cock a small squeeze, and Nanami’s hand flies to your wrist in a blink, stopping you from making another move. 

You feel his cock throbbing in your grasp, and Nanami’s straight-up panting now, his eyes slightly wild as he tilts his head up to look at you. It’s an arousing reality to know that you had just pushed Nanami dangerously close to the edge without even meaning to. 

“I won’t last,” he murmurs, looking up at you, his eyes shining.

 You realise quickly that he’s actually asking a question. Are you sure? 

“This time,” you reply with a small smile. With his hand still around your wrist, you give his cock another squeeze, and he grits his teeth, that vein in his neck protruding once more. You can see the taut muscles in his abdomen flexing from where his shirt has bunched up. 

As much as the idea of making Nanami cum, right here, right now, appeals to you, you relent for now. You’d love nothing more than to watch him spill into your palm, to see the euphoria and bliss play out on his face… but that was for another time. The next time, perhaps. 

You release his cock, letting it fall back against his lower stomach with a dull smack, making him hiss through his teeth. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his throat, nipping at the skin softly. 

You guide his hands to the waistband of your own bottoms, and he wastes little time in following your unspoken order. The press of your lips against his throat clearly distracts him, but he manages to pull down your clothes enough to leave you in your underwear. You kick them off the sofa haphazardly, not leaving his neck for a single moment. 

He catches you off guard when his hand immediately dives for your sex, cupping your heat through the dampened fabric. You stutter against his neck, gripping onto his shoulders for support in response. 

Your eyelids close, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you feel just how wet you are. “Nanami,” you gasp.

“Kento,” he whispers quickly. Once, then twice, he rubs his palm along your clothed pussy, something guttural building in the back of his throat as you buck down into his touch. “You’re… so wet.” 

The wet spot on the fabric clings tightly to your folds, doing very little to dampen the sensation of his touch. His fingers are exploratory, a tentativeness that belies his lack of experience with this, but his touch, the fact it’s him, here and now, makes up for it all. 

You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed a touch such as this. Not like this. 

Despite toying with Nanami’s cock until he almost burst, hypocritical impatience gets the better of you, and you remove your hand from his shoulders to tug down your own underwear, kicking it off to join the growing pile on the floor. Bare from the waist down, Nanami’s eyes roam over the exposed skin almost hungrily. 

Both calloused hands run up your thighs, pressing into the soft flesh slightly. You see his hand move for your pussy once more, but your fingers are curling back around his cock again before he can distract you. 

Next time, keep parroting in your mind. Next time you can both endure hours of foreplay; touching, kissing, tasting, the whole nine yards. You promise to make him cry out before he even sinks inside you, to run your tongue along every inch of his skin until you’re sick of the taste of him. You’d know he’d do the same. 

But you two had waited long enough. 

Gripping the base of his cock again, you brush it up against your heat, your own slick smearing across him. Nanami’s eyes almost roll back into his head, but he closes his lids before you witness it. You’re faring little better, the mere sensation of having him against you like this, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your clit sending you dizzy. You angle your hips, and just feeling the thick head press against the tight, slick ring of muscle is enough for a moan to already tumble past your lips. 

Something flickers in Nanami’s gaze as he opens his eyes again, honing in on the sight of you braced above him like this. He grips your hips, his touch light, merely supporting you for now. You look back once into his eyes, and go to check in just once more, but he leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s little more than teeth and raw need. 

His lips pressed against yours, you sink down, the wider head of his cock slipping inside you. Your lips part in a soundless gasp against his mouth, swallowing the ragged groan that leaves his throat. The stretch is slightly more than you’re prepared for. Distantly, you think, skipping foreplay wasn’t the wisest idea, but desperation, need, pushes you forward regardless. 

So you sink down further, inch by inch, and as he slides deeper and deeper, his grip on your hips grows tighter and tighter, until the force of his fingers dulls the ache of his cock kissing your cervix. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you finally bottom out, hips sitting on top of his. You realise you’re breathless, and that cowgirl might not have been the best position for taking someone of his size. Certainly not in one go, like you just had. 

Nanami is fairing no better. His mouth is agape, his biceps trembling where he clings to you. He seems dazed, winded, panting into your mouth as his arms wind against you. He pulls you forward, and you both moan as his cock seems to slide just that little bit deeper. 

You’re dizzy, strained, stretched out far more than you can ever remember being before. Your eyes are scrunched closed, your forehead knocking against his. Everything feels distant and muffled. It takes you a moment to realise Nanami’s muttering something repeatedly in fragmented gasps.

When you open your eyes, he’s looking at you almost panicked, his eyebrows knitted upward. His teeth are bared, gritted - and it’s now you notice that you’re clenching around him so tight that you’re not sure if you’re causing him more discomfort than pleasure.

You swallow thickly, trying to catch your breath. You’re flushed, prickly heat blooming across your chest and neck. You shift a little, and something pained rumbles from the back of Nanami’s chest in response.  

“Do you want me to stop or-“

“Don’t,” he grunts, his fingers shaking against your back. “Don’t move.” 

The throb of his cock inside you is insistent, and it takes everything in you not to clench tighter around him in response. You know he’s close, dangerously close, and as much as you want to rise up on your knees and slam yourself down on his cock until he’s begging you to stop, you clench your jaw and relax. 

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly; small pecks and affectionate touches. He shivers, and his cock still pulses, but slowly, muscle by muscle, he relaxes too, ragged pants dissolving into hot, muted breaths. His arms around you loosen, holding now, not gripping. 

“Tell me when you want me to move,” you whisper against his ear, pressing a small kiss to the lobe. 

He nods, brushing his cheek against yours with a soft sigh. His hand moves from your back upward, until he cups the back of your head, drawing your lips back to his. It’s a soft kiss, loving; slow and sensual slides of wet skin mingling with gentle exhales. Before you know it, and before he says, you’re rolling your hips greedily, just grinding against him for now. 

A guttural sound leaves his lips. His forehead feels hot and sticky pressed against yours like this, a strand of his hair tickling your cheek. 

You feel his thighs shift, widening as far as the slacks still around his thighs can allow, feet planted more firmly into the carpet. The first roll of his hips is disjointed, off rhythm with your own, but the slight drag of his cock against your walls has you moaning brokenly. The second roll, a little more confident, has you pressing your hips down to meet it, and your back arches like a cat.

“Fuck yes,” you moan, your voice thick and throaty. You moan his name, wait for the third shallow thrust, and meet it. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He looks up at you like you hung the stars, his eyes widening at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips like a fractured halo. He loses his rhythm, but you soon pick it back up for him, starting to use your thighs to slide more eagerly down his cock. It’s still shallow, Nanami’s arms around your waist preventing you from really going for it, but you’re unwilling to part from the closeness for now. 

You bounce a few inches at a time, the dull clap of your hips and the lewd squelch of your hot cunt wrapped tight around him filling the air of the apartment. With each bounce, a grunt pushes out from his chest, hot breath fanning across your face. 

Nanami, though inexperienced, starts to let his body guide him. His hips buck up to meet you more confidently, and the growing force of his movements has you keening, fingernails biting into his shoulders. 

You look square into his hooded eyes, breath mingling, and see the flush across his skin, his lips glistening with saliva. You moan again, higher pitched this time, and Nanami’s next thrust has you jolting up a little, nose bumping against his. You clench around him again, and his brow knits together. 

“S-Shit,” he pants, his hips starting to jolt more readily, pushing a little too forcefully into you, quickly losing his rhythm. “I’m not… I’m not going to last…” His movements quicken, grow more erratic, and you’re not even sure he realises. “… you’re so fucking… tight.” 

The last part is little more than a throaty whisper, his voice cracking. You stop meeting his thrusts and instead, widen your stance, tighten your core, and let him take what he needs. The movement, though small, isn’t lost on him, and he looks up at you, emotion swimming heavily in his dark gaze. 

He thrusts up grow more erratic, sloppier, something like a grunt leaving his mouth with every dull thwap of his hips against your ass. His arms tighten around you, fingertips pressing into your skin. A groan, a hiss, and a swallow. The couch creaks and strains. 

“N-Next time - hah - next time… I want t-to feel you cum around me,” he pants, his arms starting to shake. “I’ll give you everything, anything, fuck, I-I’ll keep going until… until… God-“ 

He’s barely pulling out now, a mere inch is all he’s moving, the head of his cock bullying against the soft spot right next to your cervix. Choked, high-pitch moans are the only sounds you can make, and you distantly note you’ve never sounded like before. Not ever. 

You’re getting there, you realise. Not quite close, and definitely not as close as him, but the way his cock fits inside you, the slap of his hips against you, the way he’s looking at you… it’s pushing you there fast. 

But it’s not quite enough. 

“I’m close,” he gasps. “I… where…” 

“Inside,” you reply without hesitation. Something passes by his eyes, a small flicker of concern, perhaps, swimming in the sea of lust and arousal. You try to find your bearings enough to tell him it’s okay, you wouldn’t have taken him inside if you weren’t protected-

-but then his cock is twitching inside you, and Nanami is shaking, shaking underneath you, his thighs jolting, nearly bucking you off his lap altogether. 

With one last slam of his hips against you, buried as deep as he could possibly ago, a long, primal groan leaves him. It’s deep, visceral, easily mistaken for something pained - and it might be the most divine fucking sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

He buries his face against your throat as his hips buck involuntarily a few times, and you shiver as you feel that familiar warmth bloom inside you. He’s giving you everything, or what feels like it. Your pussy flutters around him, and his fingertips press into you so tight you wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises. 

His heart is hammering against your chest, the thump pounding even in your own chest. Ragged pants and a heavy quiet settles over the living room. His cock continues to twitch inside you, growing weaker with every thud of his heart. 

Nanami doesn’t pull his head from your throat for a long while, his nose pressing into your skin as he pants against you. 

After a moment, he finally swallows. “… I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I… I should have made you-“ 

“Shut up,” you murmur against his warm hair, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and his shampoo. He seems to get the picture, of what you were trying to say. He always did. “Next time,” you add anyway, just to be sure. 

He lifts his head from your skin, looking up at you blearily. You smile fondly as you see his face again, the harsh lines on his brow and his eyes smoother now, no longer creased as they always seemed to be. He looks… so much younger, you think, like this. Relaxed. Sated. 

You brush some of his sweaty hair out of his face, and his eyelids flutter at the brief contact. He seems exhausted, you think.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs as he looks up at you. “I don’t want this to…” His palm moves against your back, sliding down your spine. “I want you. Properly. I always have.” He swallows. “Always.” 

Your eyes soften. He looks at you expectantly, almost vulnerably. 

“You have me,” you murmur in reply, finally. “Properly.” 

A small smile tugs at his lips, and it’s warmer than you’ve ever seen before. Genuine. Light. It’s as if a decade of weight lifts from his broad shoulders, if only briefly. 

He pulls you close once more, his lips pressing against yours softly, lovingly, and the world seems to fade away. 

For now, of course. 

masterlist.

[empyreva]

Loser's Spoils

Summary: Luke usually loves treating you like his own little goddess, but after you cost him a game of capture the flag...he wants to change things up.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Established relationship, Daughter of Aphrodite!Reader (not that important), Mean!Luke Castellan, smut, P in V, PWP, oral sex (m and f), fingering, dom/sub elements, slight dubcon (always check in with your partners!!), kink exploration, slapping, some degradation (and praising)

A/N: Shameless indulgence. I tried to stick to this audio as best as I could but I think that in teen/ya relationships, holding a more serious dom/sub dynamic is a little harder so Luke is super good at making sure you're ok because it's all new to him too...Minors DNI!!

Other campers were quick to dodge out of your and Luke's paths, sensing that he would not hesitate to body-check them if they didn't. A cloud of wrath (with a tinge of humiliation) seemed to engulf your boyfriend--They knew better than to question it at all, scurrying back to do whatever chores and tasks they had been mildly interrupted from before.

Before you knew it, Luke had dragged you into your cabin, looking around for any of your, as he put it, 'overly pretentious' siblings. Aphrodite's cabin was empty, much to his delight, and he dragged you into the bathroom with a loud SLAM of the door. Once inside, he let go of you with a slight push, seeming to not pay you any mind as he fussed about the area.

"Luke, what the fuck?" You hissed, rubbing your now tender arm as Luke propped one of the vanity chairs beneath the door knob to ensure no one would be able to accidentally wander in. It was a good precaution--Three too many of your sisters now can't even look at him without becoming almost visibly upset. "What's your problem today?"

"Don't act like you don't know, baby," Luke turned around with a dark look in his eyes, causing you to gulp back any further questions. "You've hurt my feelings today, y'know? First by not joining my team...and then by winning because you know I couldn't hurt my pretty little girl--acting all brave and jumping in to protect that twerp of an Apollo kid."

"Baby, it's just a game..." You reached up to caress his tense jaw, his facade faltering for a split second as he took in your soft touch, "I mean, they just needed another player--that kid is literally like 11 so-" Luke cut off your sentence by roughly pushing you against the vanity counter behind you--glass bowls and organizers full of various makeup products rattling from the force. His hands planted at either side of you, hips flushed to yours. 

"I. Don't. Care," he growled. A whimper escaped your throat, feeling something hard pressing against you--growing in size with every breath that your boyfriend took. "You were disloyal, you won, you know that drives me crazy."

"'m sorry," you mumbled, trying your best to bat your long lashes at him, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt. This was a common occurrence between the two of you--You 'defeating' the 'best swordsman' just by distracting him enough to let your teammates finish up the game. How could he even raise his sword at a girl like you, batting your lashes and pouting so cutely as a kid scurried off behind you? Even if he seemed mad about losing, losing to you drove him up the wall with desire—I mean, it always ended in Luke making you scream his name until your throat went hoarse, anyway. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Yeah, you will," there was a glint of something sinister in Luke's eyes that unnerved you. It was like you were a piece of meat dangling before a starved wolf, just waiting to be devoured. "I'm not gonna let you off easy this time, baby. No, no...You need to be taught a proper lesson." He glared down at you, but his hand grasped yours gently, thumbing circles against your knuckles. "Ok? Now on your knees."

Obediently, you lowered yourself to the ground, hands in your lap as Luke discarded his belt and cargos quickly. His cock was already dripping with pearls of precum--and you couldn't help yourself as you eagerly took him in your mouth. Your head bobbed unhurriedly as you savored every inch of his hard cock, taking pleasure in the way his hips thrust forward instinctively. He liked it when you took your time, swallowing him whole and gagging. You moaned deeply, feeling his hand brush lightly against the nape of your neck, urging you to slow down.

"Shhh... Look at me," he commanded sternly. His voice was low and gravelly, making your insides quiver. You hesitated briefly before meeting his gaze fully, watching intently as he gazed intently into your soul. There was a fierceness in his expression that sent chills down your spine, and you knew that he meant business. His fingers traced your hollow cheeks, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears, drinking in this image of you. "You look so cute, so adorable."

That comment flustered you more than the fact his dick was nearly halfway down your throat--and you immediately pulled back, words forming in your throat as the head of his cock brushed against your tongue. A fistful of your hair wrapped around Luke's hand, and he pushed your head until your nose was tickled by the curls of black hair at the base of his dick. "Shut the fuck up and look at me. Let me see my pretty girl."

Nearly, crossed-eyed, you stared up at Luke in a daze, nostrils flaring as you held back your urge to gag around him. He looked so handsome...a certain tortured look marred across his face as he contemplated whether he should cum down your throat while you clawed at his legs or if he should fuck you silly. Tough choice.

"I want to play with you," he finally decided aloud, releasing you from his cock, letting you gasp for air. It didn't last long, though, because Luke was quick to roughly pull you back onto your feet, a strong hand gripping your jaw. You gulped and heaved, daring not to move as Luke pressed up against you, eyes inspecting your flushed and sloppy face. It was just so kissable, his poor little baby. 

His tongue slipped into your mouth before you knew it, and your hands reached up to grab at his curls--pulling him deeper. A collection of quiet moans filled the bathroom, bouncing off the marble floors and pristine white walls. After a few minutes, Luke pulled away cheeks red and burning, staring down at you.

"Take your pants off, just the pants," he commanded, giving you just enough room to fumble with the button of your bottoms. After nervously missing the hole a few times, you were able to slide them off, kicking them to the side. You resisted the urge to rub your thighs together, instead choosing to look haphazardly at the floor. "Good girl, now look at me." 

You faltered, maybe from shyness or maybe from a sudden spark of rebellion, but your gaze remained pointed down at the space between you. Luke was stunned for a moment, tilting his head to the side before letting out a sarcastic chuckle.

"Look. At. Me."

Slap

Your gaze shot up, eyes wide as you began to register the sting radiating in your cheek before it dissipated. His slap wasn't too hard, more of a forceful pat. Eyes locking with yours, Luke seemed to be gauging your reaction, waiting for you to say the words that would have him begging for your forgiveness in a matter of seconds. They never came. 

Slap

"I said look at me when I'm speaking to you." 

Slap

Fuck okay, that one hurt a lot more. You let out a pained yelp, lip quivering as you tried to keep yourself steady. 

Slap

Luke shushed you when you tried to cry out, frowning when you flinched away from his hand--now he was just trying to caress your cheek. A small wave of regret washed over him, and a tightness in his chest pulled tighter. "Come here, it's ok," he beckoned, drawing you into a hug. You buried your face in his chest, biting back whimpers as he reassured you that you were a good girl and you were so brave and so strong for him. 

"Are you ok, baby?" He whispered into your hair, wanting to know before continuing. Nodding slowly, you pulled back to look at him with misty but loving eyes, a small smile stretching across your lips.

"I trust you, you know that." Luke was a man of many curiosities, so you were somewhat acclimated to his sudden changes in wants and needs during sex--even if albeit a bit shocking at first. But deep down, you knew that he would rather stab himself with backbiter a million times rather than force you into anything.

"Love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The two of you stayed quiet for a second, Luke touching you wherever he so pleased as you fell compliant under his touch. His fingers found yours, bringing one hand up to daintily kiss the back of it--a mischievous grin appearing as you met his gaze. In a split second, his hand was in your hair, tugging your head back sharply, earning a hiss in response.

"Shhh...it's ok, it's ok, baby," Luke's lips trailed down your cheek, ghosting over your neck before planting a few rougher kisses. You whimper, feeling his teeth sink into the tense skin, surely leaving a mark as he suckled and nipped. "Shh, we don't want people to hear us. Don't we?" Luke taunted you with his own deep moan, now moving onto his third mark--pulling away to look at you when he was sure your neck was going to be a nasty shade of 'Luke Purple' tomorrow morning.

"Spread your legs," he murmured, watching intently as you complied--shifting your ass and hips so that your soaking wet panties were on full display. You bit your lip shyly as Luke inhaled sharply, studying the way your squished-up belly rose and fell, the way you seemed to tremble just a little more when he took a step closer. "Good girl--You look so cute." 

He grabbed your throat, forcing you to look up at him, shushing you softly, "I know, I know, It's ok, I know, shh--" A smirk danced across his face before he leaned in, kissing you deeply, fingers feeling how wet you really were. "You're so fucking wet, aren't you embarrassed, slut?" In a quick movement, his open palm collided with your clothed pussy--sending shockwaves through your body. "Shhh...Put your hand over your mouth. Be quiet, be quiet for me." 

You shakily raised your hand to your mouth, chewing on the flesh of your middle as another slap morphed into a gentle stroke. "Are you gonna be quiet for me? Tell me. Tell me." 

"Y-Yes, Luke," you mumbled from behind your hand. His nostrils flared as his name bounced off your tongue, such a sweet sound. "I'll be quiet for you." 

"Good girl--now shut the fuck up." Luke continued to shush you as he pulled the thin cloth of your panties to the side, thumbing over your clit and dipping between your slickening folds. "Sit up there, back against the wall. Now. Good Girl. Shhh--Spread your legs for me, good girl. Just a little more, good job." 

Your sizzling hot skin left behind foggy marks on the mirror behind you as you leaned back--the coolness of the glass doing little to ease the fire inside of you. A slick layer of sweat spread across your body, pooling at the small of your back. Luke continued his teasing touches, evading your pussy and instead stroking the tender flesh beside it until you squirmed. You were breathing too loudly.

"Do you want me to touch you, baby? Then be fucking quiet, ok?" The fake sweetness left an uncomfortable pit in your stomach--but it was quickly forgotten as Luke's deft fingers circled your clit, moving in all the right ways. He knew your body too well, like the back of his hand. "This is all mine. My girl, so cute," he purred, pushing up your shirt and bra in one motion, mouthing at one of your tits as he shifted his forearm. Fingers abandoning your clit, two of them slipped between your folds--teasing and brushing over your hole before abruptly plunging inside with a curl.

"You like this, yeah? Shhh--" The pace was inhuman, the sound of your wet pussy squelching around his fingers growing louder. "You look so pretty." 

You threw your head back, trying to swallow back your whimpers and moans, hips rolling into Luke's touch. Gods, you didn't even realize how much stamina he had with how he plunged his fingers inside of you without even a slight change in pace. "Shut the fuck up, let me take care of you, it's ok, I promise. I promise baby," his cooing was mocking, each word dripping with a promise of something even more sinister than the tortured ministrations at hand. "I'm gonna fuck you so fucking hard. Aww, I can see it in your eyes, you want it so badly, yeah?" 

"Please," you couldn't stop the words from coming out of you, and Luke was quick to silence you. At this angle, you could see his biceps flexing, the way his shoulders tensed and released--it was like a daydream. His free fist wrapped around your neck, causing you to choke on air as you struggled to swallow and gasp. 

"Shh, try to be quiet, shh. Gods you're so fucking wet, you look so pretty." Somehow, he managed to up the speed even more--your toes curling and legs clamping down on his forearm as it flexed and strained to keep pleasuring you. "Do you want me to fuck you? Do you? Say it, say it." 

"Y-yes, yesyesyesyes," you cried out, only for Luke to squeeze your neck even tighter. "So close, please--" He shushed you, lips smashing against yours until your teeth clanked together in the frenzy. Tears welled and spilled your eyes from the mounting pressure in your belly, so close but so fucking far--He knew just how to play you. A flicker of concern came and went from Luke's eyes, and he pressed his body closer to yours, the fabric of his old camp shirt tickling your skin.

"Shh, I know, you're freaking out, I know," Luke pressed his lips to your tear-stained cheek, "Calm down, I know, I know. I'm just fingering you, it's ok." You could hear the faintest 'Don't cry' come out with his next breath, but you honestly couldn't be certain. His hand moved up and gripped your jaw tightly, squeezing it until you couldn't help but protest the pain--prompting him to silence you with his mouth. Tongues battling, his fingers slowed their dangerous pace, coming to a gentle stroke against your fluttering walls. A bridge of saliva kept the two of you connected, pulling tight like a tension wire before snapping as Luke took a step back to admire his work. "You're so pretty--Y'want me to pet your pretty clit, yeah?"

You nodded eagerly, trying to form the right words to scream 'Yes please!' but Luke cut you off with a harsh shush as his thumb came in contact with your puffy clit. It felt like a spell was cast over you, the way you couldn't peel your eyes off of Luke's face--his eyebrows furrowed as he worked you closer and closer to your much-needed release. Your gaze was obvious, and Luke gave you a wicked grin, quickening the pace of his deft fingers until you had to choke back your whines with a bite to your knuckle.

"This is my pussy and anyone else who tries to fuck it will never be as good as me. No one will ever measure up to me, understand me?" Luke growled, curling his fingers just right so they brushed and stroked against that special spot deep within you. You couldn't help your reaction, hips bucking and chasing your orgasm that Luke just kept skirting you away from. 

"Fuck, ff-fuck, Luke-"

"Shhh, calm down. I know, baby, I'm the only one who can fuck you like this, I know. Say it,” he taunted, a Cheshire grin beaming up at your half-lidded eyes. A dumb nod came naturally, but he tutted and pursed his lips in a sense of disappointment. “I said 'Say it'." 

"Y-You're nghhh the o-only w'can fuck m'this way," you whimpered, weepy doe eyes looking up at him for approval. It was wholly pathetic; the tears trailing down your cheeks, the way you could barely even breathe, the way you just had so much love and adoration for the boy in front of you—denying you your release and ruining you. "Please Luke, please fuck me."

"Gods, you're such a good girl, d'y'know that?" Luke groaned, slipping his fingers out of you much to your dismay. He shushed your whiney protests, dry fingers wrapping around your throat, his thumb threatening to press down on your windpipe. “Love how you beg for me.” He was so much stronger than you, so much bigger, so fucking powerful. Two slick-covered fingers made their way up to your mouth, and you eagerly accepted them with a low moan. "That's so good, baby. Keep sucking yourself off my fingers like a little slut, yeah?"

Your pink, wet tongue licked at his two digits like one would a popsicle on a hot summer day. Drool mixed with your juices on his fingers as you gagged around them, low moans threatening to spill over. It was sloppy, your soft moans vibrating his fingers as you made eye contact with your boyfriend, needing his approval. He smiled, releasing your throat so he could knead into the flesh of your thigh, his touch hot and needy. Distracted with the show you were giving Luke, it was too late before you realized just how close his cock was to your pussy—

"Ahh—W-wait, Luke," you cried out as he slammed into you, his dick sliding down to the hilt without warning. Your pussy clenched and spasmed as you tried to adjust to the size of him, hips squirming. He didn't even stop for a second, picking up a fast and dizzying pace, fingers still hooked in your mouth. Gods, he was drilling into you so hard and it just felt so good--

"Shut the fuck up, shut up, I don't care," Luke growled, his voice heavy with need. Despite his cruel words, there was an underlying tenderness in his touch, and you could feel the intensity of him growing more fervent and unhinged with each passing second. His moans filled the room, sounds that you were only ever allowed to hear. Squelches and slaps and the sickest, wettest, most depraved noises intoxicated you--And every time he hit a particularly sensitive spot within you, you couldn't help but let out a choked cry, struggling to remain silent.

"Shut your pretty fucking mouth and be fucking quiet," he demanded, his tone laced with desperation. You gave him a weak nod, but his attention was already drawn away as he changed his angle to have a little more leverage. Moans and whines dripped from Luke's tongue like honey, oozing through the room and straight down to your clenching core. His hips swung and snapped against yours, a steady and rough pace keeping you on the tip of your toes. "I'm trying to be quiet but your pussy just feels so goddamn good,” well that was just a flat-out lie at the sheer volume that he even said it. “Does my cock make you forget all your manners?" You nodded without even thinking, lips parted as you tried to catch your breath. 

"Fuck yeah," he muttered roughly, his breath hot against your cheek. You swore you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. "You want me to go faster?" he huffed, his breathing ragged. "Fuck you harder?" His voice was cracking and straining, his teeth clenching as he tried to hold back his whines and whimpers. 

Without waiting for a response, he increased his pace, grinding against you with a fierce intensity. His hands dug tightly into your hips as he pulled you closer to him, moving your body for you like all you were was some fucktoy for him to use and abuse. Choking softly on his own breaths, he fucked you harder and deeper, his rhythm becoming increasingly frantic—face buried in the crook of your neck. You couldn't help but wrap an arm around him, the other keeping you stable on the counter as he rutted and bucked into you, pulling him close to you. "Luke," you breathed out, "calm, baby."

"No no no, it’s ok, shh," his voice was trembling, fighting back a moan at just hearing you say his name so sweetly. It seemed like it was more of a reminder for him less than you, to try and keep his composure for just a few minutes more. He never wanted this to end. You guided his face to look up at you, his eyes lost behind his sweaty black curls, but his lips didn't fail to connect with yours. Nipping at his bottom lip, you moaned into him--a gesture he reciprocated eagerly. He couldn't even pull away, letting out a muffled, "'m so fuckin' close, baby. Wan' you t'cum on me--fuck, cum on my cock, baby."

“Mmmm so close,” you moaned in agreement, rolling your hips to meet his. “Please touch me, Luke.” You didn’t have to ask twice, his fingers shooting down to the junction where the two of you were connected. A rough pad dragged across your clit—rubbing almost as frantically as his hips slammed into you, your head dropping back in pure ecstasy. You were so fucking close, so close, just a little more…

He didn't scold you for how loud you were getting, he didn't even falter when your thighs began to shake and your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders until the skin broke. And he didn't stop—fucking you right through your orgasm, feeling your walls spasming around his cock, how your legs drew him in closer. Stuttered words of encouragement flooded from his mouth, but most were swallowed up and lost amongst his needy moans and grunts. His pace became erratic, shoving you back hard as one hand braced the wall and the other clawed into your hip. You yelped and shuddered, all of the stimulation crashing down on you at that moment as your pussy twitched, weeping for Luke. 

“Hah-ah, fffuucckk,” Luke whimpered into your ear, hips stuttering for half a second. "'m g'na mmmm...ahh--" He dropped his facade entirely, no longer trying to hide how his voice went 3 octaves whenever he came, eyebrows pinched together to stop himself from just melting away into the floor. The heat of him coated your walls, struggling to fit inside of you with him still taking up most of the tight space. His lips trembled as he tried his best to regain some composure, rutting his hips into you deeply once more--just to feel all of you. You whined in return, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he continued to pump into you slowly.

“Look so fucking pretty right now,” he whispered, slowing his hips to a halt after a long, torturous minute. His lips found yours, muffling your groan as he pulled out of you—the sudden emptiness was always a disappointment. You would keep him inside you all the time if it was up to you. To make matters worse, he freed himself of your iron grip, pulling away from your lips with a heavy panting shaking his chest.

It was like seeing a goddess' true form for the first time--the way your soft tummy rose and fell with each of your breaths, your lips parted and covered in drool and saliva, knees bent, toes curled as you posed there; your abused, cum-filled pretty little pussy spread open like the forbidden fruit that Tantalus could only dream of tasting. You looked like a fucking masterpiece. 

Silent, Luke sank to his knees, lost in the sight of you for only a second before hooking his arms around your thighs--dragging your ass to the end of the vanity. His flat tongue ran from bottom to top, collecting your mixed releases with a certain gentleness. You whimpered as his tongue pressed and swirled around your clit, the sensations of your last orgasm still not fully settled yet. "You are such a good girl," Luke murmured between licks. "You are so pretty, you look so fucking cute, you're adorable." 

His dark eyes looked up to meet yours, locking in as he suckled and lapped at your core. With hesitation, you reached out a hand gingerly, finding a tuft of curls to reside in--earning a purr of approval from your boyfriend. 

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, suddenly pulling his mouth off of you so he could press a gentle kiss to the junction of your thigh and pelvis. His eyes glanced up to peer at you--seeing your gentle smile made his heart flutter and grow three sizes. A soft trail of kisses made its way to your knee, his arms still supporting you, his nose nuzzling against the soft and damp skin. "You did so good today, I'm so fucking proud of you, baby."

"I know, Luke, I know. I'm proud of you too."

[tuhtofu]

photograph

cw: dom reader, sub childe, masturbation, face slapping, nipple play, degradation, masochism, dacryphilia, coming in pants, coming untouched, gn reader, childe is a pervert

wc: 1.2k

Summary: Your virgin, touch starved comrade finally gets some action.

The rivalry between you and Childe has somewhat turned into companionship. Everywhere you go, you’ll find him lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to cause a little trouble.

It’s not like you mind. In fact, it brings a tinge of thrill to your travels. You always end up sparring, pushing each other to the limit as you explore Childe’s tactics and weak spots. Once in a while, you like to explore one another’s weak spots a bit further.

At first, Childe thought you hated him. It didn’t do much to hinder his advances, because your passion for fighting was delightful. Holding back was never an option for you, and he loved it… A lot.

Enough to find himself in front of the mirror after every fight of yours, admiring the cuts and bruises formed by your hands. That was more than enough for him to fall to his knees, pressing on those spots and hissing in pain, thinking about the way you looked when you placed them on him until small beads of precum would make their appearance on his underwear.

He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s found himself in front of his laptop, biting his shirt and drooling on it while fisting his aching cock to whatever porn video he could find where the actor’s looks resembled yours even slightly.

Sometimes, he’d fall into a rabbit hole of S&M videos, unable to stop touching himself until he was hyperventilating from overstimulation, his whole room reeking of his smell, body covered in sticky cum and sweat. He wanted you to use him so badly.

Childe would become increasingly more obvious with his attraction towards you, towards your strength and the pain you inflicted on him. Grunts became louder, his legs would become shaky, and he’d even slip in quiet whimpers when you taunted him. 

His swings would become clumsy for only a moment while his eyes zeroed in on your body, cheeks ruddy as he observed the way your muscles flexed and the teasing look in your eye, so determined to take him down. Fuck, when will you just force him to his knees and have your way with him?!

That instant of gawking was more than enough for you to trip him to the ground, the feeling of your sharp blade pricking the underside of his jaw just enough to draw a drop of blood, snapping him out of his trance.

“You’re pretty sloppy today, Childe. I’m disappointed.”

“You can’t expect me to always be in top condition. I have yet to recover from how rough you went on me last time,” he chuckled, chest heaving as he panted loudly.

“Right. I’ll believe that when you start wearing a pair of pants that’ll actually cover your erection.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it’s not because of you.”

You inched closer, before stomping on his wrist with your foot, and Childe cried out at the sheer force of it.

“Don’t lie. The last thing a masochistic slut like you should pretend to have is pride,” you scoffed.

Oh, he knows. He just wants to savor the sight of you, looking down at him from above like this and mocking him.

“H-help me then. Hurt me, please–” Childe replied shakily in an attempt to entice you.

You’d be lying if you said that taking the chance to play with your sparring buddy like this was something you hadn’t imagined before.

That sitting on his stomach, ripping his shirt apart and toying with his body wasn’t in your list of fantasies. He was already arching up into you, trying to feel more of your weight on top of him.

Your hands cupped his cheek, almost surprising him with your gentle touch, before it left him abruptly, returning as a harsh smack to his face. A grin formed on your face, and you didn’t stop, alternating between his cheeks until they turned red, marked with your handprints. 

He could probably escape if he tried, but why would he? You were touching him, and after all the nights he spent thinking about you, desperate to feel you in any sort of way, what you do to him doesn’t matter.

The only sounds Childe was able to let out were wails of pleasure, as his body squirmed and arched further into you. He finally spoke after you slowed down, allowing him to catch his breath. His eyes were teary, looking up into your own with nothing but lust.

“S-shit! That’s so good!”

You smiled mischievously, letting your fingertips dance across his neck and grazing it with your nails. That gentle touch of yours, paired with the stinging on his face, was like heaven to Childe. His cock was already throbbing within its confines, just as needy as him… just as pathetic as him.

“I can feel you poking me from behind. I hope you don’t think I’d ever touch that disgusting thing.”

A retort was sitting right at the tip of his tongue, trying so hard to save a fragment of his dignity, but there was no way he could oppose you. Especially not when he felt his tip drool because of those very insults.

Naturally, your next stop would be his chest, cupping and fondling it the way one would a woman. He could’ve sworn that you had at some point even teased him about it, referring to them as tits. Or maybe he had just imagined it when he was–

“Fuck! Why!” he yelped, yet his hips betrayed his words, bucking into thin air at the feeling of your fingers pinching his nipples, before gently circling his areolas.

You ignored him, continuing your attacks on his chest by flicking and pulling on each nipple while your other hand moved to his neck, ripping a shaky sigh out of Childe as you squeezed it.

“What’s the point of all our training, if you’re gonna turn into a drooling, good for nothing mess the moment someone touches you like this? What if a group of samurai attacked you? Would you squirm like a little girl and let them use you too?”

Your ridiculing wouldn’t cease, but Childe could only moan in bliss, the image you inserted into his head making his eyes roll back. The grip around his neck was tight enough to leave bruises, and he was sweating profusely, hands trying, albeit in vain, to claw themselves into the floor for any sort of support.

“M-more! Please, it’s too much!”

He couldn’t think anymore. There was no point. His cheeks were already stained with tears, his hips jumping uncontrollably as he cried out in pleasure, ropey streaks of cum spilling into his pants.

Even after you let go of him, his body wouldn’t stop twitching. He was in a haze, only snapping out of it when he felt your nails digging into his cheeks as you grabbed his jaw forcefully.

“We didn’t agree on letting you cum, did we? Yet you came in your pants like a teenage boy,” you spat.

“It wasn’t on purpose, I swear!”

“Looks like you’ll have to make it up to me, then.”

…

Why was this motherfucker grinning?!

[heliiacus]

★ touch starved armin that sits a little too close to people, but not close enough to touch arm to arm

★ touch starved armin whose gaze lingers, from time to time, upon the touches his friends receive

★ touch starved armin who sleeps hugging a pillow, or a big plush toy he's had since childhood (it's a rabbit)

★ touch starved armin who rubs his thumb on his own arm when he tries to soothe himself, or across his own jaw

★ touch starved armin who wants to ask to sit closer or to hold your hand, as one friend to another friend, but does not dare for fear of being too much; he knows you are liberal with touch, that you hug and hold friends eagerly, but you two have not been friends for long - months, sure, long ones at that, but you are not eren, and you are not mikasa, and he simply does not dare

★ touch starved armin who nearly cries in public when you take his hand in his one sun-wrought day; who blinks his tears away and holds onto you tightly, fingers wrapped around your palm

★ touch starved armin who looks pained when he has to let go, though he does his best to hide it; cheeks tight and eyes tense to show you a smile that must exude nothing else but ease

★ touch starved armin who is far too translucent to you, far too obvious with the way he leans into the touch when you sit close enough to have your arm brush against his, whose eyes linger when you hug someone else within the group

★ touch starved armin who seems brittle to you, in his own unique way; you ask not why he hesitates this much, why he only seems at ease with few people, or why he lingers on the precipice far more eagerly than he were to ask someone to step closer

★ touch starved armin who clings to your hand when you decide to offer it again

★ touch starved armin whose palm is tight around your fingers, and yet so pleasantly warm

★ touch starved armin who looks at you with stars brimming upon his eyes when you tell him he could hold your hand whenever he wishes it; when you tell him, earnestly, that you mean it - that you don't want him to be shy around you

★ touch starved armin who looks up at you, eyes tinged in fear and a plea, each time he tugs at your sleeve gently; asking for your hand whenever the two of you (or the group of you) meet

★ touch starved armin who smiles quietly, and secretly, and contently each time you agree; turned away from you, fingers twined with yours - but you see it. you always do

★ touch starved armin who opens up little, and slow, and tentative; fingers playing with yours as you'd sit in the afternoon sun, watching his eyes flit flightily between you and all the corners of the room

★ touch starved armin who prefers to linger within hugs, but who never says a word about it

★ touch starved armin who admits to you, in no uncertain terms, that he feels an outsider in his own life; it is dark around you two, and the late spring crickets are chirping, and the cold bites at your skin with the sun not within your sight - and you listen, heart chipping, as he tells you he feels left out, and behind, and too sensitive for his own good

★ touch starved armin who tells you, in no uncertain terms, that he feels weak and incapable; undeserving of the closeness you offer others

★ touch starved armin who finds that if he were to allow it, he holds onto touch not with a gentle hold, but with claws, dull and untrained; who holds onto your shirt and back and neck as he cries into your hold, uninvited and unasked for and not needed but coveted, ardently and desperately

★ touch starved armin who gets the lecture of his lifetime; not just from you, who spends hours wiping the small tears upon the skin of his cheeks, but from his friends, too

★ touch starved armin who learns the difficulty of honesty; who learns the difficulty of blooming, slow and delicate, beneath the warm light of his friends peering down upon him, protective in this new, unknown to him way

★ touch starved armin who learns to ask

★ touch starved armin who greets his friends with hugs

★ touch starved armin who has his head scratched for the first time, and who promptly bursts into tears right after (nobody laughs, but he never lives it down)

★ touch starved armin who smiles brighter, jovial in ways that speak to you of something free and unbridled in his heart

★ touch starved armin who gains a reputation for a thief of hands during walks, and of pillows during sleepovers; and of hearts, too, in your case - though you don't say that part out loud

★ armin, with a love language of touch, who learns that to be loved is to see others, and to love is to see yourself

divider by cafekitsune

tag list: @arlerts-angel @sukunascrustyfinger @levistealeaf @nilaaaas @supersupper @dilfkentolover @arminarlertssword @bel-https @layla240 @katestrophes @er3nscottonpicker @siiyoko @ryoiii @lemontrees-things I wasn't sure if those who asked to be put on the list on the traverse post also meant armin fics in general - if you'd like to be taken off the general tag list, please let me know !! <333

reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Summary: A trip to the thrift store becomes overwhelming for Harris, and you and Eddie have to work as a team. But the real test of your relationship's strength is the crisis that unfolds days later.

Warnings: financial insecurity, school lock-in, missing child, police presence, mention of kidnapping, mention of drug addiction, blood (no gore)

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 19/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie has already been awake for two hours when the phone rings. One part of parenthood that he hadn’t anticipated is that children do not understand the concept of weekends. Harris had flung himself out of his racecar bed promptly at 6:30 in the morning, crawling under Eddie’s sheets and poking his nose until he woke up.

“Har, go back to sleep,” Eddie had grumbled, the last word extended in a whine. One cheek was smushed against his pillow, muffling his complaint. “It’s Saturday; you don’t have school.”

In response, Harris pursed his lips into a perfect pout and used his thumb to peel Eddie’s eyelid open, getting as close to his face as possible. His morning breath was tinged with the scent of chocolate; Eddie groggily made a mental note to better supervise his nighttime teeth brushing routine. 

“‘M hungry.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself pouring his third cup of coffee while his son keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, watching Doug stutter and stammer in front of Patti. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that that’s probably what he looks like around you.

“‘Lo?” He cradles the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, wincing as he clumsily clinks the carafe into place. There isn’t enough coffee left to slosh over the side, a small miracle in and of itself, although he’ll have to brew some more if the caffeine doesn’t kick in soon.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is sleepy yet sweet, smoothing all the creases of the morning. “Did I wake you up?”

Eddie laughs and takes a sip from his favorite mug, the one that proudly declares #1 Dad. It’s stained and chipped, but he’ll never throw it out. Wayne had bought it for him on his very first Father’s Day; ironically, Eddie had bought him a #1 Grandpa mug that year, probably from the same kiosk at the mall.

“Not even close,” he says, tongue flicking to the corner of his lip to catch the drip of coffee that’s pooled in the crevice. “Someone was up bright and early this morning.” His gaze flits over to the bowl of Cheerios snug between Harris’s criss-crossed legs, mostly uneaten despite his earlier protests that would make an outsider believe he was starving. “How was your sleep?” he asks, swinging back to your conversation.

You switch the phone from one ear to the other. “It was good. Would’ve been better if you were next to me, though,” you add, twirling the cord around your forefinger. If you could, you would capture the safety of his embrace and bottle it, releasing a bit each time you craved his gentle touch. “I might’ve even let you be the little spoon.”

He balks at this with a playful scoff, nearly spilling his coffee with the sudden movement. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, licking the side of the mug before the bitter liquid can slide off and hit the ground. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Admittedly, his skepticism is rooted in truth; whenever you do get the chance to cuddle in bed, he’s always the one wrapping his arm around your waist, often taking the opportunity to snake a hand up your shirt and let the pads of his fingers brush over your breasts. It isn’t always a display of sexuality or desire–though you can’t say you mind that–but a connection, a way of ensuring that you stay close. 

“Just a few more weeks until we get to find out for ourselves,” you tease, though he needs no reminding. Only sixteen days remain until you officially move in together, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s counting down. “Speaking of which,” you continue, glancing at the clock, “I was wondering if you and Harris wanted to do some furniture shopping for his new room.” You knew that he would be keeping his racecar bed; it’s unlikely he’ll part with it until he’s outgrown it completely. “Y’know, a new dresser or nightstand or something.”

There’s an extended pause on Eddie’s side of the line. You think the call dropped and are about to hang up and redial when you hear him say,  “I, um…I don’t get paid until next week…” He nervously scratches the countertop with one fingernail. 

“Oh.” You grapple with a response, trying to strike a balance of empathy without condescension. “Well, I was going to surprise you, but I sold some of Grandma’s old—”

“No way,” Eddie interjects, firmly but not harshly. “I’m not having you spend your money on me. We can just wait until payday.”

“I want to buy this for Harris. I…I probably should have cleared out Grandma’s room months ago, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it felt wrong because I had nothing to put in its place.” You don’t care that you’re babbling on, forging ahead with your impromptu monologue. “It would’ve been too empty, but with you and Harris here, it won’t be empty anymore.”

Eddie tucks his thumbnail between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he prods, not wanting to sound ungrateful. 

“Positive.” You’re much more assured in your reply. “If she knew Harris before she got sick, she would’ve spoiled the hell out of him, anyway.” The moment she saw him happily digging into the Oreos, she would have ensured that the cupboard remained stocked with Double Stuf. “In a way, s’like she gets to spoil him now.”

You can sense Eddie’s resistance tempering with an audible exhale. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure,” he muses, buying time to process the influx of emotions flooding his body. There’s the obvious gratitude that you’re so eager to take care of his son, but it’s cut with the insecurity of him not being able to do so. If you’re going to buy Harris furniture, it should be because you want to, not because he can’t. What if you hold this against him? What if, in the future, there’s an argument and you fire back with a retort about his shortcomings as a father?

Except…you have never done that. Ever. Not that night in the emergency room, or when you’d found out about the CPS report filed that evening. Not even when Eddie had made it his personal mission to tear you down, pulling insults from the depths and hurling them at you with reckless abandon. 

You hadn’t brought up the way he’d helplessly panicked when confronted with the possibility of Harris’s learning disability, or how he’d let anxiety overtake him when he officially received a classification. With everything the two of you had endured, you’d never once echoed his anxieties about his parenting abilities; it was quite the opposite. With you by his side, he feels as though he can take on whatever challenge life chucks at him. 

“Eds? Is everything okay?” Your tone is thick with concern; Eddie realizes that you probably think you’ve upset him. “We don’t have to go—we can do something else, or—”

“Sweet girl,” he says in one exhale, both to reassure you and to remind himself that you’re his, and he’s yours. Love surges through the phone lines when he speaks. “We can pick you up in an hour, if that works? I should be able to wrangle Harris by then.”

“Y’sure?” And, Christ, how his heart sinks when you shrink inward, reflexively making yourself smaller when you’re worried that you’ve offended someone.

Eddie doesn’t answer you directly, instead, calls out his son’s name. “Hey, Harris?” He frowns when Harris completely ignores him in favor of watching the cartoon. Using his free hand, he cups his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, amplifying his voice. “Harris Wayne Munson!”

The sudden sound jolts him out of his TV-induced stupor. “Huh?” 

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth; we’re gonna go shopping with Ms. Sweetheart!” Eddie grins as Harris turns to him with a wide smile of his own. “C’mon, let’s go!” 

Harris jumps up without further hesitation, inadvertently tossing his bowl from the makeshift table of his legs. Milk splatters, instantly soaking into the carpet, and the Cheerios topple out and land in a soggy pile. “Nooo, my bref-ist!” His big eyes well up with tears. “Daddy, you made me drop my bref-ist!”

“You, uh, wanna deal with that?” You can’t hide your amusement at the usual Munson chaos. 

“Probably should, huh?” Eddie jokes back, stretching the phone cord as far as he can and reaching for the paper towel roll. “I love you, babe. See you in a bit.”

“I love you, Eds,” you tell him. “And Harris, too, of course.”

Some more static and shuffling; then, an energetic voice greets you. “Hi Ms. Sweetheart! Daddy made me drop my bref-ist,” the little boy reports. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Har.” You’ve perfected the art of mustering up sympathy for children’s not-soearth-shattering issues, a skill that every preschool teacher must possess. “Why don’t you help him clean up? That way, I can see you even faster.”

Harris pauses, mulling over his options. “Yeah, okay! Gotta go! Bye!”

You hear the clunk of him struggling to replace the phone on the hook, followed by Eddie saying, “Let me say good-bye before you hang—” click. 

Pulling your own receiver from your ear, you stare at it with mild amusement. Never a dull moment with my boys. 

Your boys drive up to your building just over an hour later. You stand up from the bench outside the entrance and smooth down your shorts where they’ve creased. 

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie lets the pet name roll off of his tongue. He wants to kiss you as you slide into the passenger seat, but he withholds his affection for Harris’s sake. It seems silly, considering you’ll all be living together, but he doesn’t know how his son will react to the romance aspect of it. Will he be happy? Excited? Disgusted by any display of affection?

You give his hand a subtle squeeze, turning around to greet Harris. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Till we drop?” Harris wrinkles his nose, glancing between you and his dad. “Why would we drop?”

“It’s just an expression,” you explain, catching a glimpse of the smile tugging at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Just means that we’re going to shop until we’re too tired to shop anymore.”

“I never get tired,” Harris declares, sticking his legs straight out so his flexed feet push up against the back of the driver’s seat, nudging Eddie slightly forward. “Grampa Wayne calls me an ‘Energizer Bunny.’” He bounces up and down in his booster seat to prove his point.

Eddie reaches his right arm around, keeping his left firmly gripping the wheel, as he moves Harris’s feet from where they’re planted into his lower back. “So, Har,” he starts, easing his weight onto the brake as he approaches a red light, “we’re gonna look for a new dresser for you, and maybe a nightstand.” He takes a deep breath as he delivers the news: “That means we’re not making any pit stops for toys. Got it?”

You want to interject, to let Eddie know that you don’t mind splurging on a small treat for Harris, but you bite it back. Whether or not you have the spare funds is irrelevant: this is the boundary he’s set for his son, and you have to respect it, regardless of your desire to spoil him.

Harris, however, does not accept the announcement as readily. “Not even, like, a little one?” he presses, holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “Even if I’m really, really good?” He gives a hopeful smile, eyes blinking expectantly.

Eddie looks at you, serving as your cue to provide your input. You nod your approval, trying to hide your delight in being asked to make a parenting decision, regardless of how menial it may seem. He peers up through the rearview mirror at his son’s waiting face. “If you’re really, really good,” he acquiesces, features pinching into a grimace when Harris’s exuberant squeal echoes through the sedan. “You have to use your inside voice and stay next to us the whole time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harris confirms. “Deal, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Deal.” Laughter bubbles up inside you and you let it spill out uninhibited. You know that telling a child he can get a toy is an easy part of parenthood, but you silently swear to never take for granted being included in that choice. Harris joins you, though he’s not quite sure why he’s laughing, but your joy is contagious. 

You lean your head against the car window, listening to the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Harris hums along, more on-key than the average five-year-old, which you can safely attribute to him having a musician for a dad.

“I’m not getting a new bed, right?” Harris says with sudden urgency. “Because I wanna keep my racecar bed.”

“Mhm,” you affirm, smiling when Harris relaxes back against the headrest. “Your racecar bed will be in your new room, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” That response satisfies him until he thinks up another question. “An’ you’re bringing your bed, Daddy?”

Eddie chuckles as he pulls into the Goodwill parking lot. He picks a spot close to the store, right next to a green Ford with a faded “Clinton ‘96” bumper sticker. “Um, no. I’m not bringing my bed.” 

“So are you getting a new bed?” His eyes dart from side to side as he assesses the size of the car. “Where’s it gonna fit?”

“I’m, uh, not buying a new bed, either.” Eddie kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, swiveling to face Harris, who is more confused than ever. “Ms. Sweetheart and I are going to share her bed.”

Harris kicks his feet, processing this new information. “But you didn’t get married yet,” he points out, “so how can you share a bed?”

You rest your palm on Eddie’s forearm in quiet reassurance. “Some people share a bed before they get married,” you explain simply, knowing that less is often more when talking to young children.

“When are you gonna get married?” he asks, more curious than meddling. “Because it’s taking forever. My friends’ mommies and daddies are already married.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harris essentially referred to you as his mommy; instead, he slowly exhales. “I’d like to marry Ms. Sweetheart someday, and I think she’d like to marry me, too.” He looks over at you with a sheepish grin, and you give his hand an agreeing squeeze. “But, for now, we’re just going to try out living together. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’s okay.” Harris isn’t completely thrilled with his dad’s response, but he relents anyway.

“While, we’re, uh, on the subject,” Eddie continues, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he carefully considers his words. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. Is he really doing this? Is he opening his son up to this relationship? “You know that Ms. Sweetheart and I love each other very much, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes,” Eddie continues with only some trepidation, “sometimes, when grown-ups love each other a lot, they hold hands o-or kiss. Would that be weird for you? If Ms. Sweetheart and I held hands, or kissed?”

You avert your gaze, partly from bashfulness but mostly so Harris doesn’t feel any pressure from either of you. 

The little boy looks at the car’s ceiling, centering his focus on the overhead lighting. Finally, with utmost certainty, he declares, “just no tongue-kissing.”

You snort out a laugh while Eddie goes bright red and sputters, “where did you learn about that?”

“Young and Restless,” Harris reports nonchalantly. 

Eddie rubs his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids until his vision blurs. “Remind me to tell Wayne to stop letting him watch the soaps,” he grumbles to you, turning back to his son. “Yeah, no tongue-kissing.”

You easily lace your fingers with Eddie’s as you walk through the front doors of the Goodwill. Harris starts making a beeline for the toys, but Eddie uses his free hand to pivot him in the direction of the furniture department. Harris huffs but complies, trudging alongside you. 

There’s a bright blue nightstand on display that immediately catches his eye. “Look!” he points, smiling so wide that all of his baby teeth are on display, “can I get it? Please?”

Eddie smiles warily, flipping over the white tag hanging from one silver drawer handle. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees the price is within the range of what he’d like to spend; rather, what he’d be comfortable asking you to spend. 

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he says, posture straightening with the announcement. He runs his fingertips over the surface, checking for any chipping paint or splintering wood, but the finish appears to be intact. “I’ll go tell someone to set it aside for us.”

He sets off in search of an employee, leaving you alone with Harris. You swallow the nervousness building in your throat. You spend nearly every day taking care of children, but you’re suddenly inundated with the memory of losing him at the flea market. Those few minutes when you couldn’t locate him were some of the scariest of your life. 

And yet, it hadn’t prevented Eddie from giving you another chance.

“Are you excited to move in with me, Har?” you ask, reaching out to ruffle his curls.

He nods, then looks straight up at you so that you’re staring at his nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart?” The position of his neck changes his voice’s pitch so it’s froggy. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Can you marry my daddy?” His eyes shine with potential. “And then you can be my mommy for real?”

You crouch down to his height, heart melting at his request. “Harris, I love your daddy very, very much. And I love you very, very much, too.” You poke his nose gently, and he giggles. “Being married is a big responsibility—”

“‘Sponsibility?”

“Mhm. Responsibility. It means a really important job.” You slide your heart pendant across the chain on your neck anxiously. “And your daddy and I want to make sure that we’re ready for that kind of responsibility before we do anything, okay?”

Harris nods, but you can tell from his crinkled nose and furrowed brows that he doesn’t fully understand. You can’t blame him; it’s an abstract concept, one that even you often have trouble comprehending. “But I can tell you one thing: whenever your daddy wants to propose, I’ll say ‘yes.’” You smile at the thought of Eddie asking you to be his wife. 

“Is that where he gets down on one knee and asks ‘Will you marry me?’” You’re about to respond when he adds, “and then someone runs in and yells about being their long-lost ‘dentical twin?”

Yeah, no more soap operas for Harris. 

Finding a dresser proves to be a much more difficult task than picking out the nightstand. Everything that Harris likes is out of budget, and everything within budget is too worn down or small. There’s one that’s in good condition and isn’t too pricey, but it’s covered in hand-painted unicorns. 

“That’s for girls!” Harris groans, stomping his feet. The last word is stretched in a whine. “I can’t have girl stuff!”

“We can paint over it. Whatever color you want,” you quickly jump in, trying to avoid a meltdown, but your efforts are fruitless. Fat tears stream down his cheeks; he’s already determined that the dresser is tainted. 

“No! No, no, no!” he howls, throwing himself on the floor. He smacks down on his tailbone, fanning his tantrum’s flames. He quiets for a moment, too shocked to cry, but then he’s screaming louder than before. 

It’s as though he’s lost control of his body, arms and legs knocking into the lower shelves without care. You can’t block him in time before he knocks over a lamp—a Nickelodeon-themed one that would have been perfect in his new room, ironically—and it shatters on the ground. Ceramic splinters, scattering across the linoleum like roaches in the light. 

People start to stare, some with sympathetic looks, and some glare angrily at the child daring to interrupt their shopping. Eddie’s face blazes, vision swimming as he wracks his brain for a solution. 

You’re faster, slapping a few bills into Eddie’s palm and jolting him from his thoughts. He watches you scoop Harris off of the floor, trying to avoid his flailing limbs. 

“Go get the nightstand and pay for the lamp,” you tell him, straightforward and precise. “I’ll get him to the car and calm him down. Keys?”

Eddie blinks, the information swirling around him but not quite penetrating the surface. It’s when you hoist Harris onto one hip and balance his weight in one hand, using the other to make a ‘gimme’ motion that it registers. 

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” Eddie fumbles for the car keys and tosses them to you, the two of you working in tandem. A well-oiled machine. You nod gratefully, wincing as Harris’s foot makes contact with your thigh. “I’ll be right out.”

You’re able to bring him to the car, struggling to unlock it and hold on to Harris. After a few failed attempts, you manage to open the passenger door and sit him on the seat. 

“Harris, hey, Harris?” you start, keeping your voice soft and even while trying to pull his attention. His sobs are slowing down but he’s definitely breathing too rapidly for your comfort. “Hey, bud. You’re okay, all right?” You extend your hand and he tentatively places his own palm on top of it. “You wanna give my hand a squeeze?”

He does it, the motion grounding him enough that he can focus on your body in front of him. You don’t want to touch him, knowing that his senses are already overstimulated from the tantrum. Instead, you relax as his squeezing grows stronger and his breaths gradually even out. 

“There ya go, Har. Just like that.” You smile warmly. “That was a really big feeling, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice shakes and hiccups. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, smudging them into his skin. 

You reach into the center console and grab a tissue, wiping the mucus from his nose and lips. “Good as new.” With no trashcan nearby, you shove the used Kleenex into your pants pocket. “Can you tell me what made you so mad in there?”

“D-Don’t want girl…girl st-stuff,” he stutters through ragged breaths. 

There’s a time and place to discuss the optics of categorizing interests into ‘boy’ and ‘girl,’ but you know better than to have that conversation now. “Oof, that’s why you were angry! That’s a lot to handle.” You gingerly tuck a curl behind his ear. “But, Harris, did you see what happened when you started hitting and kicking?” He shakes his head. “Well, you knocked over a lamp and it broke. You could have gotten hurt, or someone else could have gotten hurt.” 

Harris’s face falls as you speak, absorbing what you’re explaining. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sniffles. “‘M sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, “sometimes, when we have big feelings like getting angry, we do things we shouldn’t without even realizing.” You pause for a moment, biting your lip as you consider your words. “Do you want to hear what helps me when I have really big feelings and I can’t scream and cry?”

“Mhm.” He nods again, little tongue peeking out to swipe up the tears above his mouth. 

“I take a deep breath and close my eyes,” you start, demonstrating both actions. Inhale for three, exhale for three, and repeat. “And then I picture myself being in my favorite place in the world.” You smile at him, blinking back the sadness that comes with memories of holidays at Grandma’s. “Wanna try it together?”

Harris responds by closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. “Good job, Har,” you softly praise him. “Now breathe out; make sure you’re thinking of your favorite place, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about the zoo,” he whispers, voice raspy from shrieking for so long. “Daddy taked me there and we saw so much animals.”

“Zoos are a lot of fun,” you agree with a laugh. “I’ve never been to the one in Hawkins. Maybe we can go over the summer?”

“Yeah! I wanna show you the flamingos!” His grin stretches across his cheeks “Do you like flamingos?”

Like most people, you don’t have a strong opinion on flamingos, but you respond with an enthusiastic, “I love them!”

“Love who?” Eddie’s voice breaks into the conversation. He’s rolling out the nightstand in a cart, keeping one hand on top of it to hold it steady. “Me?”

You laugh, opening up the back door so he can wedge the furniture next to Harris’s booster seat. “Yes, Eddie. I love you very much, don’t worry,” you tease, seizing the opportunity to inconspicuously check him out. His biceps flex as he maneuvers the nightstand, and you have to tear your gaze from his denim-clad ass when he stands up and triumphantly wipes his hands on his pants. 

“C’mere.” He pulls you in, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout and planting a smacking kiss on you. 

While you giggle, Harris is not as amused. He claps his hands over his eyes and groans. 

“No tongue-kissing!”

You’re wrapping up storytime, your students fidgeting with their shoelaces—some fidgeting with their friend’s shoelaces—eager to move onto the corresponding art activity Will has planned. 

“Okay, we’re going to use our walking—” Your announcement is cut short by Principal Sinclair’s voice coming over the loudspeaker. Her tone is typically warm and excited, but the way she speaks so sternly sends chills through your entire body. 

“This is a lock-in. All staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified. I repeat, all staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified.”

You breathe out, though you’re still concerned about the cause of the lock-in. It’s usually some kind of medical issue that requires emergency services to have unblocked access through the halls. You hope that whatever it is isn’t life-threatening. 

Will locks the door wordlessly, and you repeat your directions to the class. The kids walk to their seats, asking non-stop about what a lock-in means. 

“We just have to stay in the classroom,” you find yourself repeating, losing patience with each iteration. You’re thankful for small miracles; your class has already gone out for recess, which means you don’t have to break that news to them. 

Will is helping the kids glue multicolored strands of crepe paper in the shape of a rainbow, complete with cotton ball clouds. You’re unclogging a bottle of Elmer’s when the classroom phone rings, startling you. You place the glue bottle on the table, promising Joshua that you’ll be right back, and answer it. 

“Hello?”

“We need you to come to the office immediately,” the secretary’s clipped voice informs you. “Bring your personal items. We’ll send someone to assist Will.”

Stupidly, you nod before remembering she can’t see you. “Y-Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” You hang up, tell Will the plan, and bolt out the door. 

What the hell is going on? Why are they having me break the lock-in to go to the office? You hike your purse higher up your shoulder, trying to ignore the dread pooling in your stomach and creeping up your throat. 

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong. 

Your feet can’t carry you fast enough. You nearly stop breathing when you see Eddie pacing in the lobby, Marion and Paula standing off to the side and speaking with Chief Hopper. The two teachers wear matching worried expressions. 

As soon as Eddie spots you, he’s charging over. “Oh, thank God,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. You can feel the tears falling from his eyes, wetting the crook of your neck. His hands squeeze against your back and your shoulder blades as his body is wracked with sobs. 

You weave your fingers through his hair, holding him as close as you can. You’re desperate to know what’s going on, but you doubt he could explain if he tried. Instead, you continue comforting him while Principal Sinclair walks over. 

Her strides are long and purposeful, and she meets your own terrified gaze with her own. “Harris went missing during recess,” she says quietly, “and Mr. Munson let us know that you might be an asset in locating him.”

Harris went missing. Bile inches up your esophagus and you swallow it, wincing at its burn. “Why would he—” You stop mid-sentence; his motive is not important right now. All of your focus needs to be on finding him. 

Chief Hopper approaches you and Eddie, tapping your boyfriend on the shoulder with two fingers. Eddie looks up, wipes his face with the heel of his palm, and clears his throat, but a fresh batch of tears threatens to spill over anyway. 

“We’ve just collected statements from his teachers,” Hopper reports, looking down at his notepad. “They said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that Harris was just playing with his friends one moment and then gone the next.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, something had to have happened.” Harris had wandered off plenty of times, like at the flea market. The difference was that he was easily found. “If you haven’t found him, then he’s either hiding, or someone…” The thought is too painful to finish. 

Hopper looks over at the principal. “You’re certain that the playground is secure?” He asks her, not accusing, but waiting for confirmation. 

“Yes, absolutely secure,” she affirms, nodding her head. “The gate can only be opened from the inside, so no one can access it off of the street.”

You know this, of course, but it doesn't bring you closer to finding Harris. 

“We’ve taped off the playground,” Hopper continues, “and we’ve got a search squad going now. Considering that Harris has been diagnosed with a disability, we’re beginning this investigation right away.”

“Mr. Munson,” a second officer chimes in, “is there anyone who would be inclined to take your son? Perhaps a non-custodial parent or an estranged relative?”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “His mom, um, isn’t in the picture. Never has been.”

Hopper cocks one brow. “Never?” he asks disbelievingly. “How soon after he was born did she relinquish her rights?”

“She, um,” Eddie swallows, rubbing his nose in embarrassment, “she never did. Never relinquished her rights, I mean. She just kinda split.”

“So there was no formal agreement that she could no longer be involved in Harris’s life?”

“N-No,” he stammers, shame seeping from every pore. He’d always meant to start the legal proceedings, but that takes time and money…and maybe a small part of him had always hoped she’d come around and do the right thing. 

He looks over at you now, the way you’ve stepped into a mothering role like a puzzle piece. Like any parent, you’d made some mistakes, but you’re also the most compassionate person Eddie has ever known. 

He thinks of the times he’d tried to make his ex get clean, to want to get clean, and to be there for Harris. The weight of disappointment caused his chest to ache every time she’d mumble, “I’m gonna, but not right now” or “I don’t need help.”

Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the two of you; after all, you hadn’t struggled with addiction. But Eddie can’t help himself. You’d loved Harris before you’d even loved him, he realizes. And he’d never had to ask you to. 

“Do you have any contact information for her?” Hopper taps his pen against his notepad. “Nine out of ten times in these situations, the child is with someone they know.”

What about the ‘one’ time? What happens then? Heat pulses in Eddie’s cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t need Hopper to answer the question; he already knows what that means. 

“It’s from five years ago, so I don’t know if it’s still accurate.” He stumbles over his words, thinking about the last time he’d called her; it was the invitation to Harris’s birthday. “I don’t know it by heart, but I have it in my address book at home.”

Hopper gives a brusque nod to his colleague and to your boss. “We’ll give you a lift. And, uh, it’ll be good to set up your place as a home base.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Eddie mumbles, simply going through the motions without processing them. He’s on autopilot, a robotic version of himself. If he was able to fully absorb his surroundings, he would note the irony of him sitting in the back of the cop car because they’re helping him instead of escorting him to the county jail. 

You don’t let go of his hand the entire ride there, your thumb rubbing the soft hairs on his knuckles. “We’re gonna find him,” you whisper reassuringly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. 

But Eddie is too embroiled in his own thoughts, imagining every possible tragedy that could have befallen his son. As soon as Hopper pulls up to the apartment complex, Eddie is flying up the stairs, two at a time, unlocking the door as fast as he can. You run in behind him, watching as he flings loose papers and pens from a kitchen drawer. He’s kicked over the boxes he’s already packed; clothes and some of Harris’s toys are scattered across the floor like a poorly-designed booby-trap. 

He holds up the tattered black book, flipping through it until he lands on the right page. “Here. Right here.” He frantically points to an entry at the top, fingertip jabbing into it over and over. 

Hopper takes the book from him, careful not to rip the already weathered materials. He dials the digits and frowns when he’s greeted by the automated we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service, far too chipper for the circumstances. He tries once more in case he dialed incorrectly, but he gets the same message. 

“Disconnected,” he says gruffly, hanging the receiver with a clank. “Is there anyone else?”

Eddie can only shake his head somberly. If Wayne got Harris from school early, he would have told him. He wasn’t even sure how much of Harris’s maternal family knew of his existence, let alone his location. If someone took his son, it was more than likely a complete stranger. 

Hopper’s walkie crackles with static; you and Eddie stiffen with anticipation. “Hey, Chief?” comes from the garbled voice on the other end. 

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got a kid here at the school who says he spoke with Harris Munson right before he went missing today.”

Eddie stands up, walking closer to Hopper. Part of you expects him to grab the walkie and try talking straight to the other officer, but he doesn’t. 

Hopper presses the small black button and speaks. “Copy. Does he know where we might locate him?”

There’s a deafening silence for a few moments; no more than ten seconds pass, but it feels like a lifetime. Finally, there’s some information: “No known location; just says that Harris told him he was having ‘big feelings’ and needed to go to his favorite place.’”

“The zoo,” you murmur aloud, drawing confused looks from both men in the room. “When he got upset on Saturday—at Goodwill—I taught him to do some deep breathing and picture being in his favorite place, and he told me it was the zoo. But I…” you swallow, furrowing your brows, “I told him to picture it, not actually go there.”

“Zoo’s too far for him to walk, and no bus driver is going to let a kid that young ride by himself,” the chief points out. 

You nod, biting your lower lip. “He might not be at the zoo, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there.”

Hopper thanks the other officer and turns to you and Eddie. My guys are deploying the search party as we speak.” He takes a deep breath and makes direct eye contact with you and Eddie. “We’ll do everything we can to bring your son back safely.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands, collapsing back against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor. 

You look over at the police chief. “Can we help? Join the search…or something?” Anything besides sitting around and waiting for answers. 

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an officer stationed here in case Harris comes home.” 

You nudge your foot against Eddie’s. “C’mon, babe.” You try to keep strength behind your words, to be what Eddie needs right now, but it gets harder with each passing second. “We’re gonna go look for him.” He looks up and notices that you’ve extended your hand, and he takes it, pulling himself up. 

He doesn’t say a word, but he follows you and Hopper out the door. He’s gnawing on his lips so violently that some skin peels off between his teeth; flecks of blood dotting his usually perfect mouth. 

“We’ve got some time before sunset, so that’s on our side,” Hopper says as he drives back the way he came. “We’ll start in the woods near the school, and we’ll move from there.” He peers back at the two of you through the rearview mirror with a determined gaze.

“My uncle,” Eddie says suddenly, no certain expression on his face. He’s practically catatonic when he talks. “I want Wayne to wait at the apartment. I need to tell him…” If Harris does return home first and sees police officers surrounding the place, he might get scared and run off again.

Hopper scratches at his beard. “We’ll let him know, all right? Don’t worry about that.” He radios the instructions to a colleague, who confirms them and signs off, before pulling into a grassy area and killing the engine. “Let’s go. If Harris is going to come out for anyone, it’ll be you two.” He slams his door and then helps you and Eddie out of the backseat. 

Before you can even begin, you hear a group of people shouting Eddie’s name. You look over to see Jeff, Jess, and Robin waving and walking towards you. 

“We came as soon as we heard,” Robin says, giving you and Eddie a hug. “We’re gonna help you, and we’re not leaving until we find him.”

Jeff offers a tight smile, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man,” he promises, sincerity in its purest form. “Viv is gonna stop by later and I’ll take care of Ettie.”

It’s a kind gesture, but Eddie’s stomach sours at the thought of still searching later. He needs to know that his son is safe now. 

Harris’s name is echoed over and over, bouncing off of trees and shaking the leaves as you and your friends call out for him. 

“Harris!” you cry out, throat raw from your constant shouting. “Harris, it’s Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Harris!” Eddie’s voice is even louder than yours; the power behind it is palpable. “Harris, it’s Daddy! Please come out! You’re not in trouble!” he adds, cognizant of the little boy’s fear of making people mad. 

Every squirrel that darts across the forest floor has you whipping your head around, heart leaping at the prospect of Harris emerging from where he’s hiding. 

He has to be hiding; your mind won’t let you imagine what could happen if the wrong person saw him walking by himself, determined to get to the zoo…

“Harris, Aunt Robin and I will buy you any toy you want!” Jess yells. “And all the ice cream you can eat!”

The five of you take turns making promises to nobody; they’re secrets shared with the wind. Each unanswered call leaves you feeling more defeated, especially with the sun hanging lower in the sky. It will be dark soon, leaving Harris even more vulnerable than he already is.

Will joins the group a few moments later, bringing granola bars, water, and flashlights. You can only stomach about a quarter of your snack, having completely lost your appetite. Eddie doesn’t even bother to eat, fueled by adrenaline rather than food.

“Principal Sinclair is also looking,” Will tells you and Eddie. “She’s with Lucas and Erica over at Merrill Wright’s farm. It’s closer than the zoo, but he’s got some animals, so they wanted to check there.” He pauses, casting his eyes down for a second before looking at Eddie. “Everyone’s helping out with this. They all want to find Harris.”

Tears well up along Eddie’s lash line; he blinks them away to keep his vision clear. “Thanks, man.” He coughs to clear his throat, emotions forcing their way through. “That means a lot.” For a moment, he sees Will as he was when they first met: an overwhelmed little freshman, unsure of his place in high school, let alone in the world.

What if Harris never gets the chance to find himself? What if he doesn’t get to grow up and learn new things, make his own mistakes, figure out who he is?

You put an arm around Eddie, unknowingly pulling him from his intrusive thoughts. “Can you try to drink some water? Please?” You know better than to nag him about eating right now, but the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated.

He cracks open the bottle and takes a few sips, not realizing how thirsty he was until the liquid covers his tongue. He downs it all without taking a breath, the plastic crinkling as he siphons out every last drop of water.

“Take mine,” you tell him, offering it with the best smile you can possibly muster, but he shakes his head.

“You need it, too.” He’s not wrong, but you have no issue letting him drink from your bottle if he’s still thirsty.

You take a sip and pass it to him. “We’ll share.”

Another hour passes, the pink and orange hues becoming deeper purples and reds as the sky darkens with night. Some people start to call it quits, returning home to their own children, breathing secret sighs of relief that they have children to return home to. Your group remains intact; no one is even considering leaving until they physically cannot move any longer.

With just overworked flashlight bulbs illuminating your path, you continue trudging through the woods. Hopper’s shift was over hours ago, but he’s steadfast in his pursuit to find Harris.

Eddie’s exhausted physically and emotionally, feeling like every part of him has been drained and can never be replenished. His son is missing; he might have been kidnapped, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll see him again. All he wants is to hold him again, to hear his little laugh as he tells a cheesy joke he learned at school, to watch him sound out new words or draw a picture or just fall asleep in his own bed.

Hopper’s walkie crackles; he clutches it tight and holds it so he can hear it clearly.

“Chief, we may have a sighting.”

A light flickers behind Eddie’s eyes; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t help himself. He listens intently as the other officer relays the information.

“Doris Driscoll just went outside to let her cats in for the night, and when they didn’t go inside, she went looking. Found them behind a bush, eating crackers out of a little boy’s hands. He told her his name is Harris. Matches the descriptions the father provided.”

Eddie grabs your hand, gripping it with whatever strength he has left. You feel a surge course through your veins as Hopper motions for you to follow him to his car. He turns on his siren and guns it down the road, swerving in and out of traffic to get to the old woman’s house as fast as he can.

Please, please let him be here, you silently pray, subconsciously screwing your eyes shut and holding your breath. The only thing worse than not knowing where he is might just be a false alarm that he’s been found. 

Hopper slams on the brakes behind an ambulance parked in front of the Driscoll residence, their open doors allowing the fluorescent lights to stream through. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as an EMT wheels a stretcher over to it. 

A stretcher carrying Harris. 

“Harris!” Eddie cries in simultaneous relief, exuberance, and fear. He instinctively reaches for a door handle, quickly remembering that he’s in a cop car and had to wait for Hopper to let him out from the outside. 

You’re already crying; everything you’d been holding back to maintain a solid resolve for Eddie is crumbling as soon as you’d seen his son. You scramble out of the car, right behind him, and run to where the emergency technicians are treating Harris. 

He’s awake and alert, and he spots the two of you right away. “Daddy! Ms. Sweetheart!” He tries sitting up, but a technician gently guides him to lay down again. “No, that’s my daddy and my almost-mommy!” he protests. “I gotta see them!”

You and Eddie reach him at the same time. He’s covered in dirt; it’s smudge along his cheeks, his arms, and his legs. He’s even managed to get some on the tip of his nose. Some blood is smeared on his right knee where he’s seemed to have scraped it, and the EMTs spray some antiseptic on it and apply a bandage before he can even feel the sting.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out of Eddie’s mouth, and he puts his palms on his son’s cheeks and presses kisses all over his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He turns to the technicians, worry pinching his brows together. “He’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?” He pushes some of Harris’s damp curls from his forehead. There aren’t any visible bumps or bruises on his face, which eases a bit of his nerves.

One technician nods. “Right now, it seems like he’s just got some minor lacerations, but we’ll run the gamut of tests to rule out more severe injuries.” She looks over at the police chief, who stands a few yards behind you. “We’ll take it from here.”

Hopper gives a small, sad smile; it’s then that you remember that his own child had passed away nearly twenty years ago. She was only a little older than Harris is now. 

Eddie follows your gaze with red-rimmed eyes, the realization setting in for him, too. “Thanks, Chief,” he says, just loud enough so Hopper can hear him. Hopper nods, placing his hat atop his head before walking away.

The EMTs check for any broken or sprained bones, shine lights into Harris’s pupils, and ask him a few simple questions to assess for a concussion. “We’ll have to take him to the hospital, just to be sure,” they say to you and Eddie, “but barring any extenuating circumstances, you should be able to bring him back home tonight.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes, crouching down a bit so he’s eye-level with his son. “Har, can you tell us why you ran away from school? You’re not in trouble; I promise.”

Harris looks down at the blanket draped across his lap. “I had really big feelings, and I tried thinking about the zoo like you told me,” he glances at you, “but then the feelings didn’t go away, so I decided to go there.”

You take his small hand in yours. “What were the big feelings?” you ask gently, free of judgment and filled with concern.

He thinks for a second, then states matter-of-factly, “Mad and sad.”

“Mad and sad?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping at his nose with his free hand. “‘Cause of Ms. Marion and Ms. Paula.”

You freeze, trying to regain your composure before Harris can pick up on your uncertainty. “What happened with your teachers, Har?”

“They were saying mean things about you and Daddy, and it made me mad and sad.”

At the sound of his title, Eddie speaks up. “Mean things about us?”

“Yeah, like, that Ms. Sweetheart is probably teaching you how to read, too,” Harris explains, “and I said that they’re lying, that you’re really smart and read to me all the time. And that Ms. Sweetheart isn’t your teacher; she’s my almost-mommy.”

Eddie clenches his fists, veins prominent as his body goes stiff. His anger isn’t at the insult, but at the way they could speak so brazenly about a child’s family, disregarding the hurt it causes. He doesn’t care what those women think of him, but he’s furious that they upset Harris.

“They keeped laughing and telled me to go play,” Harris continues, getting choked up at the memory. “I tried to do my breathing and my favorite place remembering with Charlie, but it didn’t work. And I got lost going to the zoo–the real zoo, not the one in my imagination–so I hided with the cats until the nice lady found me.”

You and Eddie share heartbroken looks, pushing aside your respective emotions as you tend to the little boy laying in front of you. “Get some rest, Har Bear,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You had a long day.”

He falls asleep after a few minutes, constantly checking to make sure that the two of you are still by his side. As soon as his breathing steadies and his eyes remain closed, Eddie turns to you, exhausted and running on fumes. Wet brown doe eyes pleadingly gaze at you, lids heavy with sleep. You wrap your arms around him, unable to get close enough. He moves slowly, every action a delayed reaction, but he gradually embraces you, too.

“Stay. Please.” The words are muffled by the way his mouth is mashed into your scalp, but you hear them perfectly fine. “And if we get to go home tonight, come back with us. I need you both close to me.”

“Of course.” Your own lips press against his perspiration-soaked shirt collar. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You pull back ever-so-slightly, brushing tears from his cheeks. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s here, and we get to keep spoiling and loving him.”

Eddie absorbs this as best as he can, mind still spinning as the adrenaline crash hits. There’s so much he wants to say, but for right now, he just carves out space in his body for yours. Your light whisper keeps him grounded, pulling hi away from the spiraling that usually overtakes him in times of crisis.

“I’ve got you.”

--

[mountainficss]

hi omg!!! what are ur thoughts on fuckbuddy mingyu😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

hiii babe! ohhh my thoughts on fuckbuddy!mingyu?? omg that would be so yummy…

you know, i honestly don’t think he could do it! well i mean he could, but i don’t think he could do it for long. i feel like the big puppy would get attached.

you’d start off as best friends, always hanging out and spending time with each other. you’ve known him for a long time, so you’d both be very familiar with every detail about the other. what each other’s favorite foods are, what movies you like to watch together, even your preferences in the bedroom! since you two are so close, you can talk about sexual things with no guilt or embarrassment. it just comes naturally to the both of you. and on a night where you’re hanging out at his apartment, both a little tipsy, he’d bring up the idea of the two of you being sexual partners. “we don’t have to date,” he’d assure you quickly, his face flushed red from the alcohol. of course he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to date him, but he’d never say that. he wouldn’t want to risk scaring you away. “sure, mingyu. i’ll be your fuckbuddy,” you’d smile, the alcohol you drank earlier making you feel bold. his eyes would widen in shock at your choice of words, but excitement would course through his veins as he embraces you and presses sweet kisses all over your skin.

and that’s how you’d ended up in his bed the next morning, naked and trying to piece together the events of last night. remembering the arrangement you made would bring a tinge of blush to your cheeks. but you wouldn’t mind, he fucked you too good for you to be embarrassed about a friendship with benefits. the way he thrusted inside you felt like you had been doing this for ages, and the way he touched you felt like he knew exactly where to put his hands, despite this being the first time you’ve ever touched past a hug. you’d roll over and sprawl yourself on top of his sleeping form, poking his cheeks repeatedly until he stirs. his eyes would open slowly, his hair a tousled mess from turning in his sleep. he’d squint at you, half-asleep and trying to figure out why you’re poking him. you’d beam at him, leaning down to sink your teeth harshly into his shoulder. that would wake him up quick, causing him to yelp and sit upright immediately. “you bit me hard,” he’d whine, tracing his index finger over the prominent teeth marks on his shoulder. the sheets had fallen off of his body as you both sat up, his tanned torso and bare shoulders exposed. his pretty face would be adorned in a soft pout, and you honestly wouldn’t be able to keep your eyes off of him. he’d notice you shamelessly checking him out and would blush cutely. “why’d you wake me up?” he’d question shyly, watching as you lean in and squish his cheeks between your hands. you’d laugh at his cute fish lips from you squishing his face, shaking his head from side to side gently. “get ready,” you’d grin, releasing his face and pushing yourself off the bed. “let’s go do something.”

everything would feel so natural, going out and spending time with you like normal wouldn’t be anything new. but he knew it was different. he’d always been attracted to you inside and out, and now that he’s had a taste of all of you? he couldn’t help but want more. and to attempt to fulfill his deeper desires he’d literally want to fuck you all. the. time. when you’re in the kitchen cooking a meal for the both of you he’d bend you over the counter, stuffing his cock into from behind while he sucks pretty marks onto your neck. when you’re playing games on his playstation he’s down between your legs, lapping at your arousal like a starved puppy as you try your best to focus on the game you were playing. when you use his shower he’s sneaking into the bathroom and sliding in behind you, running his hands sensually over the curves and dips of your body. every second his hands are on you it hurts him more, but he can’t stop himself. he loves the way your body feels in his hands or pressed against his own. he loves how close he feels to you. his heart would ache every time he slides into your heat, because he knows that you’re not really his. you’re just best friends that fuck.

i’d give him about a week, two if we’re being generous. but after that i feel like he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. it would hurt too bad, would make his stomach twist in agony every time you fall asleep in his arms. even though this entire thing was his idea, he was the one that brought it up, he’d be the first to throw in the towel. he’d decide to tell you one night as you lay together after a heated session, a sick feeling in his stomach as he forces the words from his constricting throat. “i have to tell you something,” he’d blurt, panting slightly as he still recovers from his previous orgasms. you’d laugh breathlessly, rolling over on your side to face him and propping your head up with your hand. “you don’t mess around, huh?” you’d joke, your skin seeming almost like it was glowing even in his barely-lit bedroom. he’d furrow his eyebrows in confusion, and you’d snort at mingyu’s puzzled expression. “we don’t have to do this anymore if you don’t want to, idiot. you’ve been acting weird lately,” you’d clarify, shooting him an apologetic smile. “i know it was your idea, but you’re not stuck with me. we can just be friends like normal again if it’ll make you feel better, gyu.” you’d reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, and oh he’d fucking panic. he’d shake his head frantically as he feels tears of frustration welling in his eyes at how wrong you are. that’s not what he wants at all! you’d feel worried seeing him so distressed, asking him what was wrong and if he was feeling okay. “i like you!” he’d practically shout, and you’d slightly flinch back in surprise at his sudden outburst. “i like you,” he’d mumble quietly this time. “and i don’t wanna be friends like normal. i want you,” he’d choke out his confession, avoiding your eyes. he couldn’t bear to look at you, was too afraid to see the look on your face when you rejected him. “wanted you to be mine. but it’s fine if you don’t want it. i just can’t keep…doing this if i can’t have you for real.” he’d feel his face being snatched upwards by both of your hands, and you’d pull him into a sweet kiss. you’d pull away, smiling at poor mingyu as he just stares in awe. “i’d love to be yours,” you’d grin, dragging your thumb across his bottom lip. he’d feel a huge weight lift from his shoulders, and not even seconds after you said that he’d be imagining your life together. better be careful with your words, because that boy will already be picturing your children and mentally planning your wedding <3 cute puppy.

taglist: @imprettyweird , @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @c-hanniehae , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag

[lendeah]

Thank you very much, Gale. Goodnight.

Pairing: Gale x Fem!Reader/Tav

Summary:

Upon reaching the Last Light Inn, your party is informed about the room arrangements: you will have to share rooms in pairs. Fate has it that you find yourself paired with a particularly charming wizard. To add a twist, there's only one bed. or Gale and Tav relive the "there was only one bed" trope.

Tags: Fluff and smut. They are so cute.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NSFW (minors dni), thighs, frottage, heavy petting, mutual masturbation, touch starved Gale.

Note: This was going to be a prompt but it got out of hand. Anyway, a small gift for the Gale girlies (me, I am the Gale girlies). Also, not proofread and english isn't my first language, so be gentle!🫶🏻

"You will have to share rooms in pairs" Yaheira had deadpanned. After our long journey, we finally reached the Last Light Inn. We were hoping for a comfortable bed and some privacy, but our hopes were crushed.

Yaheira didn't seem fazed by our reactions, her expression remaining stoic.

"After all the blood, sweat and tears we poured into saving you lot back there this is the beautiful appreciation we get in return?" Astarion exclaimed dramatically, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Yaheira's cold stare silenced him. "Many soldiers are residing here, sacrificing their own comfort for our cause. Four of them have given up their bedchambers for your stay. You should be grateful," she reprimanded sharply.

The creaky wooden floors and musty smell hinted at the age of the building, but it was a small price to pay for a warm bed and shelter from the danger of the shadows outside. The group stood in a huddle, debating their next move. Wyll's voice rang out confidently "I propose we stay at the camp like we have been doing.".

Karlach's response was immediate and determined: "What, and die in the shadows? No, thank you."

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling about to faint from weariness. "Guys, we're all exhausted. We should just accept the offer and get some rest. We practically sleep on top of each other every other day anyway."

"Yeah, but not on the same bed." Shadowheart chimed, giving Lae'zel a sly side glance. "And how would we determine who sleeps with whom, anyway?"

Gale, the ever-practical one, interjected: "Perhaps we could employ a method of chance, such as drawing straws, in order to make a resolution?"

So that's how Gale and you end up entering the old dusty and messy bedroom from the last Light Inn. The single bed in the middle seems to be laughing at us.

Gale sighs. "I knew sharing rooms wasn't a good idea. I should just crawl under the bed." He scans the room, eyes coming to rest on the window, with the dark sky looming outside. "I could sleep out there too." He pauses. "The prospect of such a cozy rest is indeed quite alluring. The brisk gusts brushing against my face, as I gaze upwards towards the unobstructed expanse of the starry heavens. Delightful, wouldn't you agree?"

He moves to get out of the door, but you grab his arm, your voice pleading, tinged with desperation from the exhaustion. "Please, Gale, I know it's uncomfortable, but can we just please do this tonight and figure out a better plan tomorrow?"

He swallows, glancing down at your fingers wrapped around his arms. "I-I don't think you realize just how difficult it'll be for me. This bed's too small, and it's too close, and—I can't."

I look at him with my eyes narrowed "If you don't get on the bed in the next five minutes, I am going to use my maze on you. And let me tell you, it hurts"

He looks at me dumbfounded ."...You wouldn't?" You give him a pointed stare. Of course, you don't mean to hurt him, but you are too tired to fight or move for that matter.

He swallows, looking you up and down again. Then he nods and turns toward the bed. "Uh, fine. I guess I'll, uh, get on the bed. However, I cannot guarantee that any peculiar occurrences will not transpire. I mean, not that I expect anything weird to happen. Just, you know, putting it out there. Okay, I'll stop talking now."

Your roll your eyes fondly at his rambling. As Gale awkwardly settles onto the edge of the bed, you quickly change into your undergarments and crawl into the other side. The bed creaks under both of your weight, making Gale flinch. The space feels narrow, forcing you close together. There's barely an inch in between, and any movement sends you brushing up against him. You can feel his body heat radiating off him, a little toasty.

"The dimensions of this bed are rather diminutive," he whispers, staring up at the ceiling under the blanket, unable to make eye contact with you.

"Aren't you sharp" you whisper teasingly.

"It's... it's tiny! How do you expect two fully-grown individuals to successfully sleep in this thing?" He says in an exasperated whisper. It is small, though. Feels like I'm being wrapped in a blanket... Except the blanket is another person.

I sigh in exhasperation, "Gale I am trying to sleep for god's sake!"

Gale shifts uncomfortably, trying to make himself as small as possible on the narrow bed. "I apologize, I didn't mean to disturb your slumber. I just...I can't get comfortable in such confined space."

You let out another sigh, feeling a little bad for him. "I'm sorry. This isn't your fault, but is it possible that we exchange our positions? I don't mean to inconvenience you, but I feel like I can't relax like this. I can sleep on the edge of the bed, and you can sleep in the middle."

You look at him, one second away from grabbing your maze for real. "Gale, there is no middle, every part of this damned bed is the edge!"

Gale, is still fidgeting on his side.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter under your breath.

"I know," he responds quietly. "I'm sorry." He bites his lip, looking up at the ceiling again. "It seems as though you are now stuck with me as your blanket," he says, turning his head in your direction. "I hope this arrangement does not cause any discomfort for you... I would not want to impede upon your sleep."

At that, you can’t help but smile fondly back at him "It could be worse," you remark softly. "I could be stuck with Halsin and his incessant snores."

"Halsin snores?" He blinks in genuine surprise. "I never would have guessed. Is it disruptive? Like a storm tearing through the night?"

You roll your eyes. "You wouldn't know, you sleep like a rock all night." Your words are playful, as you nudge him lightly with your elbow.

"I do not! I am an extremely light sleeper, in fact, the slightest noise can jolt me from my slumber. It's quite a remarkable feat, really." His brow furrows. "Wait, does this imply that you have observed me in my sleep?" He blurts out. He is now on his side too, both of us facing each other.

A soft chuckle escapes from your lips, banishing all thoughts of sleep. "Yeah," you remarked with a playful smile, "I must say, you look really cute when you're sleeping."

The moonlight streaming in through the window cast a gentle glow on Gale's face, making your heart swell with affection. His tousled hair and big brown eyes look even softer in this ambience.

His mouth drops open, his eyebrows now shooting up to his hairline. "I do not look cute while I sleep!"

"So cute, with your cheeks all puffed," you say, reaching out to pinch his cheek playfully.

Gale's face flushes a bright red and he turns away, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"I—I'm not cute when I sleep," he whispers." I am powerful! A talented wizard, a master of magic. I do not need to be "cute". And I'm not!" But as he protests, you can't help but notice the way his cheeks flush and how his hair sticks up in all directions, making him look endearingly disheveled. You can't resist the temptation and reach over to tickle his middle. "Cutie!"

"I am not!" he protests, giggling as you tickle him. "Stop it! You're making me... gahahaha!" His laughter bubbles out of him despite his attempts to hold it in.

You laugh too, enjoying the sound of his laughter. "See? Cute."

"I'm not cute!" he gasps out between laughs. "I'm... hahaha... I'm powerful!" He tries to sit up, but you pin him down with your hand on his chest. "You are cute, Gale. And you're adorable when you laugh," you say, looking into his eyes. He looks at you, his cheeks still flushed with laughter and embarrassment. For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other before Gale clears his throat and lays on his side again.

"Gale?" I call out softly, hoping to break the silence.

"Yes...?"His voice is barely audible.

Smirking mischievously, you decide to push his buttons a little more.

"You know, I have trouble falling asleep unless I'm cuddled up next to someone." you whisper

He flinches. It takes a moment for your request to fully register, and he stares at you with a mixture of shock and confusion.

"...Are you serious? You want me to cuddle you?"

You nod eagerly, a hopeful smile playing on your lips. "Usually it would be Shadowheart offering, but she's not here right now."

"You want—me, to wrap my arms around you, to..."

His eyes narrow. "Am I hearing you right? You're asking me, to hold you?"

You roll my eyes "Yes Gale, that is usually how cuddling works."

Gale looks at you, taken aback by your request. His face flushes with embarrassment as he considers your words. "Um...I-I'm not entirely certain if that would be a prudent course of action," he stammers out, looking away from you.

"Forget it," Frustration wells up inside of you and you let out a low grunt before turning away to face the opposite side of the room.

"Er- I mean, wait, that wasn't a rejection... " He scoots closer, careful not to touch you. You turn yourself, so you are looking at him again. He looks down at you with a nervous expression. "So if I were to, hypothetically speaking, encircle my arms around your form, you wouldn't object?"

For some reason, your heart skips a beat at the thought of his arms around you.

"Well," you respond playfully. "I would probably say something along the lines of 'thank you very much Gale, goodnight'."

He hesitates for a moment before finally inching closer, his arm hovering uncertainly in the air. With a deep breath, he takes the plunge and wraps his arm around you, pulling you gently against his chest. You let out a surprised gasp, not expecting him to actually cuddle you, but the warmth and comfort that radiate from him are welcome in the cold room. You nestle into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear and inhaling the intoxicating combination of an old book's musty pages and his rich cologne, laced with a subtle hint of sweat. You wrap your arms tighter around his soft body, savoring the feeling of being held in his strong embrace.

"Thank you, Gale" you whisper, intertwining your fingers behind his back. "Goodnight."

As the exhaustion of your journey settles over you, you feel the familiar pull of sleep in your body. However, the moment is disturbed by the feeling of something hard poking your stomach. Your eyes snap open and meet Gale's, who stands there frozen with shock and embarrassment.

"I... I'm sorry," he stammers out, mortified. "I didn't mean for that to happen. It's just been so long and you are so close and..."

Your bodies are still pressend, and you try to make sense of everything. Finally, you laugh softly and pat his arm reassuringly. "It's okay, Gale. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." you say reassuringly, though you can feel a blush creeping up your cheeks.

"But... but I didn't mean for this to happen," he repeats, still clearly flustered.

"It's natural," you say calmly, trying to put him at ease. "It happens sometimes when people get close like this."

Gale nods slowly, still looking a little uncertain. He shifts slightly so that the bulge isn't pressing against your body as much anymore. "Thank you for understanding," he says quietly. Your heart swells with affection as you watch him; there is something endearing about his vulnerability in this moment. You have an overwhelming urge to pull him close, to shield him from any harm and take care of him.

A twinge of guilt tugs at your conscience as you watch the flush rise in his cheeks, a direct result of your teasing. You chew on your lip for a moment before an idea strikes you. "Do you... want me to lend a hand?" You offer tentatively, gazing up at him with soft eyes and a gentle tone. His big brown orbs widen in surprise at your unexpected offer. You are also taken aback by your own words, but don't take them back.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. You can see the struggle in his expression as he tries to process what you just said.

"I mean, it's completely up to you," you quickly add, not wanting to pressure him into anything. "I just thought maybe it would help alleviate some of your... discomfort."

He takes a deep breath and looks away from you, clearly embarrassed. Gale hesitates for a moment before nodding slowly. "Okay," his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart races at his acceptance. You were not expecting him to actually agree to your offer, but you are weirdly glad he did. "Okay," you repeat softly, moving your hand down to his waist and pulling him closer. You slowly reach down between both your bodies, gently taking hold of his erection through his pants. Gale gasps softly as your fingers brush against him, sending shivers down his spine. You can feel his breath hitch in anticipation as you start to move your hand up and down. As you gaze up at him, his arms still holding your body, a deep stirring awakens within you. The wizard before you, with his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, is more attractive than you had ever realized. His tanned skin is like velvet against your fingertips, and his long hair falls over his face in gentle waves. Each reaction to your caress, every soft moan that escapes his lips, only adds fuel to the fire growing inside of you. Looking so eager for your touch.

Without hesitation, you lean forward and capture his lips in a gentle kiss. To your surprise, he responds enthusiastically, his hands moving to rest on your face as he pulls you closer to him. You deepen the kiss, your heart racing at the feeling of his warm lips against yours and the subtle tickle of his beard on your cheeks. As you continue to kiss, your hands never stops the gentle strokes on his erection. Gale's moans are becoming louder and more urgent. You can feel his need growing as he grinds against your hand, seeking more friction.

"L-let me touch you" he says between ragged breaths.

You smile at him, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the effect you're having.

"I have a better idea," you say softly, moving your hand away from his erection. You take off your panties, and move on your side in front of him again. Gale lets out a small gasp as you straddle him, feeling the heat of his arousal pressed against your bare thighs.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice thick with both curiosity and lust.

A mischievous grin plays on your lips. "I'm going to give you something even better than my hand to relieve yourself," you purr, swaying your hips in demonstration in a slow, enticing rhythm, that elicits a delicious friction between his cock and the warm heat of your thighs and cunt.

You take one of his hands and guide it to your breast, letting him feel its softness and moaning quietly at the touch. Gale's eyes widen in surprise, gently squeezing it but with his eyes fixed on yours.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, reaching up to touch your face with his free hand.

"Thank you, so are you," you reply, leaning down to capture his lips in another tender kiss. He seems to find your praise very arousing, as his breathing quickens and he thrusts his hips upward, seeking more contact with your body. In response, you arch your back and press your chest against him, savoring the feel of his erection against your core and thighs.

"I want you so much," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I've been dreaming of this moment for so long but I never- I didn’t think-“ he gasps at a particularly good thrust.

You're not sure how to answer, so instead you keep whispering sweet nothings in his ear. "You're an amazing kisser, Gale," you say, "you touch me so good..."

He moans in your mouth, gripping your hips harder as he keeps pounding erratically. Your hands move to his hair, pulling from the strands and eliciting a small whine from his throat. You can feel the hardness of his erection brushing against your wet folds with every movement, and it sends shivers of pleasure down your spine. You let out a moan into his lips as his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing small circles that send sparks of pleasure throughout your body. Feeling his arousal growing even more, you know he won't last much longer, so you move your hips in a faster rhythm, grinding against his cock with more urgency.

Gale lets out a low growl, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he matches your movements. The friction between your bodies is almost unbearable, but in the most delicious way possible. As you continue to move together, your breaths growing heavier and more ragged, you can feel the familiar sensation of your orgasm building within you too. Gale seems to be close as well, as he begins to thrust deeper and harder into your thighs, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. You can hear the slap of skin and the squelching sound of your now wet thighs.

"Oh, gods," he gasps out, feeling himself getting closer and closer to the edge. "I'm gonna..."

His body suddenly tenses up as he comes undone, his hips bucking wildly as he spills himself into the soft skin. For several moments, Gale lies there panting and gasping for breath.

"Oh, gods," he gasps out. "That was...amazing."

You lean and press a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling at him as you do.

"I'm glad it brought you pleasure," you whisper softly, running your fingers through his hair.

Suddenly, his skilled fingers find their way back to your core. He seems to sense that you didn't reach climax with him earlier and now he's determined to make sure you do. His touch is intense as he circles and rubs against your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You let out a moan, arching your back and grinding against his hand. He watches you with intense desire in his eyes as he continues to pleasure you.

"Gods, you're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky with lust. "I am not going to be able to forget this."

His words only fuel your desire even more, and you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge once again. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride the waves of pleasure, your hips moving in sync with his fingers.

"I want to make you feel good," Gale says breathlessly, kissing along your neck and collarbone. "Tell me what feels good."

You guide his hand lower, signaling for him to enter you with his fingers. He complies eagerly, sliding two fingers inside of you and curling them just right to hit that perfect spot. You cry out in pleasure, your walls clenching around him. You know you are not going to last long, still sensitive from the previous ministrations.

"Thank the heavens and hells," Gale groans, looking at me like I am a work of art. Setting a steady pace with his fingers, he kisses down your chest and takes one nipple into his mouth. The combination of sensations has you teetering on the edge once again.

"I-I'm close," you manage to say between gasps.

"Come for me," Gale whispers against your skin, increasing the speed and pressure of his movements.

With a final thrust of his fingers and a flick of his tongue against your hardened nipple, you come undone in a powerful climax that leaves you panting and shaking in Gale's arms. He holds onto you tightly as he continues to pleasure you through the aftershocks.

"That was incredible," he murmurs against your skin as he peppers kisses all over your face.

"Yes it was," you reply dreamily, still basking in the afterglow.

Gale pulls out from between your thighs and settles down next to you, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace. As you press your body closer to his, you feel a subtle shift, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. Instead of voicing it out loud, you turn to him and whisper,

"Thank you very much, Gale. Goodnight"

[chiliyue-archived]

Aftercare !

Includes; Zhongli, Kaveh, Diluc, Kazuha, Thoma, Itto

Not requested !

Tags; Slight smut/NSFW. Fem!reader. Fluffy and soft, mentions of cockwarming, markings. Many cuddles !

Zhongli

Lots and lots of personal attention to your wellbeing. He acknowledges that he can pretty rough in the moment that you are left unable to walk for a week sore. But no worries, he'll gladly clean you up, bring you a glass of water and tend to you fully

He draws a warm bath for you, having you rest against his chest as his fingers rub fragrant shampoo in your hair. You don't need to even say anything, Zhongli will already be aware of all your sore spots, and his hands are making work to message and rub ointment to those areas with delicate care.

Will gladly carry you if your legs are too wobbly to support you; carrying you bridal style back to the bedroom in which he tucks you in while praising you for how well you made him feel.

Prepares you tea in the following mornings and offers to message any more spots that may be bothering you all the while kissing your cheek lightly

" How do you feel, my dearest? Do you still hurt here? I'm quite sorry, my love, but you performed wonderful last night. Let me know if there's anything I can get you."

Kaveh

So many snuggles <33

He's touch starved and moments after intimacy leave him cuddling with you, tugging your form to his bare chest after as he peppers your face with chaste kisses.

He likes to lay by your side for a couple of minutes before getting up to get you some things. Amongst these moments, he likes to express just how much he loves you while his hand messages your waist. He inquires about trivial little things as you both take the moment to catch your breath; easily mesmerized by the way your chest still heaves even after the deed was done.

And after those initial seconds of cooling down, he gets straight to work to fulfill your needs. Gets you cleaned up and brushes your hair for you, placing it in a nice ponytail, keeping it nice and tidy or just clipping it back with some cute hairclips.

He's very scrupulous in the way he cares for you. He understands that you're sore, and so he is very patient. He makes sure you get a drink of water before you fall asleep, nudging the glass cup towards your lips with "just one sip before you sleep, okay?"

Holds you close to him, his head pressed in the crook of your neck as he whispers endless praises to the shell of your ear until he ultimately passes out.

" You're so pretty, you deserve everything, my love. I love you so much, you're so wonderful to me."

Diluc

Kinda conflicted

He would love to stay sheath within you. Your mushy walls were so welcoming and warm, and he swore he could be in that spot forever. But he also wants to tend to your needs because he prioritizes you before his own pleasure and care!

He always likes to press a lingering kiss on your shoulder. It's his way of silently saying I love you and thank you when you're both still attempting to catch your breath after a very intimate exchange, his face fuming a baby red.

Offers to message your hips, shoulders, or hands. He feels a tinge of guilt when he notices how you flinch when his finger traces after the marks he left on your chest. But your sweet reassurances release him from the worries as he tidied you up

Falls asleep with you cradled close to his chest, head buried in your shoulder. Intimacy leaves him feeling vulnerable- but with you, it wasn't the worst thing

He finds himself starring at you before he falls and after he awakes in the early hours. He can't bring himself to look away

Takes work off the following day so he can spend the day caring for you and spending the early hours of the day cuddling with his s/o.

" I can't my eyes off you, you look heavenly. You may just make me go out of business- but that's alright, I prefer to be here with you anyway."

Kazuha

The most doting boyfriend in the world 🥺🥺

Once the deed is done before you can even utterly say a single sound, Kazuha is already getting up to fetch you some water and towel to clean you up. He doesn't let you fall asleep until he's 100% sure he's fulfilled all your needs and tended to you properly.

His hands are playing with your hair while you're silently munching on the food he brought you. Or if you prefer, he'll gladly converse whatever is on your mind.

And there's always the alternative option of mumbling poems and haiku dedicated to you in your honor. What a greater time to do so than right after being intimate? And besides, he adores the way your face blushes when he reads off his writings <3

Praises you a lot. Let's you know very well just how good you made him feel and expresses how beautiful and pretty look in the afterglow(even better if you're covered in lovebites)

If you're too sore to walk- no problem! He'll carry you- piggyback or bridal style - your choice- around anywhere you need to go.

" You've brought me so much warmth amongst the cold and the rustling of the leaves. You grant me a home in which I will always be grateful."

Thoma

Malewife. You will not be lifting a finger. He will take care of everything.

If you're really sleepy, he'll let you rest for a bit, kissing you on the forehead while he gets to work cleaning up.

Brings you a change of clothing and helps you get dressed if your muscles are sore. Very careful and patient

Gets a nice bath going for you if it's what you please. Rinses and cleans your hair with gentle hands that probably lull you to sleep at some point.

Brings a couple of extra pillows and blankets so that the both of you are nice and comfortable for rest of the night.

He pulls you close into his chest, fingers carding through your hair as his lips trail your forehead. He loves having you close to him. You give off so much heat, and he wants to by your side for as long as possible

Will gladly have some pillowtalk if you can't fall asleep right away. If anything, it gives him a good excuse to spoon you and hold you close and for you to maybe play with his loose hair as well.

Makes you breakfast in bed the following morning, his doting and caring nature extending far beyond the night.

" Are you alright, love? Ah- stay in bed, I'll get you some water and a bath, how does that sound? Do you still like lavender bath salts or would you prefer something else?"

Itto

He nearly collapses on top of you afterward, his arms going to draw your weak and sleepy form near his.

It's just a whole lot of physical attention and cuddles from there <33

He keeps a conversation going with you, cracking a few light-hearted jokes here and there to keep the atmosphere light. While doing so, he strokes your hair, fingers messaging your head carefully that lulls you to sleep within a matter of minutes

Really, Itto loves to gaze at you. He becomes mesmorized by all the marking he left, and despite all, you continue to beam a smile at him.

He likes to be told how well he made you feel and vice versa. Is filled with pride feeling knowing you enjoyed it as much as he did <33

Wraps you into a blanket burrito, holding you close to him before passing out. His body is like a furnace, keeping you nice and comfortable through the rest of the night.

Unshamlessly carries you around everywhere the following day because your legs are like spaghetti noodles.

" Did you feel good, babe? Wha..?? You're legs hurt, want a piggyback ride? I'll have the gang bring us some noodles. How does that sound?"

[squichymochi]

Another piece I wrote this week, inspired by a Facebook post where Alastor and Lucifer mistakenly exchange their cups. Unfortunately, I can’t recall who posted it, so if anyone knows, please let me know so I can give proper credit.

Disclaimer: In this oneshot, the reader is pregnant and in an established relationship with Lucifer.

Warning: This story contains swear words, mentions of blood, and other typical elements found in Hazbin Hotel.

Lucifer x (pregnant) Reader

Word Count: 1.348

“Welcome back, Y/N!” Charlie's voice rang out with genuine excitement as you entered the Hazbin Hotel, your husband Lucifer following closely. Her embrace was careful yet warm, mindful of your growing belly. Standing beside her, Alastor, ever the gentleman, gracefully took your hand and pressed a kiss to its back, his voice tinged with light static, “Welcome back, my queen.”

A protective growl from Lucifer, now guiding his hand to the small of your back, broke the moment. “Excuse us, Alastor. Perhaps you can assist with our luggage?” Lucifer's tone was edged with possessiveness, the nickname ‘red hot chili pepper’ tumbling from his lips hinting at Alastors appearance.

You noticed the discomfort in Charlie's eyes and the twitch in Alastor's smile – a sign of his annoyance. Taking Lucifer's hand, you tried to ease the tension, “Sweetheart, there's no need for this. Everything’s fine.”

Just as the atmosphere thickened with unspoken rivalry, Angel Dust breezed through the door, his arrival a welcome distraction. “Is this my favorite bitch I see right there?!” His words, were a relief.

Laughing, you rushed into Angel's embrace, grateful for the break in tension. “Freedom looks good on you, hun,” you said with a smile on your lips. Husk joined, wrapping an arm around Angel and a wing around your group. Angel blushed at the affection. “I owe it all to you guys,” Angel replied, hugging both of you with a big smile on his face.

As you indulged in the warmth of friendship, a slight rumble could be heard coming from your belly. Alastor’s voice suddenly intruded, “Are you hungry, my dear?” He was close, his concern evident while he was patting your head with a big smile. “Sorry, the little one’s always starving,” you chuckled.

Lucifer, ever protective, was quick to draw you away, his eyes sparkling with a mix of love and competitive spirit. “How about pancakes, sweetheart?” he suggested, just as your stomach rumbled again in agreement.

The mention of pancakes brightened your mood, but Alastor's offer of jambalaya caught your attention too, stirring a craving for something more.

With your best puppy dog eyes, you proposed, “Why not both?”

Lucifer’s laughter filled the room, his demeanor softening at your request. “Anything for you, darling.”

he murmured, his voice a tender caress. Gently, he cupped your cheek, his touch a whisper against your skin. Then, bending down, he planted a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

Straightening up, he turned towards Alastor, his demeanor shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something darker. “Bring it on, bitch,” he declared, his voice now laced with determination and a slight growl and his middle fingers raised.

The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably as Lucifer rolled up his sleeves. His gaze locked with Alastor’s in a silent standoff, electricity crackling in the air between them. “Mhhh, if you reach the ingredients that is”, Alastor chuckled, while Lucifer bristled. They moved in unison towards the kitchen.

"Uhm, should we intervene?" Charlie inquired, a hint of nervous amusement in her voice as she absentmindedly scratched her head.

"Nope, let's just enjoy the culinary showdown and the feast that follows," you responded with a huge grin, gently caressing your growing belly.

The group migrated to the kitchen, where both Lucifer and Alastor were already in full swing. Alastor manifested a knife, making it dance in the air with a showman's flair before diving into his cooking. On the other side, Lucifer confidently whisked pancake batter, his gaze occasionally drifting to you with a loving grin and gentle eyes.

"This will be quite the spectacle," Angel Dust remarked, casually handing you a cup. Before you could take a sip, Lucifer swiftly exchanged it for another drink. "Hey! It wasn't alcoholic, short king my ass" Angel protested and flipped the king of hell off, playfully showing his annoyance at Lucifer with a gentle smile.

You chuckled, appreciating Lucifer's overprotective nature, and took a sip. Watching Lucifer, a sense of warmth filled you. He was everything you could have hoped for: loving, nurturing, and profoundly understanding. Your journey together, from your unexpected meeting to the miraculous pregnancy, felt like a surreal dream.

When you first arrived in Hell, you were a mere sinner, carrying the weight of your earthly transgressions. Your closest companion, Angel Dust, who had succumbed to an overdose, was the first familiar face you encountered. Your shared past in the living world was full of highs and lows, but he has always been your best friend. When he died it was only natural for you to find and kill his drug dealer. This however sealed your fate in hell as a mere sinner. Despite this, you remained by Angel Dust’s side even in the depths of Hell.

One crucial day however your paths diverged when he tragically sold his soul to Valentino, blinded by the promise of love. It was a painful parting, marked by hurt and misunderstanding. Both of you hurting yourselves with words which teared your souls and hearts apart. 

Years passed until Charlie and Vaggie’s intervention led to your reconciliation. You were the first hotel guest, which wasn’t too surprising as you were more interested in art then what hell could offer you and the girls gave you an art room as well as infinite amounts of supplies. So no, this was no hard decision for you.

Meeting Lucifer was an unexpected turn in your infernal journey. Initially, you were unimpressed by the King of Hell. Yet, it was in the art room of the hotel, your sanctuary of creativity, where Lucifer showed you his true nature, his heart. Conversations about dreams and the wonders of the living world ignited a spark between you. You showed him that Hell, for all its despair, held beauty and marvels. Gradually, he began to see the world, and eventually, you, in a new light. Which reminded you of the day he was talking with one of his own creations. It was a cute little duckling he was cradling when mumbling “depression did not only take it but indeed got fucked by me!” At this sight you knew that this man, was the one and only for you.

The day he proposed, Hell itself seemed to shift on its axis. His love granted you freedoms previously unimagined, including the ability to leave the Pride Ring. More astonishing was the revelation of your pregnancy, a miracle in a realm where such a blessing seemed impossible.

As you thought about your past — from your days as a sinner to your surprising romance with Lucifer — the kitchen's atmosphere shifted. The two engrossed in their cooking battle, began to sing and hence fight for dominance, eliciting a giggle from you and the others.

Soon, both jambalaya and pancakes were served before you, with Lucifer and Alastor eagerly awaiting your judgement. You decided to combine the two, much to their shock, creating a unique taco-like creation. The room erupted in laughter at their stunned expressions.

As you sighed happily chewing on your newly invented dish, Lucifer and Alastor simultaneously reached for their cup, only to spit them out in shock. "What in the heavens?" Alastor exclaimed, his usual grin faltering just a bit as he inspected his drink. "Are these... boba ducks?" he asked, bewildered, his eye twitching, the static completely missing within his voice. Your husband on the other hand had his whole head under the running faucet, spitting out Alastor’s drink. “Why the hell are you drinking blood?!”, he screamed with dread in his voice and wet hair.

Your laughter was uncontrollable, watching them grapple with the unexpected drink mix-up. The earlier tension dissolved, replaced by a warm, communal atmosphere as everyone joined in the meal. With your husband's arm wrapped lovingly around you and his gentle caresses, you leaned against him, overwhelmed with gratitude for this second chance at family and love.

As you looked into Angel’s eyes who was in Husk’s arms you could see it too. The love you had with your husband slowly growing between them and nothing could have made you happier.

[quimichi]

Hello! I really love your writing, and I'm honestly a bit nervous to request, so I hope I do this right. Could I maybe ask for Lyney and Freminet with a Creator!Reader who's touch starved? Creator!Reader hasn't received a lot of physical affection in their life so they get really emotional if someone holds their hand, hugs them, plays with their hair, or anything really. Just a lil self-indulgent fluff idea I had. It's totally okay if you decide not to take this request for whatever reason! And I hope you have a good day/night (whenever you see this) <3

↳ ❝ [YOU'RE TOUCH STARVED] ❞ - and so is he

Lyney, Fremint x Creator!Reader

Lyney

Lyney is curled up against your side, pressed against the warmth of your body, his head resting comfortably in the crook of your neck. His breathing is even and his expression soft as he snuggles into your embrace. He's happy to stay like this for as long as you'll let him. Lyney's eyes are half-closed, and he seems to be dozing peacefully. It feels great...perfect even, for so long you haven't felt anything like this. He's leaning against you in a tender, trusting manner, the weight of his head on your shoulder. One of his hands comes around you, and he holds you gently in his embrace.

"I....haven't been touched like this for...centuries" "Mmm... " Lyney's voice is as soothing as a gentle breeze. He sighs contentedly, his arms wrapped around you as his body relaxes against you. He lays his head back against your chest, his hair blowing softly with each rising breath.

"It's nice... I hadn't felt anything like this in a long, long time either..."

"This," he says softly, as though half-asleep, "this is bliss". Lyney's eyes flicker open as your fingers touch his hair. He nuzzles against your neck again, his expression one of happy repose. He smiles and stretches, blinking several times. His arms are still wrapped around you, though, and he doesn't seem ready to let go any time soon.

"It's been so long..." you say tiredly...lonely. "Mmm..." The sound of lyney's voice is sweet and gentle, like the whisper of a summer breeze. His voice is tinged with a certain melancholy as he says, "I know. It's been so long. For both of us....more for you" He pulls you a little closer, resting his head against your chest as he leans against you. He wants to be as close to you as possible. Lyney's lips press softly against your skin, as if he's trying to imprint everything about this moment into his memory. He blinks several times, but even with his eyes open, his thoughts seem far away as he continues to hold you tenderly. His hands softly stroke your hair, fingers running through every strand as if trying to commit it to memory. He can't quite find the words to convey exactly what he feels in this moment, but he doesn't have to. His expression says everything.

"I love you, mon lapin..."

Freminet

He closes his eyes when you tuck him into your side— he leans into you, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of your embrace. As the pain of his insecurities fades, he relaxes and nuzzles into you. He takes in the scent of your hair and holds tightly onto you. The moment you cradle him to your chest, he finally feels as if he isn't alone. All the weight on his shoulders seem to fall away. All of it, disappears in this moment.

All he is, is yours. And in this moment, he is complete. "I haven't felt a touch like this for....centuries." "You deserve to feel it after so long," Freminet says softly, his voice tinged with regret and remorse. And so does he, he knows he does and he knows he deserves to be loved...by you. You make him feel as though nothing else matters. The past, the future, his pain— when he's in your arms, he can't feel any of it. He is with you— he is content. Freminet relaxes, his head resting against your shoulder, his body curled into yours, as if he were a child sleeping against his mother.

"I'm glad to be here," he whispers. "And I'm glad you are here" you say as you look lovingly into his eyes."I feel safe when I'm with you," Freminet murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he speaks. He holds tightly onto your clothing, burying his face into your shoulder.

His breath comes in deep, shaky gasps as he closes his eyes. "I...I don't want to leave this embrace," he whispers.

"After all...youre my home"

[moonsaver]

hiya!!! I've been thinking about love languages for awhile:

What do you think is the love languages of aventurine and sunday? Giving and receiving!!

Would be nice to hear your thoughts :3

Hello dear inbox visitor!! Ive been thinking of a while to do those alphabet love language or relationship sfw alphabet thingies egarding a few characters, mainly because i think its fun hehe, but yess this is an idea ive thought about before

Aventurine strikes me as the touch starved kind. You won't exactly catch on cause he's subtle with it in the beginning as to not overwhelm you + his hesitance on being vulnerable, but when you confront him about it, he just sheepishly laughs and continues on like normal... and then he's the clingiest person you've ever known. He's very inistent with physical affection as his main love language. Gift giving is a close second! He probably would love showering you with stuff. Gifts are always bound to be extravagant. But I imagine ones that he gets on very special occasions like anniversaries or birthdays are more on the sentimental side. I imagine they'd be handcrafted, and have tinges of his own taste intertwined in them. Regardless, if his heart is completely bare to you, you'll never go a day doubting his love.

Sunday on the other hand,is more mellow. I think his main love language would be mainly quality time and words of affirmation, but there's also a tinge of physical affection in there. He strikes me as the kind who would just like hanging out with you in silence or have you around in his office while he does some paperwork, when he has nothing else to supervise. Words of affirmation is more on the down-low, but after a while it's easy to catch onto it – I imagine he cherry-picks his words to compliment you or praise you or comfort you, he's very specific with what he says, so it feels very genuine (and it is). Physical touch is subtle – he'll hold your hand gently all the time, maybe a hand on your shoulder and have you relax against him while both of you are seated. I imagine he wants to feel that you're "really there" physically, so he keeps the physical contact minimal, but constant. He's not averse to it, thankfully.

[bunniesanddeer]

I really really LOVE the Touch chapters with Alastor. You write it so well! Although you have a fic on touch now already I was wondering if I could request something similar?

Persoanlly I think I'd be a really affectionate and touchy person but I simply cannot initiate touch without knowing where to touch, how long, how much pressure and so on. And asking people before hand makes them really confused and tbh I hate having to explain myself and sound needy about it. Idk if it's just me having some weird thing going on.

Anyways, would you consider writing Al with a reader that just got to the hotel and is very straight forward with people about their fear of initiating physical contact during times where reader knows someone would appreciate a hug or pat or any kind of physical contact but reader can't give it them before clearing just how hey want the touch to be.

So Alastor notices that reader acts very affectionate in moments with people who initiate touch (cuddles with Angel on the couch, does Charlie's hair). But at the same time he notices that they shy away and sometimes flinch away when reader touches someone by accident (handing someone something and their hands brush, etc) and apologizes as if they had just burned them.

He goes to figure out why that is and kind of challenges reader to touch him (after him consenting of course) whenever because the struggle and fear amuses him plenty but somewhere deep down he wants them to grow comfortable and confident since that is how their personality is over all and it suits them way better than the cowardly insecure overthinking reader who is too scared to ask for a hug on an especially bad day, even when it could literally save their afterlife.

Just fluff and more physical affection and soft Alastor

You don't have to though! We have already been blessed with some amazing works by you

Would appreciate it to the moon and back if you would take this request (or add another part to your Touch chapters because I am a girl OBSSESSED and starved, hungry for more lol)

Thank you sooooo much for reading and I hope you have a lovely weekend!!!!! <3

Hi! I hope this is something like what you wanted? I had fun writing this. Sorry it took me a little while, haha.

Challenge

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: Fluff, touch sensitive reader/Alastor, slightest tinge of angst

Word Count: 2,839

When you had come to the hotel, Alastor was sure you weren’t going to last long. You avoided eye-contact with others, and your hands constantly fidgeted. You shifted on your feet, and rocked back on your heels constantly. Even when standing in one place, you couldn’t seem to be still. You seemed shifty, and he was sure you would pull something, and he would have to remove you. Alas, he was wrong. You stuck around, even if your weird tendencies only got weirder.

In the several weeks you had been residing in the hotel, not once had you initiated contact with anyone, not that he had seen. Alastor was sure you didn’t like it, until he saw Angel pick you up like a stuffed animal, and make you cuddle with him while watching the television. You had melted into the embrace, nuzzling against the soft fur of Angel’s upper shoulders. So Alastor needed to keep watching, and come up with a new explanation for your behavior.

At some point, Charlie had begged to ‘play’ with your long hair, so the two of you ended up dragging everyone into the sitting room for an impromptu ‘spa’ day. Charlie sat behind you, you were nearly in her lap, braiding one section of hair, and Vaggie was painting your claws. Angel was brushing out Husker’s fur. Niffty and Sir Pentious were talking and looking at the make up laid out across the coffee table. Alastor merely watched, amused by the group's antics every once in a while. 

He watched the way your eyes fluttered when you were embraced by the girls, and the way you seemed so at ease. Nothing seemed particularly amiss. He wondered if you hadn’t been comfortable yet, and had nearly settled with that. That was, until Angel came home, nearly in tears, one day.

“Fuck!” Angel yelled, tossing his phone harshly. It was rare for Angel Dust to have such an outward burst of anger. He always put on a show of being satisfied with his work, even when he clearly wasn’t. When Angel had settled on one of the couches, his face collapsed into his hands. “I’m so fucking tired of Val…”

Angel mumbled to himself as you entered the lobby. You glanced at Angel, and then his shattered phone. You frowned, your soft features looking nearly angry, and then picked up his phone, and made your way to him. Alastor watched from the bar, interested to see how this interaction went.

“Hey, Angie. I uh, I got your phone,” you said quietly. You sat off to the side of the couch, looking out of place, and uncomfortable. 

Angel mumbled something back, and your frown grew more severe. “I uh,” your voice trailed off, and your eyes started darting around. “Do you - do you want, like, a hug? I don’t really know what you need right now, I’m sorry.”

Alastor watches as Angel turns his head and whispers something to you. He doesn’t seem confused, not like Alastor is. He is clearly missing something. His eyes narrow, and he watches as you crawl up on the couch and awkwardly settle yourself against Angel’s side. 

How bizarre! How could you possibly not know what he needed? You were a very empathetic person, always looking out for others, and you liked being held, clearly, so how would you lack this kind of knowledge.

Alastor decides to confront you about it, at a later time. He needed to know everything about this. Perhaps it would be useful!

The next day, Alastor decides to try and get you to touch him, and then go from there. (It had been a little while since he had decided to ‘wing’ something like this. How exciting! You weren’t a bore at all!) His best bet would be to invite you to assist him for the day, so he invites you to when you’re heading down the stairs that morning.

“Ah! Just the woman I was looking for! How are you this morning, dearest?” He settles his hand on the banister, near where yours is resting, and waits.

“Oh! Good morning Alastor. I’m doing okay. What is it you needed me for?” Your smile is gentle and your demeanor open, even if you can’t keep eye-contact. 

“I was wondering if you would like to assist me today? We haven’t had much ‘bonding’ time as you and the others! I was hoping to rectify that,” he responds. He keeps his normal flair and watches you giggle at him.

“Of course, Al. It’s not like I had much going on today.” You pull back from the banister and twist to look at him better. “What do you have in mind?”

Alastor merely nods, and starts leading you down to the kitchen. “I was thinking you could assist me with breakfast, and then we can do some minor paperwork! We’ll decide what to do after that.”

You happily agree, and trail after him, leaving just enough space so you can’t ump into him. 

“We are going to make french-toast, fried green tomatoes, and ham. Should be simple enough, dear!” He snaps, and the two of you are wearing aprons. You let out a surprised laugh, and smile up at him.

“I will never get over how cool that is!” 

He waves you off, and starts pulling things out of the cabinets. He hands each one to you, waiting for you to make contact. 

Then it happens.

You jerk your hand back so fast that the whisk he’d been handing to you falls to the floor with a clatter. Your whole body seems to shrink in on yourself, and your expression collapses.

“Oh. Oh, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You start rambling apologies, and it makes Alastor’s head cock to the side.

“Why are you sorry, dear?” His voice lilts with just the slightest amount of amusement, but you don’t seem to catch on to it. 

“I- I touched you! I’m sorry! I don’t know how to do it appropriately, and I’m sorry! You have more boundaries than the others and I just-” Your rambling starts to annoy him, just the slightest bit, and his eyes narrow.

“I would tell you, if I had a problem with it,” he starts. “You don’t normally have a problem. Why is it a problem now?”

You frown, harshly. It is the first time he has seen such a negative emotion on your face. (Something in him is unsettled at the sight. He ignores it, as he often does). “What do you mean? That’s not the same!”

Alastor is now genuinely confused. It is absolutely the same! How could it not be?

You seem to catch onto his confusion, and a small growl rips from your throat in frustration. “I’m okay with people touching me first, because that’s initiating contact, and they lead the whole time. It’s easier to understand what people want, and where it is okay to touch, based on how they feel, and how they are touching me. But, but when I do it first, it’s hard to know what’s okay! I don’t have someone to mimic, and it’s- it’s hard!” Your face contorts further, and you’re palpably angry. 

“All these social rules, and stuff can be so hard sometimes! It’s easier to just not do it! How can I hurt anyone if I don’t give myself the opportunity, you know?” You sigh, and drop your upper body on the kitchen island’s counter. “It sucks,” you say, your voice muffled by the counter.

Alastor feels a modicum of sympathy. You nearly have the exact opposite problem to him. You want to touch other, craving that closeness, but don’t know how to go about it. He would rather go without it, but knows exactly how to use touch on others, especially to get what he wants.

His mind whirls with thoughts of how pathetic you seem like this. You are normally so confident! Why let this silly worry prevent you from being the best you can be? His thoughts settle on a plan before he can really acknowledge it. 

“Alright then, dearest!” Alastor smacks the counter, drawing your attention. “I have an idea. A challenge, if you will. To help you get over this silly fear of yours, I challenge you to this; you must touch me every day, at least once. Each touch must be a different kind than the last, and it can’t be for the same reason.” Alastor tilts his head at you, waiting for you to take the bait.  “You are allowed to do it without asking, and it can be as big or small as you are comfortable with, but you need to do it. If you can do this, to the point where you are comfortable hugging the others without worrying about “hurting” them, then you win.”

Your head pops up from the counter, and you narrow your eyes at him. “What do I win?”

Alastor feels his grin widen. Yes, you would be fun to play with. “A small favor. Something simple. And confidence. It’s a shame that you are being held back by something so simple!”

You huff, but nod your head. “Fine. I touch you, once a day, unsolicited, and it’s gotta be different each time, or something like that. I win when I can hug everyone else without being touched first.”

“There’s my girl,” he says, watching your whole body stiffen in response. He laughs, and picks up the whisk from the floor. “Let’s continue with breakfast, yes?”

The first time you touch him is during a “movie night” that Charlie sets up the next day. She demanded Alastor participate, despite his well known hatred of television, and everything to do with that technology. You had silently approached him as the group set up pillows and blankets on the floor around the TV, and against the couches. The two of you watched idly, before you spoke up.

“Can I sit with you,” you asked softly. 

“Of course, dear! Good company might make this terrible idea more… palatable,” Alastor grumbled. You smile at him, and laugh a little. 

“Oh, the horror. Sitting with your friends, and relaxing,” you respond, tilting your head at him. His static surges for a moment, but he says nothing in response. You laugh again, although he’s not quite sure why.

When the group finally gets settled in for the movie, and the lights are turned off, he watches you shift about in your seat. Your eyes dart around the room, and your hands fidget. It takes a few minutes, the intro to the movie already going, for you to finally look at him. You scoot closer to him, more than halfway across the couch. You wait another moment, and Alastor’s eyes don’t move from your form. He just watches you fidget with amusement. Finally, you speak up, barely a whisper.

“Hey, can- can I lean on you?” You are so hesitant, and it makes his eyebrows furrow, just the slightest. 

“Of course, dear,” he whispers back, his static barely a murmur. Your body slackens, all the tension drawn out. 

“Oh, good,” you mumble, pressing your small form against his side. It takes a few moments, but then you are completely calm against him, head pressed into his arm, your hands against his waist, and knees curled up under you and tucked against his thigh. You mumble something about him being warm, and all Alastor can do is agree. 

You are so very warm, and it has him almost anxious. He isn’t sure what about, as the room is calm, and the silly animated picture-show is easily ignored. You are so very warm, and he can feel each breath your body breathes in. He can nearly hear the soft pound of your heartbeat, even over the picture-show. His nose twitches at your scent. He will have to take a far-too hot bath later to remove it. It’s fine, though. It’s all part of the game. 

Alastor ignores that you’ve fallen asleep on him. It’s for the best.

The next day, you offer him a “fist-bump”, which he doesn’t understand. You laugh, and explain the gesture, and show him how it looks.

“You do it when you did something cool, or when you’re having fun with your friends.” You smile at him and constantly gesture with your hands while you talk. It keeps his attention quite easily. “Ah, here, let’s see if you understand. What was the last cool thing you did? It can be whatever.”

Alastor thinks over the last few days exploits, and shrugs. “I made a sinner cry by merely looking at him, this morning.” 

You go stock still before bursting out laughing. “Really? Oh my gosh. Seriously, fist-bump,” and you offer your knuckles. Alastor hesitantly returns the gesture, knocking your hands together. However clumsily it was done, it makes your smile wider. “Nice! Yeah, that’s exactly how you do it!”

If he tries the gesture on the others later on, he never tells you. Charlie got a kick out if, though. He refuses to tell her who told him about it. 

One day, you’re assisting Niffty cleaning, but can’t reach a spot way too high for either of you to get. Neither of you can find a ladder, and Alastor is watching with a far too delighted smile. When you spot him, you smile mischievously.

“Alastoorrrrr,” You call, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Come here. Please.”

He strides over, not letting his hesitance show. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

“Can I get up on your shoulders? I need to be able to reach that spot with the duster.” You point up at where you need to dust. He looks over at it, and realizes you are definitely not getting  up there without help.

Alastor cocks his head at you, thinking over the logistics, and then nods. He kneels down, and feels you pull yourself onto his back, propping each leg over his shoulders. When you are still, hands gently around his neck, he stands up straight. He feels you wobble and then balance with a laugh. Your hands let go of him. He feels each breath and laugh and words from you gently vibrate his head with how close the two of you are. 

“I’m so tall! Hahah! This is great! I wish I was always this tall, haha!” You keep laughing, and readjust your duster, pointing at your destination. “Onwards, my steed!”

Alastor rolls his eyes at your antics, but obliges, standing closer to where you need to be. Niffty is squealing, and it’s making you laugh harder. Alastor joins in at some point, and then the three of you are running around the first floor of the hotel, terrorizing the others with your hijinks.

Alastor thinks, privately, that you make him laugh over the little things, something that he hasn’t done in a while. He isn’t sure how to feel about it.

It’s several weeks after the challenge had been initiated, that he finds you hiding in a side-closet. Alastor isn’t sure how he knew you would be there, but the discovery throws him. You’re crying. Nearly bawling your eyes out, and you look uncomfortable with the way your small body is curled into a tight ball, surrounded by cleaning supplies. 

“Oh, hey, Al,” you say, your voice rough. “How’d you find me?”

“Just needed to follow the sound of despair, apparently, my dear,” he responds without a thought. He nearly winces when his words process, and he shakes his head. “I’m not sure, dear. Whatever are you doing in there?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something upset me, but I can’t remember what.” Your voice trails off, and you look at where you have situated yourself. You huff, and pull yourself out with a grunt.

You dust off your knees, and the back of your pants, frowning. “Sorry you had to see that, haha.” You try to muster a smile, but Alastor sees right through it. “Right.”

Alastor simply watches as you shut the closet door, and try and calm yourself down. 

“Gosh, I feel dumb.” You frown at the ground, and sigh. “Alright. Can I have a hug?”

Alastor’s eyebrows raise. Oh. You were finally ready to hug him. How interesting. 

“Of course, dear.” He opens his arms, not even bothering to check for others seeing the interaction. You rub your face, and then step between his arms. You wrap yourself around him, loose at first, and then you embrace him hard. His arms fall around you, and he pulls you in close. His head settles on top of yours. 

You are still so warm, and you smell wonderful; something comforting, something familiar. Your heart thrums against your ribs, and he can feel it pounding. His ears twitch at every soft sound. 

This is nice. Although there is still time, part of him mourns the day you are ready to win his challenge. He supposes he can enjoy each little bit of connection the two of you have, until then. 

Taglist: @numetalnerd2007 @girl-nahh-two Remember, you can be added to my taglist by replying to the tagged post on my page!

[theorphicangel]

Oops hi hi this is my first times sending u a prompt. Can I have Levi with “wait, you think i’m cute?” prompt?

hi hi, thank you so much for sending in a prompt! hope you like it hehe :)

summary: Levi picking you up after a long night out…

tags: drunk reader, mention of alcohol, fluffy

“Get in.”

His words were sharp, his tone of impatience more than evident to your ears. The passenger door to his car left wide open for you to climb in, his hand steadily holding the door for you. Your eyes lingered over his expression, tired and uninterested as always.

Clambering in, without any sort of balance you wonder if you had disturbed him from the quiet Friday night that he had planned. Before you had put on your seatbelt, you turned over to the passenger window, the door now shut and pulled a saddened face, waving to your friends who had stuck by you on the curb, waiting with you for Levi to pick you up.

Soon the driver’s side of the door suddenly opened and Levi climbed in, shutting the car door with a soft slam. Still waving, you miss his tut before he reaches over you, pulling over your seatbelt for you.

You’re taken by surprise when he pulls the leather material over you and your thoughts, a pool of warmth linger by your gut at his small touch, the alcohol not taking long to make you feel so touch starved.

Your boyfriend says nothing more to you before he adjusts his own seatbelt into place and starts the engine of the car. The car remains quiet between the two of you as you pull out into the main street of the bustling city, behind you can hear the noise of cars honking and right out of the window views of you can see groups of people heading for the clubs as they stumble over the crossings.

The car comes to a slow stop in front of a red light and Levi rests his head in the palm of his hand, his elbow raised on the car window. He hasn’t looked at you since, and after all these years you���ve known him you already know his answer but still ask anyway.

“Are you mad at me?” you question, your throat is raw and dry making your voice sound quiet. For a moment you think he didn’t hear you the first time and after a few seconds of re-building your confidence to try again, he cuts you off before your lips even part.

“What do you think?”

“Levi–”

“I specifically told you to be careful with how much you drink and you ignore me.”

“It was an accident!” You swore, “I–I just lost count of how many drinks Hange had given to me by then.”

He hums slowly in disbelief.

“Levi, I swear!”

The red light soon turns the green and the car inches forward slowly, picking up its speed as Levi travels down the main road. He continues to chastise you, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Now I have to drag myself out here to pick you up, all drunk and dirty.” He mutters, “And don’t try putting on that cute shit because m’ not in the mood.”

You sink back into your seat, mulling over his words melancholy until that one star phrase catches you off guard.

“Wait,” you say hesitantly, his words now setting into your mind, “You think I’m cute?”

“That’s not the point–”

“No, no, no, “ you lean over to him enthusiastically, “I want to hear more on that subject.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Barely. I have it all out of my system now that I’ve thrown up.”

“I’m not talking to you.” Levi murmurs, keeping his eyes on the road, the streetlights of the city illuminating his face each second before fading away into a shadow until the next one appears. Looking at him now, even in his angry state, you think he’s beautiful. From the arch of his brow, from the tip of his nose, to the plumpness of his soft lips that you like to kiss for hours on end. You’d like to call up his mother again and thank her for this creation.

“I think you’re cute too Levi, reallyyyy cute…” you mumbled.

He makes no reply, all too glad that it’s too dark in the car to see the tinge of pink that reaches his cheeks, stretching all the way to the tip of his ears.

Deep down, he knows that this certainly won’t be last time as this was definitely not the first. If anything it’s your sweet talking skills that manage to coax him out of his mood. For you right now? He’d let you get away with anything.

He’ll have to save his reprimand for tomorrow. Yeah…it can wait till tomorrow.

reblogs are much appreciated!!

[another-lost-mc]

ASMODEUS x gn!Reader 0.6k Words | NSFW | Making Out in a Semi-Public Place | Insecure Reader -> Prompt: "Feeling a little needy today?" [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

"Alright, what do you think about this one?"

You walked out of the changing stall and spun in a slow circle while Asmo's critical gaze roamed your figure head-to-toe, his eyes narrowing on the slim-fitted shirt he picked for you.

His legs were crossed and his chin was propped up on his knee. He hummed noncommittally. "What matters most is, what do you think, darling?"

You pulled self-consciously at the sides of the shirt that felt tight across your chest and belly. You knew the shirt technically fit, but it made you squirm thinking about wearing it in front of anyone else.

Well, anyone else besides Asmo, who seemed to appreciate the view if his heated gaze was anything to go by.

"I'm not sure it's the right style for me, to be honest," you muttered. "Maybe something else a bit—" Looser? Unshapely? Boring? "—more relaxed might be better."

Asmo stared at you, his undeterred adoration for you tinged with something a bit darker, and your breath hitched when you saw the intensity that flashed across his face. It was there and gone again, and like nothing happened at all, he stood up with a deep sigh. "I'll bring you something else in a moment," he offered and waved you back towards the changing stall.

You just finished unbuttoning the shirt when you heard footsteps approach and pause outside.

"It's me," Asmo said quietly on the other side of the curtain. "Can I come in?"

You opened the curtain enough for him to duck inside. You turned around and put the discarded shirt back on it's hanger. "Did you bring something else, or are we finished for the day?"

Asmo stood behind you and hooked his chin on your shoulder. He held up another shirt in front of you, and you both looked at your refelction in the mirror.

Your mouth dropped open and you glared at his cheeky expression in the mirror. "This shirt looks even tighter than the last one. Is it even my size?"

"You're too hard on yourself," he chided you, and his tone was unusually serious. He frowned at you in the mirror, then he let the hanger fall from his grip and drop at your feet.

"Asmo, what are you—?" your confusion turned to surprise when he spun both of you to the side and backed you against the wall.

His kiss was fierce and all-consuming, his lips moving against yours with urgency. His tongue danced along the seam of your lips until you opened your mouth in a surprised moan. He licked into your mouth like he was starved for the taste of you.

"You're so gorgeous, I just wanna touch you," he groaned between sloppy kisses, and the words were muffled because he could hardly bring himself to remove his lips from yours.

Your mouth was slick with spit and the barest traces of his lip gloss, and you huffed in amusement when he pulled back to give you a chance to catch your breath.

"You seem a little needy today," you teased, but your breathlessness betrayed your own desires. You knew he was trying to distract you from your self-doubt and insecurities, and maybe later you'll talk to him about it; right now, you were a little too desperate to care about propriety.

His chest rumbled beneath your palm, and in an instant he slotted one of his thighs between yours. You gasped when you felt a familiar hardness grinding against your hip, and his breathy chuckle tickled your ear.

"You have no idea," he whispered before he sucked your ear lobe between his teeth and flicked the delicate flesh with his tongue.

Your head tilted back against the wall, and his eyes flashed deviously before his hand slid down your bare chest and reached for the zipper of your pants.

[the-ace-reader]

Twisted Wonderland Guys

I’m a Leona Kingscholar stan through and through, but it goes further than that. They all deserve love. All the Overblot boys. They all deserve a Significant Other that can give them the love that they all want, need, and deserve.

Riddle Rosehearts? I don’t usually ship Riddle with anyone actually - this boy has been sheltered his entire life. He needs to learn how to live before he should worry about learning how to love imo. At least, love romantically. I can’t imagine he had the best role model of romantic love in his mother if his father was around at all. So start off with a different sort of love, the sort of love this boy quite obviously has lacked and the kind this boy quite obviously craves. This boy needs siblings. Give this child sibling, familial love. Give him all the siblings. Give him a younger sibling figure that he cherishes and vows to treats better than his mother treated him. Give him an older sibling figure that gives him the tough love that Trey struggles to give him. Give him a same age sibling that encourages him to let loose and get into a bit of trouble now that he has the room TO get into trouble. But above all, give Riddle a sibling that will love him unconditionally. Show him what family really is. Trey has started the ball rolling. Time to get it really moving.

Azul Ashengrotto? I will admit I’m not too fond of him, he’s my least favorite out of all of these Overblot dumpster fire messes, but even this attention-starved idiot deserves love. Give Azul someone that recognizes how hard he works. Give him someone who sees that, yes he is shady and underhanded, but those amazingly accurate study guides he hands out were made by himself. Those top grades were achieved by him. And on top of school work he is also one of the only sophomore Housewardens and the manager of the Monstro Lounge. Azul does so much, but he is mostly recognized only for the more shady, unsavory things he does. But he does more than that. Give him a SO that sees everything he does. Praises him for how hard he works. Maybe they don’t support his more unscrupulous dealings, but people walk into his contracts knowing Azul’s reputation. And by god, give this man a SO that is highly physically affectionate. I feel that Azul is touch-starved along with being attention-starved. Give the octopus hugs. All the hugs. Give Floyd a run for his money with all the hugs you give Azul.

Vil Schoenheit? This perfectionist needs to learn how to step away from things that are toxic to him mentally, even if they are beneficial to his career (cough cough Neige cough cough ((Neige is a sweetie, and it is not his fault, but Vil will never be happy being compared to Neige))). He needs to learn to drop his perfectly crafted masks and be honest with someone - be vulnerable - as uncomfortable as that would make him. Give him a SO that sees Vil at his most perfect and still treats him as a human being. No flowery words and praises like Rook would give, nor cowers or slight fear-tinged awe like Epel would give - this SO treats Vil as the mortal, fallible man that he is. And makes sure Vil knows that being a mortal, fallible man is okay. Give Vil a SO that is gentle with him when he is harsh on himself, but harsh on him when he is too harsh on others. Give him a SO that sees Vil at his ugliest and treats him exactly as they do when they see him at his most perfect. Give Vil a SO where Vil can be himself, no matter how that may look.

Jamil Viper? Needs a SO that is a combo of Vil’s and Azul’s. Jamil works just as hard as Azul, I would argue even harder honestly, but puts on a perfect mask like Vil does to hide the fact that he does and is even an actor like Vil is to hide the fact that he often stifles his own talents in favor of allowing Kalim to shine. Give Jamil a SO that is gentle with him, understanding of his situation, but willing to call him on his bullshit. His SO needs to be whip-smart and shrewd, they need to be able to keep up with him after all. He needs someone who is willing to choose him, without fail, every time. Put him first, but not necessarily rely on him. But that doesn’t mean they’re independent. In fact, they need to be willing to shoulder some of Jamil’s burden. He may object to it, but Jamil’s SO needs to gently tell him he has worked alone long enough. Jamil needs someone that he can rely on. Someone who recognizes him for everything that he does, encourages him to do more things for himself, and is not afraid to call him out when he hides behind his masks or gently coax him out of his hood when he hides behind that instead.

Idia Shroud? Idia needs a SO that is, at their core, understanding and patient. Anxiety is a bitch. It is not something someone can just get over and overcome with a snap of their fingers. Idia isn’t being difficult for the hell of it. He has severe anxiety. And Idia needs a SO that understands that and is willing to meet him even more than halfway. I think an extroverted SO is a must, because they can help gently, gently encourage Idia to open up out of his shell a bit. But the perfect SO for Idia is someone that is willing to go to his room and spend time with him. Willing to text him and video chat on days where he is not up for physical interaction. Does not look at him strange when he can’t get his words out of his mouth and needs to use his tablet as an aid to communicate. His SO is one who tries to understand his interests better, looking up the games and manga he’s interested in, looking up gaming lingo so they understand the phrases and shorthand he uses occasionally. Idia needs someone who not get easily offended - from Idia cancelling plans or changing them to online only to him calling them a newb or a normie. His perfect extroverted SO is not only understanding and patient but also very go-with-the-flow. They also need to have a good sense of humor and, of course, a love of all things adorable and fluffy. Basically, Idia’s best SO is also his emotional support extrovert.

Malleus Draconia? Oh my god. This stupid, adorable fae man. Naive cutie pie. Clueless baby. He is a man of dichotomy. So very powerful and strong. So very smart and old in a human’s eyes. And yet at the same time he is an awkward turtle to the extreme and I love him for it. Much like Idia, Malleus needs a SO that is patient with him, someone who will be willing to explain the things he does not understand. A fearless extrovert would also be a great idea, Malleus’s SO has no fear of him, why would they? This is their love. They know Malleus would never hurt them. Even when Melleus is mad and there are storms raging outside and around him and others are warning the SO away from Malleus, his SO will simply walk over to him and give him a hug. Malleus just isn’t scary to his SO and he adores them for it. Being an extrovert, Malleus’s SO would want to go out and explore everywhere and they would, of course, invite Malleus to join them. Give Malleus a SO that knows Malleus has a thing with invitations and specifically words everything they can to make it obvious the implication of an invitation is there, even if the word itself is not. Give Malleus a SO that is just as curious as he is too, and in their curiosity they both learn so much together and end up becoming magnificent rulers as well, simply because they bring so much new knowledge back to Briar Valley from their explorations and their thirst to know more means they are never afraid to evolve and improve their realm. Give Malleus a SO that is not afraid to take the extra step of having a spell or something performed on them to make their lifespan match that of Malleus if they are not fae. Briar Valley and, more importantly, Malleus’s family of Lilia, Silver, and even Sebek all approve of them.

And, of course, Leona Kingscholar? I love Leona so, so much. So it’s so hard for me to say what kind of SO would work best for him after reading so many fics with different takes that all seem equally fitting. Above all though, give Leona a SO that, just like with Jamil, chooses him first. Leona is their first choice. They could have anyone, choosing Leona, the besmirched second prince, is making everyone question their sanity, but his SO doesn’t give a shit. Leona is their choice and they don’t care what anyone else thinks or says. I think Leona’s SO has 2 sides to them, much like I feel Leona himself does. In public, Leona’s SO would be challenging. Pushing him to actually wake up and take charge of his life again. I feel like Leona and his SO would be the ultimate “they have already been married for 20 years” couple. Playful bickering, sassing, and teasing are a must in this relationship. It is law. But so are small signs of the absolute trust the two of them have in each other - Leona allowing his SO to pet his hair and ears (especially while he’s sleeping with his head in their lap), him allowing them to steal and eat some of his food, the SO allowing Leona to manhandle them into his space, them allowing Leona scent mark them very obviously and even growl at certain beastmen that he doesn’t like when they get too close without batting an eye at the possessive behavior. But when they are alone the other side of the relationship comes out. Leona wants to not only be recognized but also to be needed - so give him a SO that, behind closed doors, is soft and sweet. Have them praise him for his accomplishments, yes, no matter how seemingly small. He went to class today and that deserves praise. This man quite obviously suffers from depression and he needs the affirmation that the world is not there to destroy him. But beyond the praise, give him a chance to be soft to someone else. Let him have a chance to lower his tough act, just a little bit, and take care of someone else. He’s not some super caregiver, no. But being able to hold you close while you talk about your day? Nuzzle into your neck and breathe in the calming, familiar scent of you that, at this point, is now mixed quite nicely with his own? Lightly run his hands that are so capable of destruction soothingly up and down your arms and shoulders or through your hair? Leona may not be the traditional leader and caregiver, but by the Sevens, he will feign sleep to wait until his SO is actually asleep because he needs to make sure they are safe, so he needs to fall asleep last at the end of the day. Because that means that another day ended with his SO safe and sound and happy in his arms. And that’s worth so much more than a little lost sleep.

I just… I fucking love these Twisted Wonderland guys 🥺🥺🥺