#still can’t draw feathers..

[seepingfrommyskin]

Waiter, waiter!! More Farcille as Granmamare and Fujimoto from Ponyo, please!!!

(close up)

[creator-indy]

Astral projection comes in handy when your partner travels around the world for his job

Also dumb ship chart below the cut

[a11eya]

“Who did this to you?”

Bakugou’s voice is low, dangerous. His eyes are sharp as they stare at you.

“What?” You blink rapidly at him.

After a year of being friends with Bakugou, you’re used to him frequently being at some level of pissed off or annoyed.

But you’ve never seen him look so angry. Like he could tear the world apart.

“This.”

You’re not prepared when Bakugou reaches up to angle your chin towards him, your breath catching as his calloused fingertips grip against your skin. He brushes his thumb, feather-light, against your cheekbone. It’s then you remember the bruise there.

“Oh! I had a practice bout with one of the new kids at our gym. He got in a lucky punch but hit me a little too hard. He’s still learning,” you say.

You smile at Bakugou and raise your hand to pat his, the one cupped against your cheek.

“Don’t worry, Bakugou. It looks worse than it actually is.”

Bakugou grunts. You expect him to step back, let go.

But he’s still, gaze locked on your face, thumb brushing back and forth against your skin like it doesn’t send shivers through your entire body, like it doesn’t make your face feel like the surface of the sun.

Nervous about his intense attention, you bite your bottom lip. Bakugou’s eyes drop to track the movement and stick there.

You can’t breathe. Is he…?

The sound of distant footsteps drawing nearer pops the bubble you’re in.

Bakugou pulls away. He doesn’t go too far, though, and because you’re so close, you can see that the tips of his ears are red, despite his neutral expression.

“Don’t box with that kid again,” he says, voice raspy, a little husky.

You swallow and nod before his words can process. Bakugou nods back, satisfied, before turning to walk away.

He’s halfway down the hallway before you come to your senses. Wait. You make a face.

“You’re not the boss of me!” you call at his retreating back.

He stops. Turns.

“What’d you say?” he asks, eyes narrowed at you, handsome face skewed into a scowl.

You know you should be intimidated, but. You think about the look in his eyes when he touched you. The heat of his palm.

So you just smile at him.

“You heard me.”

[julymusings]

melting | 18+

take one look at you, you’re heaven’s incarnate; what is this spell, baby, please show some mercy.

or; after a long, grueling patrol, jason comes home to your sleeping figure laid temptingly on display for him. [3.1k]

jason todd x f!reader; SMUT‼️ CW: soft sex😛somnophilia/free use(prev. consent implied), thighjob, unprotected p in v, cockwarming. + a lil biting; needy touch starved jason😈😈 but then fluffy; based on ask!!; can you tell i'm ovulating.

It’s almost dawn when Jason climbs in through the window of your shared bedroom, tossing his gear bag on the ground and landing after it with barely a sound. His limbs are heavy and bone-tired from the last five hours spent beating up criminals on the street, and he wants nothing more than to plant face-first into bed and pass out for the next twelve hours. The ceiling fan whirs on the highest setting in your bedroom, and the cool current is a welcome change from the dry summer heat outside. He runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the haphazard shower he took at the safe house where he peeled off his suit and stashed it away in his bag.

He slides the window shut as his eyes adjust to the darkness, making sure to draw the blinds to keep the sunrise from disturbing his sleep. And then he sees it.

Right there, on display like an oil painting in a museum, blankets pushed aside, your naked form lies draped across the bed like a marble sculpture in a museum. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, which only accentuates the dip of your waist before it rounds into the curve of your waist, like the perfect handle for him to grab onto and squeeze until you make that high-pitched gasping sound you always do when he grips you with the promise of purple and red stains the next morning. His gaze traces down your body leaving a burning trail in its wake until he lands on the plump lips of your perfect cunt that peek through your thighs.

His heart speeds up in his chest, a burst of adrenaline and anticipation coursing through him. He dares to take a step closer, though he knows that the closer he gets, the less control he’ll have. What was the agreement? Right— wearing pajama bottoms meant you didn’t want to be disturbed, but anything else was fair game. He can count on one hand the number of times he has felt compelled to do this— he much prefers you awake so he can hear the sound of your pleading moans begging for more, feel your nails sinking into his skin and clawing down his back when your release is too intense to bear. But tonight, after the debilitating patrol he just endured, after you so kindly put your perfect body on display for him, he needs this release— needs you.

Jason takes off his shirt and tosses it on the foot of the bed, with the rest of his clothing quick to follow. The clink of his belt buckle, the ceiling fan static; all are drowned out by the roaring blood rushing from his head and straight to his dick. He feels desperate—pathetic, even, with how much his body trembles as he gingerly crawls onto the mattress, careful not to jostle you around and wake you. He kneels over you and rests a hand on your hip. The feel of your warm, soft skin punches out a shaky breath from him, and he drags it down your figure, following your body’s dips and valleys down to your thigh. He gently grips the skin tighter, groaning lowly at the feeling of your soft body moulding to his touch. His fingers trail back up, tracing the slit of your pussy with his middle finger. You hum lazily in your sleep. He slips his finger between your lips and runs it up and down, circling your entrance and stopping just before he reaches your clit. He leans down and brushes feather-light kisses up your arm, inhaling your scent and savoring the warmth and growing wetness.

“My pretty girl,” he whispers into your shoulder.

His dick is fully hard now, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He loves this feeling, loves you and the heat of your body, enough to get lost in it for hours. A sigh escapes your sleepy lips when he circles your slick entrance again, and your hips move forward. His finger slips out of you, covered in your essence. Jason pants, already breathless as he spits in his hand and strokes his cock with a mixture of his saliva and you. He gives himself a few pumps and presses his tip to the juncture of your thighs.

He pushes it in, biting back a groan at the feeling of your soft thighs encasing him. He fucks himself between them, captivated by the sight of it slowly slipping in and out. His hand jumps from your hip to the bed, and he fists the sheets between his fingers, clenching his jaw so hard it might pop. Though he keeps his thrusts slow, your silken skin feels so good around his dick, and he can feel pearls of precum dribbling from his tip, which his strokes smear against the inside of your thighs, painting you with him. His length is sliding against your pussy, gathering more of your slick. He pulls himself out far enough for his head to drag against your folds, and you moan softly in your sleep. Jason peeks at your face; your brows are drawn tightly together, teeth pressed a fraction of an inch into your bottom lip as your hips start moving back and forth of their own volition. 

You want more, and he’ll gladly give it to you. But he knows that if he gives in too quickly, he won’t last more than a minute before he’s spilling inside you, and he needs this to last. The visual itself in his mind—finding his release in your warm pussy, pumping his hot come inside you and watching it leak out of you and all over your thighs, dripping onto the bed and ruining the sheets—he’s throbbing between your legs. He needs to pull away from you completely so that the image alone doesn’t make this end before it has even started.

He lets out a pained whimper, leaning back into a kneel with his hands fisted so hard into the sheets that they’ve turned a stark white. His breathing is labored, and his cock aches from the deprivation of you. His entire body is clenched so tight it hurts, bringing tears to his eyes.

But then, you move. The loss of him, hard and heavy, and rubbing against your lips, makes you whine. You turn over in your sleep, pressing your thighs together tightly to abate your need, and your back hits the bed, baring to him your full face, your tits your stomach. Jason curses under his breath when your knee falls open and reveals your wet, leaking pussy practically begging for him to fill it with his cock

He can’t stop staring at you, though. You are so beautiful, he thinks. And you’re all mine. And I’m all yours. 

Jason adjusts himself so that he’s kneeling over you, caging you between his legs. One hand finds the bed right beside your head to hold him up, and the other comes to cup your face. His thumb lightly traces your cheek, and he lowers himself to brush his lips against your forehead, then moves lower to your lips, and then continues, blazing a trail down your throat with his mouth, his hand following suit.

He kisses down to your breast, all around your nipple, before finally using the flat of his tongue to press into it and mimic a similar sensation on the other with his thumb. He keeps his touches feather-light, enjoying the way your body unconsciously responds: the faint moans that get stuck in your throat, the sharp breaths that escape from your lips. Your body twitches when he takes it into his mouth and sucks, and your back arches slightly off the bed, but he releases you before you can get too worked up.

His cock is heavy and aching, and his whole body feels hot with an urgent need to be inside you. He takes it in his hand and pushes the tip between your lips. He slides it down to your entrance to feel your wetness before dragging it back up and pressing his head to your clit. Your hips jump at the sensation, and it only pushes him harder against you. A groan escapes him at the same time as a breathy whine blows through your lips.

“I know, baby,” Jason mutters quietly. “'M gonna take care of you.”

When he slides into you the first inch, his entire body shudders. Your sleeping figure twitches as he withdraws to his tip, then thrusts in further. Slowly, he continues, pulling out and pushing back in a little further until his hips are flush against yours. He’s holding himself up on two trembling arms with raggedy breathing, and you’re sleepily, mindlessly grinding against him.

He whispers your name into the darkness, and his voice is so soft, so enamored with every part of you. With the way your hair spills perfectly over your shoulders, your fluttering eyelashes, and velvety lips that are drawn into a pout as you search for a pleasure only he can give you. Your body, your nipples that have hardened to stiff points against the night air, the fading teeth marks on your shoulders, the red and purple love bites scattered over your hips. Enamored by how much you love him, enough to not only give your body to him like this, but also to trust him with it. He remembers the first time you were in his bed, when he was so nervous about messing this up, about losing control and scaring you away. And how you cradled his face in your hands and kissed him all over, whispered those four words against his lips, and he knew he was forever gone for you—

I trust you, Jason.

Then, he starts to fuck you— really fuck you, with slow, deep strokes that send shockwaves through his entire body. He pushes your legs out a little wider so he can fuck you even deeper and angles himself just so, in the way that always makes you throw your head back and squeeze him until he sees spots— and that’s exactly what you do. You clamp down on him hard, and he whimpers brokenly, dropping his head to rest next to yours. Your breathing is much heavier now, tiny whines escaping from your throat with each breath.

What started as long, hard strokes has turned to shallow, messy rutting, with Jason reduced to simply grinding his hips against yours. He buries his face into your pillow to muffle the embarrassingly desperate moan that comes from you gripping him so tightly. It’s so good, but he needs more. He speeds up the movement of his hips, keening into the pillow because he’s so needy it hurts, but it still isn’t enough.

But he can feel the pattern of your breathing change, feel your heart rate increase, and he knows that you’re both on your way there. He pushes himself up on one hand to hover over you, and lets the other hand slide under your lower back and lift it by a few inches. He drags his cock out, all the way to the tip, and thrusts it hard back into you. Your head falls back with a sharp gasp. He does it again, and your legs tremble, eyelids fluttering as you begin to stir. He keeps going, both of you close to coming and moaning through your half-asleep pleasure.

Your legs are practically quaking now, and your back arches of its own volition as your cunt leaves a creamy white ring around the base of his cock. Jason’s hand slides around to your front and his thumb rubs circles over your clit. All it takes is one more thrust and your eyes flutter open, hands fisting into the sheets and mouth falling agape with a silent scream.

“Jason,” you gasp, followed by a loud, broken moan as you come. Your walls clench and contract, and his forehead drops to your shoulder with a choked gasp as he follows right behind you. Your cunt spasms around him and he finishes inside you with hot, sharp bursts of come.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. He rides out his orgasm with wet, sloppy thrusts, and you keep grinding against him throughout yours; all the while his pressure remains even and firm on your sensitive clit. 

“Baby,” you whine. You’re stuffed so full of him, you can feel him in your bones. But he’s still coming; it leaks out of you and drips down your thighs, around his balls, onto the sheets.

He moans into your neck as the spurts of come begin to die down, and his thrusts slow. You’re out of breath, breathing heavily into his hair when it’s over and still trembling from aftershocks. Your hands release the sheets and slide up to wrap around him. He does the same with your waist, holding you so tight, as if you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. One of your hands finds his hair, and you scratch at his scalp.

“I thought I was having a very vivid, very good dream about you,” you joke quietly, still panting.

Jason chuckles into your neck. His breathing is rapid, and your hearts beat frantically against each other.

“I missed you,” he breathes, so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if his lips weren’t moving right against your skin.

“You have a nice way of showing it,” you mumble back, tired but still feeling giggly and fucked out.

You use your grip on his hair to pull his head up to yours. His eyes are shiny, gazing at you like you’re a sight to behold. You guide him to your lips, capturing him in a kiss so sweet his body feels like warm honey is seeping through it. 

He keeps kissing you as he turns to lie on his side next to you. He hugs you tight, pressing your back against his chest. He cradles your jaw, and you make a soft sound when his dick brushes against that spot inside you.

“I love you,” you whisper into his mouth, but it gets lost in a sigh when he sucks on your bottom lip.

You’re in love with the taste of him, the feel of him pressed against you, inside you. So you hold him tight, not letting him leave you, staying intertwined, living on stolen breaths and drunk on the afterglow.

He breaks the kiss to pull the blanket over your damp, sticky bodies. 

“Can never get enough of you,” Jason says into your hair, sounding utterly wrecked.

Your hands settle over his, drawing shapes on the arms wrapped around your torso. “You’ll always have me,” you say softly.

And when you wake again a couple hours later, worked back to the brink with his hands on your hips and him groaning whispers of praise and declarations of love into your hair as he fucks you again, this time from behind, your hand reaches up behind you to thread through his hair and push your lips to his. You moan into his mouth when his thick cock fills all the space you give him, dragging along all the right spots.

“Baby,” he whispers, mouthing along your jaw and down your neck, across your shoulder.

You sigh dreamily when he nips at your ear.

“Feels good?” He asks.

“Faster,” you moan, tipping your head back to fall on his shoulder.

He tightens his grip on your hips and fucks you faster. The sound of his skin slapping against yours rings in your ears.

“’S that better, baby?” Jason croons, and you can only moan in response.

He grins into your hair and wraps one arm around your waist to keep his grip on you, while the other slips between your legs to rub your clit. He does it hard and fast, and pain melds with pleasure in the short moment it takes for you to break once more. You shudder around him, quieter and more relaxed than the first time, but your body is set alight all the same. You roll onto your stomach, pulling him along with you, deaf to his confused protests. Your mind is tunneled on feeling, gone completely blank except for the feverish desire to have him harder, deeper, more.

He gets the message and follows you. Your salacious noises are buried in the pillows and your back arches, pushing your ass against him as he pumps into you through his own strenuous moans. His weight is heavy on top of you, but it only feeds into your desperation to be surrounded by him.

“So—ugh—so good, baby,” Jason slurs into your skin, his voice rough and guttural from where sleepiness meets euphoria.

The chain hanging from his neck taps against your back with each of his thrusts before following the length of your spine when he kisses his way down each vertebra. You feel the cool metal scraping back up when he licks his way back to your neck, tasting the sweat that beads along the column.

His palm slides up your side to grab a handful of your breast, which he squeezes and kneads with a searing grip.

“Gettin’— fuck.” He buries his face in your shoulder, letting his words turn to unintelligible whines.

“Jay,” you whimper. “I’m—I need—”

“Me too,” he groans. “T-touch that pretty clit for me, honey.”

You reach between your legs to find the swollen, sensitive bud of nerves. Your cunt flutters and drips your arousal around him. His cock makes a wet, squelching sound as he fucks you harder. His rutting gets more erratic until he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and comes again with a final slam of his hips. The pressure in your core builds and builds, and it reaches its crescendo when you feel the sting of the bite and his warmth spilling inside you. You arch into him with a loud cry and come all over his cock, just in time for your body to give out and collapse on the sheets. Jason goes down with you, going limp atop your back. The weight is welcome and grounding.

The two of you lie there for some time, enjoying each other’s heaving breaths that fill the silence as you float back into your bodies. You must drift off again, because the rest of the early morning is hazy and you only recall brief flashes of sensation; sticky come from now and before spilling out of you when Jason lifts himself up, something warm and damp running over your thighs and your center.

And when a warm weight settles in at your side, and your forehead is ghosted with a kiss, whispered into your skin is something that sounds like thank you.

is it unrealistic that reader stays asleep through all that😭tbh idc i like that she stays asleep until right before her orgasm i think it's hot. and anyway why am i worried about a fanfiction about a superhero vigilante who was resurrected from the dead by a magical immortality pool being realistic! get a grip girl!

anyway. this was fun to write because i just like the idea of obsession + devotion + complete trust w someone & writing that manifestation in somno. idk. i rlly put my hole heart and soul and julussy into this lmfao

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The lamplight casts long shadows across the room as you sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed, your thoughts tangling into knots you can’t seem to unravel. Xavier notices your distant gaze before you’re even aware of his presence. He’s been watching you for a few moments, standing in the doorway, his silhouette painted in soft golden light.

He walk towards the bed and settles beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His fingers brush against yours, a silent question in the gesture.

“Something’s troubling you,” he says, his voice quiet but steady. Not a question—an observation.

You consider deflecting, but there’s something in his attention that makes you pause. His eyes, usually so calm, hold a flicker of concern.

“You don’t have to explain,” he adds when you remain silent. “Not if you don’t want to.”

He waits, patient in a way that makes your chest ache. When was the last time someone simply sat with you in your discomfort without demanding answers?

“It’s nothing serious,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just my mind spinning stories again. I don’t want to burden you with it.”

The words hang in the air between you, fragile as spun glass. “Your thoughts are never a burden to me,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a gentle arc across your knuckles. The touch is feather-light, yet it anchors you in a way words cannot.

You exhale slowly, shoulders dropping a fraction. “It feels silly when I try to explain it. Just... shadows without substance.”

“Shadows can still darken our path,” he offers, shifting slightly closer until the warmth of his arm presses against yours. “Even when we know they cannot harm us.”

The simple understanding in his voice loosens something tight within your chest. There’s no judgment, no impatience—just quiet acceptance of your inner turmoil.

“How do you stay so centered?” you ask, studying his profile in the amber glow. “When everything inside feels like it’s spinning too fast?”

A small smile tugs at his lips—that rare, genuine expression that catches you off guard every time. “Bold of you to assume I don’t overthink.”

The unexpected admission draws a surprised laugh from you. These are the few times Xavier acknowledges his own vulnerabilities so casually just to comfort you.

“I simply accept that I can’t control everything,” he continues, his voice thoughtful. “That some paths can’t be seen until we begin walking them.”

He takes your hand in his, studying your intertwined fingers with unusual intensity. “When my thoughts become too loud, I focus on something else.”

He guides your joined hands to rest against his chest, where his heartbeat pulses steady and true beneath your fingertips.

“Like this,” he murmurs. “This is real. This moment.”

You close your eyes, letting the rhythm ground you. “Sometimes I spin elaborate worst-case scenarios for things that haven’t even happened yet.”

“Then perhaps balance them with best-case possibilities,” he suggests, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch is brief, almost hesitant. “Or better yet—stay here, in what is real and present.”

Your eyes meet his, and something unspoken passes between you. His gaze holds yours, steady and certain in a way that makes the chaos in your mind recede.

“I’m sorry for withdrawing into my head,” you whisper.

“Never apologize for how your mind works,” he says, voice gentle yet firm. “I would rather you retreat knowing I will be here when you return.”

The words settle over you like a warm blanket. You lean into his shoulder, and he shifts to accommodate you—a subtle adjustment that speaks volumes. The warmth of him anchors you as the racing thoughts begin to slow.

“Stay with me?” you ask, voice barely audible.

His arm wraps around you, secure but gentle. “For as long as you need. I’m here,” he says simply. “Whenever you need. However you need. I’ll always be your light.”

The silence that follows feels like a blanket, protecting rather than smothering. Your thoughts, still present, no longer feel like adversaries but merely passing clouds—acknowledged but powerless against the presence beside you.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Steam rises from the tea Zayne places beside you, the ceramic cup clinking softly against the wooden table. Your fingers fidget with the corner of a book you haven’t turned a page of in twenty minutes. The familiar scent of bergamot fills the space between you, a comfort he’s offered countless times before.

He hesitates by your shoulder, caught in some internal deliberation you can almost see working behind his eyes. Then he pulls up a chair, the movement careful not to disturb as he sits across from you.

The silence stretches between you, yet it’s comfortable. Your thoughts continue their relentless spiral, each one pulling you deeper until—

“You’re far away tonight,” he finally says, his voice breaking through the noise in your head.

Your eyes lift to meet his. The usual steel in his gaze has softened to something closer to concern, brows drawn together in subtle question.

“I don’t want to push,” he adds. “But I’m here if you need to unburden yourself.”

You draw a deep breath, fingers finally stilling against the book’s edge. “I’m sorry. I’ve been lost in thought, analyzing everything that happened today. I keep thinking I should have done things differently.”

Something shifts in Zayne’s expression—recognition, perhaps—as he reaches across the table, palm upturned in invitation. The gesture is simple but holds a weight of understanding that makes your throat tighten.

“The mind can be relentless with its second-guessing,” he says quietly, as your hand slides into his. His fingers close around yours, warm and steady. “Especially on days like today.”

The gentle pressure of his grip grounds you, drawing you back from the edge of swirling thoughts. “I keep replaying every moment, every word. Finding all the places I fell short.”

Zayne’s thumb traces a slow path across your knuckles, the motion soothing. “We often judge ourselves by impossible standards.”

“How do you deal with it?” you ask, watching the movement of his thumb rather than meeting his eyes. “The weight of decisions already made?”

He considers this, the silence thoughtful rather than empty. When he speaks, his voice carries an edge of softness.

“I remind myself that decisions made with the information available at the time are valid, even if hindsight offers different clarity.” His eyes search yours. “And I try to identify what I can actually change versus what I’m merely punishing myself for.”

The simple wisdom in his words settles over you. “That sounds... reasonable.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Theory is always simpler than practice.”

You take a sip of the tea he prepared—still warm, sweetened exactly how you like it. The familiar taste soothes something ragged inside you.

“Talk me through it,” he offers, still holding your hand across the table. “The specific moments troubling you. Sometimes articulating them diminishes their power.”

“You don’t mind?” you ask, uncertain. “It might seem trivial to you.”

“Nothing that causes you distress is trivial to me,” he says with such quiet conviction that warmth blooms in your chest.

So you speak, haltingly at first, then with growing ease. You unravel the tangled thoughts that have plagued you all evening—the interactions you’ve dissected, the words you wish you’d chosen differently, the responses you fear you misinterpreted. Throughout, Zayne listens with complete attention, occasionally asking a clarifying question or offering gentle perspective, but never dismissing your concerns.

When you finally fall silent, he squeezes your hand once. “Thank you for… trusting me with this.”

“I feel clearer,” you admit, surprised by the lightness in your chest. “Just saying it aloud helps.”

“I don’t like seeing you troubled when I could be helping,” he admits quietly. “But I respect your process. Whatever you need—space, distraction, a listening ear—I’m here.”

The certainty in his voice grounds you, a lighthouse in the storm of your thoughts. You squeeze his hand in silent gratitude, and his fingers tighten around yours in return—a wordless promise that neither of you need to translate.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel’s eyes find yours across the sunlit room, narrowing slightly as if bringing you into focus. Everything else forgotten, he stands motionless, studying you with an intensity that feels like being seen beyond the surface.

“There you are, cutie,” he greets, his voice replaced by something softer, more attuned. He sets down his sketchbook, wiping his hands on a cloth as he walks towards you, bare feet silent against the wooden floor.

“Oh,” he breathes, tilting his head. “Something’s happening behind those beautiful eyes, isn’t it?”

You attempt a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s silly, really. I shouldn’t let little things bother me so much, but I can’t seem to help it.”

Rafayel’s expression shifts instantly, concern reflected in his eyes. He takes your hand in his, leading you to the window seat overlooking the ocean. Sunlight dapples across your joined hands as he settles beside you, knees touching yours.

“Silly?” he echoes, brows drawing together. “No, cutie. If it troubles you, it isn’t silly at all.”

The gentle reproach in his voice makes your throat tighten. You glance away, watching the waves roll against the shore below. “It feels silly when I try to explain. Just... little worries that my mind has blown into monsters.”

Rafayel cups your cheek, his touch impossibly tender as he guides your gaze back to his. “The heart doesn’t differentiate between big worries and small ones. It simply feels them all.”

Something in his understanding breaks a dam within you. “It’s just... I keep fixating on things that probably don’t matter. A comment someone made, a glance I couldn’t interpret, a decision I’m second-guessing. My thoughts won’t stop circling.”

“Ah,” he nods, understanding immediately. “The mind can be such a noisy place sometimes.” He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Will you share these so-called little things with me? I want to help carry them, whatever they are.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes your chest ache. There’s no trace of his usual carefree demeanor—only deep attention fixed solely on you.

“I worry you’ll think I’m overthinking everything,” you admit.

His smile is gentle, almost wistful. “Your beautiful mind is one of the things I treasure most about you. Even when it troubles you.” He caresses your hair gently in a soothing manner that makes you sleepy. “Besides, who am I to judge what deserves your concern? Only you can know that.”

The acceptance in his words loosens something tight within you. You find yourself sharing the thoughts that have been chasing each other through your mind—insignificant moments that have grown thorns, small uncertainties that have cast long shadows. Rafayel listens as if each word is precious, his eyes never leaving your face, his thumb tracing soothing patterns on your wrist.

“Even if it seems trivial,” he says when you’ve finished, “nothing that causes you distress is insignificant to me. Your worries are mine to shoulder too.”

“How do you always know exactly what to say?” you ask, leaning into his touch as he caresses your cheek.

His smile is soft around the edges. “Because I see you. Not just parts of you—all of you.” His fingers intertwine with yours, an anchor amidst the turbulence of your thoughts. “And I love every piece, including the overthinking parts.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “Sometimes I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while.”

“Then let me help,” he whispers, his free hand coming up to stroke your hair with infinite tenderness. “Tell me every little worry, every spinning thought. Nothing is too small if it’s causing you distress.”

He waits, patient in a way that surprises you, his thumb tracing patterns against your wrist as the sound of waves fills the comfortable silence between you. And somehow, with each passing moment in his presence, the chaotic swirl of your thoughts begins to settle, like sediment in still water.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The balcony offers the nightlight view of the cityscape below, lights twinkling like earthbound stars. You stand with hands gripping the railing, the cool night air doing little to quiet the storm of thoughts in your mind.

Sylus approaches silently, his presence announced only by the subtle warmth at your back and the crystal glass of amber liquid he offers over your shoulder.

“The night sky suits your contemplative mood,” he remarks, his voice low as he settles beside you, giving you space while remaining close enough to reach.

You accept the drink but say nothing at first, taking a small sip before admitting, “Sometimes my mind won’t stop creating worst-case scenarios. Tonight is one of those nights.”

Sylus studies your profile, eyes missing nothing. A slight nod acknowledges your confession—not dismissing it, but accepting its reality.

“The mind can be a talented architect of fears,” he says, his own gaze turning toward the cityscape. “Building elaborate structures from the flimsiest of materials.”

The poetic nature of his observation draws a small smile to your lips despite yourself. “Yours seems particularly skilled tonight.”

He takes a measured sip from his glass, the movement elegant and controlled, something he’d done hundreds of times before. “What masterpiece of anxiety is it creating for you this time?”

The question is posed without pressure, an invitation rather than a demand. You hesitate, swirling the amber liquid in your glass.

“Everything feels... out of place,” you finally admit. “Like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and one wrong move could send everything tumbling. I keep imagining every possible way things could fall apart.”

“And yet,” Sylus observes, “here you still stand.”

The simple truth of it catches you off guard. You look at him, finding his eyes already waiting, intent but not intrusive.

“The things we worry about rarely happen the way we imagine,” he continues, shoulder barely brushing yours—a point of warmth in the cool night air. “Our minds are great at making fears but bad at guessing what will really happen.”

“How do you manage it?” you ask. “The uncertainty of everything?”

A subtle smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “I plan for what I can control and prepare for what I can’t. Beyond that...” He shrugs, the gesture elegant even in its simplicity. “Beyond that is merely wasted energy.”

“It sounds so reasonable when you say it,” you murmur.

“I won’t pry further,” he says after a moment. “Some battles are fought in silence before they can be spoken aloud. But know this—” his voice drops lower, a velvet promise in the night, “—whatever ghosts are chasing you tonight, remember they must pass through me first.”

The declaration, dramatic yet sincere, loosens something tight within your chest. Your grip on the railing eases slightly.

“I’d rather you shared with me because you want to,” he adds, fingers brushing yours against the cold metal, “but I’ll stay either way. Your thoughts are yours to share or keep.”

The night stretches comfortable between you, his steady presence a counterweight to your racing mind. He doesn’t push, doesn’t demand answers, simply exists alongside you in silent support. The city lights blur beneath you, and gradually, the catastrophic scenarios your mind had been constructing begin to lose their sharp edges.

His hand covers yours fully now, warm and solid against the cool night air. “The world rarely ends the way we fear it might,” he says quietly. “And if it should try, it would find me standing in its way.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He hums, and somehow, with him beside you, the anxious thoughts that had been screaming for attention begin to recede to a manageable whisper.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Rain patters against the windows, casting rippling shadows across the living room floor. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn to your chest, watching droplets race down the glass with unfocused eyes.

Caleb approaches with careful steps, a mug of something warm in each hand. “Hey, Pipsqueak,” he says, voice gentle as he sets both mugs on the coffee table. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”

He settles beside you, close enough that you can feel his warmth but not so near as to crowd. His eyes search yours, concern evident in their depths.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, then adds with a soft laugh, “Though I’d give much more than that to see you smile again.”

You wrap your arms tighter around your knees, gaze still fixed on the rain-streaked window. “I can’t stop worrying about the future. There are so many unknowns, and my brain keeps focusing on everything that could go wrong.”

Understanding dawns in Caleb’s eyes, his expression softening as he shifts slightly closer. “Ah, the future. That great unwritten chapter that keeps us all awake at night.”

When you don’t respond, his determination visibly sets in. “You know what? Scoot over,” he says, nudging you gently. He grabs the softest throw blanket and drapes it around your shoulders, tucking it carefully around you before settling back. “There. First step in the Official Caleb Protocol for Overthinking.”

Despite the weight in your chest, your lips quirk upward. “There’s a protocol?”

“Absolutely,” he replies with mock seriousness. “Step two involves this hot chocolate and complete permission to talk about whatever’s bothering you—or nothing at all.” He passes you the mug, making sure your fingers are securely wrapped around it before letting go.

The warmth seeps into your palms, grounding you. “Everything feels so uncertain,” you murmur, watching the steam rise. “I keep spiraling into worst-case scenarios about things that haven’t even happened yet.”

Caleb nods, his playful demeanor softening into something more tender. “The future’s always been uncertain. But our minds like to pretend we can control it by worrying about it.”

“That’s exactly it,” you agree, taking a small sip of the chocolate. “I know logically that worry doesn’t change anything, but I can’t seem to stop.”

“The mind is funny that way,” he says, reaching for your free hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. His thumb begins tracing small circles against your skin. “Always trying to protect us by imagining every possible danger.”

You exhale slowly, finding comfort in his steady touch. “How do you deal with it? The not knowing?”

Something vulnerable flickers across his expression before he answers. “I remind myself that whatever comes, we’ll face it together.” His eyes meet yours, earnest and warm. “The future’s always going to be uncertain, but that’s what makes the good surprises possible too.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” you admit.

“Step three in the protocol,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “Reframing. For every worrying possibility your mind creates, I want you to imagine a wonderful one too.”

A small smile finds its way to your lips. “Is that scientifically proven?”

“Absolutely,” he says with conviction. “Extensively tested in the world-renowned Caleb Institute of Overthinking Prevention.”

The absurdity pulls a genuine laugh from you, the sound surprising after hours of quiet anxiety. Caleb’s face lights up in response, his own smile widening.

“There’s my favorite sound,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You lean against his shoulder, allowing his familiar scent and warmth to envelop you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Luckily, that’s one future you don’t have to worry about,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. His voice softens, losing its playful edge. “Whatever comes next, whatever you’re afraid of—we’ll figure it out together. That’s the one certainty I can offer.”

His thumb traces circles on your palm, steady and grounding. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m your guy, okay? That’s not going to change.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes something tight in your chest loosen. “Even when I’m being ridiculous?”

“Especially then,” he says without hesitation. “Besides, your version of ridiculous is still adorable.”

You roll your eyes, but settle more comfortably against him, your mug warm between your hands. “Thank you,” you whisper. “For knowing exactly what I need.”

“Always,” he murmurs into your hair. “That’s one future you can count on.”

The rain continues its gentle percussion against the glass, but the chaos in your mind begins to quiet beneath the steadiness of his presence. And for the first time all day, the relentless spin of your thoughts about tomorrow begins to give way to the comfort of right now.

I was kind of in a hurry when I wrote this—maybe because I hadn’t posted in a few days (╥﹏╥)—I had to scribble out all the words in my drafts before getting to the final version. Hope you all still enjoyed it!

[spookyji]

cherry pop! p.sh

ngl i don’t really like my non-dark content writing for enha LOL

cw. nsfw, improper use of a cherry lollipop.

wet spit coats the sphere of sweet candy, turning hard sugar to sticky syrup as sunghoon drags the lollipop down his tongue, a thin string of saliva hanging from his lower lip to the artificial cherry. it tastes like your kisses, the ones he steals when he can’t resist guiding you to your knees ‘cause why would your pretty lips be wrapped ‘round a piece of candy when you can suck him off the same? but it’s time sunghoon returns the favor, after all, he loves to spoil you rotten like the sugar in your favorite candies.

perched pretty on his lap, back to sunghoon’s broad chest, one of his hands palming your cute berry print panties, keeping your thighs spread for easy access, a little wet spot forming as his thumb rubs over your clothed folds, a tease here and there, just enough to make your little head spin, can’t think straight as your gaze remains affixed to the slight red tint to his lips, want a cherry flavored kiss? he can tell. his kisses barely carry the candy flavor, but the sweetness is all in, wet, slow kisses that drip with adoration, sunghoon’s forehead pressed to yours for a brief moment to catch your breath before he’ll steal it away again, tongue and all.

and the moment you’re a little too lost to his kisses, the lollipop rubs against your flimsy panties, leaving a smudge of artificial red dye and spit over the wet, thin fabric, a whimper spilling from your lips swallowed up as your panties are slowly pushed aside so agonizingly slow, shivers racing up your spine as the sticky lollipop prods against your sensitive folds, sensation heightened as the candy circles your clit, feather light and a touch of stimulation, spreading need beneath your skin as your core pools with heated desire, the teasing touch just a hair away from the sensation of true pleasure.

but the moment you move, trying to rub into the little candy, a scoff slips from sunghoon’s lips, lollipop pulled away, leaving behind a sticky sensation on your pussy folds. behave, doll. his quiet word breathed against your parted lips before a sharp slap lands on your pussy, a sting of pleasured pain as heat rushes from the sudden hit, your little whimpers just what he wants to hear. after all, pleasure comes with patience. trapped beneath his weighted gaze, the kind that makes you squirm with anticipation and slight shyness, the kind of gaze that sees everything about you. just as the lollipop pushes into your wetness, out of the corner of your eye, the mirror reflects the embarrassing sight, the sound of your slick triggering an impulse to close your legs, trapping his hand between your legs.

you know better than that, baby. open up. sunghoon’s calm voice tinted with a hint of sternness, as his hand stills between your thighs, drawing a choked, begging whine from your throat. what did i say? his voice whispered in your ear, sharp eyes meeting your gaze in the mirror. don’t make me repeat myself, doll… or else i’ll make you play with this pussy by yourself. face burning with heat, forcing your trembling thighs to spread open, revealing the embarrassing sight of your drooling pussy, wetness tinted a slight red from the cherry candy, his fingertips holding the stick of the lollipop as his hand moves again, the whimpers instantaneous as the ball of cherry pushes deeper, rubbing all of your sweet spots.

pretty, teary whimpers spilling from your pouty lips, squirming in his lap as the head of the lollipop slips in and out of your cunt, such an embarrassing squelching sound as your wetness coats the candy, sucking it back in so eagerly.. look at you, baby, gonna cum on a lollipop? the corner of his lip raised with the hint of a smirk, his hand finding and gripping your cheek, forcing your gaze to watch in the mirror as your body trembles and squirms with sugar sweet pleasure, a glisten of red as your pussy makes a mess on the lollipop, drooling wetness into his lap, the little unconscious movements of your hips to chase pleasure, candy buried to the stick in your pussy, at sunghoon’s complete mercy, pace quickening as your face buries in the crook of his neck, his hold on your cheeks letting go, you’re just too cute when you’re about to make a mess.

h-hoonie, ‘s too much, your whines cried into the crook of his neck, drool on your kiss-swollen lips, the pleasure tied in ot your stomach too much to bear for much longer, even if you haven’t behaved yourself at all, he’ll be nice. you want to cum, baby? i’ll let you. his permission, and the sudden gush of wetness coating his fingers as you tremble in his lap, clinging to his firm arm with weak fingertips, ‘til you feel the lollipop pulled out of your pussy. good girl, sunghoon murmurs, his fingertips stroking through your hair, before tapping on your chin. a cherry lollipop, glistening with your cum and arousal, lightly resting on your lower lip. open up, doll.

—

i’m not v good at writing anal but lowkey sunghoon would do that too. just saying.

[hiwaaranit]

I should have known if I brought up wc I’d have to talk about. But it includes of a lot of issues with feral/furry designs that use feathers in hair. I don’t necessarily know why the conversation only started and stayed in the wc fandom when horse/wolf/lion feral fandoms are still doing the same thing.

Now having feathers in the design isn’t a racial attack first thing off because there’s a lot of context around what feather’s are used, the shape, and where they are placed. If the look is anything like "rave Coachella looking tribal fantasy feathers and beads" it’s probably insensitive. I’m not to sure why it has to be feathers, I honestly think the wc fandom are holding themselves back when it comes to forwarding designs in a unique way. Tail feathers are also left out in this conversation as well, one or two feathers or feathers in the shape of a birds tail are fine but bunched together feathers are leaning to close to how we have our horses wear feathers. This is in the context of the design already looking like a "medicine cat" already its bad. it’s like those yt girls wear feather head bands but animal addition.

I’ve talked about this before but silhouettes are so important, like Native American stereotypes are on the global scale you cannot escape this silhouette you just have to avoid it. There’s no "but it’s in so many other cultures" no it’s not it’s totally unique to our people that’s why people flock to it because it’s so "mysterious, sacred" whatever their weird twisted up reason is. There’s so many unique ways to break this silhouette you just gotta be more creative. And I feel like instead of being more creative and coming up with totally different ideas it’s just easier to lean on these visual native stereotypes to get across "wild mythical nature fantasy"

I could get into the horse fandom and the weird situations they’re doing over there but that’s another crazy thing. I should say because someone will ask, ostrich feathers on like show horses or knights or puss in boots style is fine not the same thing (breaking the silhouette) they’re not related.

And it comes down to understanding what you are drawing and where this imagery comes from, I’m not gonna get my feelings hurt because of your design but I’ll question why are you drawing stuff like that. You cant remove that cultural/stereotypical imagery, and if you don’t care about it then you don’t care about the history or how it looks on your character and art.

I made it this far on the internet but if you want to be conscious about these things good on yea it doesn’t take much☺️👍

Edit: can’t believe I gotta say this but yes other cultures utilize feathers, if people are using feathers that are used in their culture then don’t harass them. That’s weird have some common sense. Ostrich feathers, peacock feathers it’s actually so interesting how native birds to an area affect the culture there.

[moonstruckme]

fae!Sirius asks for your name and you give it to him immediately because he's just so pretty wtf and he feels too bad to steal it from you because you're looking at him like he's a god and sure, it's not uncommon for his 'victims' to think he's beautiful but something about *you* just makes his little fae heart race-

I'm so normal about him I promise <3

Babe you have no idea how this has sat in my brain since you sent it all those months ago. I am not normal about him. Thank you! <3

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 804 words

Sometimes, when you leave your gifts in the forest, you’ll think you hear movement behind you. A soft crunch of the leafbed, or a rustling in the trees overhead. You’ll catch the rich scent of soil after a storm, though it hasn’t rained for days and the sky is blue and cloudless. Sirius will watch as your head lifts, noticing these things, but then you’ll simply carry on with what you’re doing, stand up, and go home. 

One day, you stand up to go home and find him waiting for you. 

“Hello, lovely,” he says, watching in amusement as your human face stills with awe. Your lips part. 

You know instantly what he is. No human carries themselves like the fae do, like Sirius could melt into the foliage at whim and you’d never find a trace of him. None of your kind have features quite so fine, or hair so dark it eats the sun. Or eyes like his, ever changing, shifting colors like a fish’s scales. No, you recognize him with one look. 

To your credit, you recover quickly. “Hello,” you say back. 

Sirius smiles with his too-white teeth. “What have you brought me this time?” 

You look behind you, to the tree hollow where you leave your gifts, as though you’ve already forgotten. “Oh. It’s a new cheese I found. Sea salt and honey.” 

Sirius cocks his head, intrigued. “I’ve not had that before.” 

“I thought you might not have.” Your initial surprise is wearing off, giving way to a sweet airiness. Your smile is soft as fresh snow. “I try to bring new things for you to try. I didn’t realize how small the portions would be, though; you’re bigger than I thought.” 

Sirius looks at you, making his eyes flash. He expects you to flinch, but you gasp softly, leaning in as if to see better. Strange. 

“You think that because I’m this size now, I must always be,” he says. 

“Aren’t you?” 

He tsks, teasing. “Best not to make presumptions.” 

Once again, curiosity rules your expression. Your eyes squint and your brows twitch towards each other, but before you can ask more questions Sirius goes on. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a simple truth. He wonders if you know he can’t lie. “If you’d let me repay your generosity, I’d like to give you a gift in return.” 

Again, your lips part, but you hesitate. Such pretty lips, Sirius thinks. So expressive. 

“That’s alright,” you say after a moment. “I don’t need anything. They were for you.” 

Sirius hides a smile. Clever thing, not to accept gifts from the fae. 

“If that’s what you want.” He asks, in a voice like spidersilk, “But what should I call the beautiful girl who’s left me so many gifts?” 

You smile and give him your name without reservation. Perhaps not so clever after all. 

Sirius says it back to you, rolling it around in his mouth. It leaves a sweet aftertaste on his tongue. You nod in clueless confirmation. 

“Can I ask yours?” 

“No,” says Sirius, “you may not.” 

You don’t appear offended. Your eyes are placid and trusting. Maybe it’s that look that makes him hesitate. Sirius knows what he’s meant to do now, what he’s done to others before you, but he finds himself tempted to wait. To see what you do next. 

“Well,” you say after a long silence, “I hope you like the cheese. If you want more, I can bring you some next time, but I should probably be getting home now.” 

“So soon?” Sirius asks. Though the breeze is cooling, and the sun’s dying rays tangle in your hair. 

You smile, almost apologetic. “Yeah, but—oh. Here, I forgot.” You reach into your bag, drawing out a long feather. It’s onyx black and shines like oil in the fading sunlight. “I found this at a friend’s house a few days ago, I meant to leave it with the cheese.” You look at him, shameless in your appraisal. “It sort of looks like your hair.” 

Sirius smiles, feeling the stretch of his lips with an odd sort of amusement. “It does,” he agrees. He lets you place the feather in his hand and feels the warmth of your fingertips on his skin with something like awe. A human has never been so bold as to touch him before. 

“I’ll visit soon,” you say, granting him one last, serene smile as you turn to go. “I hope you come out and say hello.” 

He thinks that he might. As you walk away, feet padding softly on grass and the shadows of trees falling over you like loving touches, he considers stealing the name you gave him so freely. 

But you’re lovely, and Sirius is a hedonist. He wants a taste of those lips given of your own free will. 

[akindaflora]

Lovers Competition

Genre: ABSOLUTE TOOTH HURTING FLUFF

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader; Established relationship

Quick Sum: Its bed time and Hyunjin been nothing but a lover boy ready to prove how much he loves you and your full of giggles at this love sick man you get to call yours.

warning: Absolutely the most cheesiest thing I have ever written! If you wish to keep the delulu away, please avoid this story, but if you like the pain go ahead I warned you. One curse word used.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"We should go to bed, Hyune," your voice soft as a whisper, and even if your eyes were heavily blinking slowly, his were locked onto yours from above. His hand brushed your cheek as he bent over from his side of the bed, a small content smile on his face. To be so lucky, he thought to himself.

Snuggled in bed, the blanket surrounding you both. Helping to hide the bustling world and soften the warmth of love that spread in both of you, the soft touches of his hands as he traced your face, your eyelids, the shape of your nose, and the outline of your lips.

"Mmmm, but I can’t miss another moment," he groaned, letting a feathered kiss at the tip of your nose.

You laughed lately, Hyunjin has been whining that he was missing moments with you whenever he had to do basic, normal things. When he sleeps, he misses you; when he has to do work, he would rather be wrapped in your arms.

He even went on asking the most ridiculous thing you've heard spill from his soft lips. "Would you be cool with me asking an Etsy witch to shrink you so I could carry you in my front pocket all day," He asked, sipping coffee with you in a coffee shop, but when he thought about how he would realistically kiss you, he gave up on the idea. Proclaiming it was back to the drawing board. And lately, he couldn't stop kissing you.

Like he was doing now. Soft pecks that felt like whispers of warmth, his hand deepening into your hair as he pulled closer than he already was.

He pulled back, "I can’t get enough of you," another kiss following to your lips. A giggled, leaving yours.

"Say you can’t get enough of me," he said, begging with his eyes and tracing your face as a blush settled in your cheeks. Your eyes glimmer with adoration for this man who found new ways to say I love you. This kind of love wasn’t challenging but came with a sense of dedication. And while he has been a love-sick dork, you couldn't help but feel giggly about the entire thing. Finding you wanted the same thing. Always going back to him.

"If the world were to run out of oxygen I’d find your lips to breathe into one last time," You said quietly as your own hand rushed to his cheek. Pulling him in for a demonstration of your love back.

He gasped into the kiss, quickly pulling back. Just slightly leaving, enough so he could see your eyes as you stared back into him.

"If all the stars from the sky were to disappear and I never saw another star, I'd just look into your eyes and fall deeper into your universe." This time, he kissed you softly, sighing as your lips brushed into a slow tide wave of affection.

You pulled back, "If a witch turned you into a flower, I'd ask to be the soil so I could hold you up."

He laughed, "That’s ridiculous, baby." You couldn't help but giggle back.

"If sanity is to never love you, then I deserve to be the most ridiculous insane person ever just to get a glimpse of your vision." You were riddled with laughter. He began to kiss the areas of your face like a madman.

"Long as I can be ridiculous with you," You said in between giggles. "We’re such idiots," you said, still giggling at your little love competition.

"True, but we’re in love and I think we're allowed to be dumb," he said quietly with a permanent smile that seemed to show up since you, too, had been together. "Being with you is like spring every year, and I’d never want it to stop," a small contented smile framed your face as you looked up at him. God, you were in love with this man, and then a yawn left your lips. He cooed at the way your eyes fluttered and the tears that began to swell.

"Me neither, Jinnie, but I must contest, baby, I need sleep. Hold me until morning so I can see your beauty at first rise," You said dramatically as you pulled him into you. He fell into the nook of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist as you pulled the covers higher. The soft, cozy warmth was spreading as you both pulled into each other.

"Fuck, I love when you get poetic with me," He said into your neck, kissing your neck and then your check before going back to laying on your chest.

"Goodnight my love," He said softly as you sighed softly rubbing at his back as sleep began to make your eyes heavy. With the last bit of energy you had left, you kissed his head, "Sweet dreams, my love," you said softly.

But as you both were about to fall into a deep REM, a loud sound of finally was heard from Changbin's room. You were both laughing, not realizing you had kept him from his slumber as well.

"Ya don't be jealous, Binnie," Hyunjin yelled, kissing your lips quickly before finally, you were both able to fall into sleep.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

AN/ Ahhhhh this might actually be the cutest fucking thing I have ever wrote in my life. With my stories around Chan I can't help but to want to write a relationship around balance and how each other compliments each other but when it comes to Hyunjin its so easy to write stories of complete devotion and love in a way that almost feels like a fantasy. And I really hope you love this cheesy fluff it warmed my heart and made me desire a love like this even more.

Y✿Y✿

[sweet1delusi0ns]

Naruto boys random headcanons──☆*:・ﾟ

Sfw

Characters: Naruto���,sasuke🗡️,Itachi🥀, kakashi🍃, kiba🐺, shikamaru🀄️,shino🪲,neji🎋,Lee🥋,choji🍥,gaara⏳,kankuro🪆

Naruto🦊-*

Hes lazy at home. Not because he’s tired he just wants you to take care of him, but when you call him a baby for all these requests he gets mad “I AM NOT A BABY! I AM A GROWN MAN! NOW SPOON FEED ME!”

He tries to prank you but fails, your too smart to fall for it. He always tries to trip you in public while walking and every time he is the one on the floor and your the one laughing some how-

He likes the idea of drawing and being an artist he just can’t draw. He can only draw stick people with different hair, one time he tried to draw you, gave up and instead gave you a picture of a stick person with your hair. It’s now on the fridge LOL

He tries to act cool around his friend with you but just makes a fool of himself. “Yeah this my bae so what?” “Yeah I’m his bae and he’s my baby, my big, soft, smiley baby!” His soul is now crushed and his friends all laughing

He sleeps like a ANIMAL. he full on can’t sleep normally, You both go to bed the same time, one of you is always gunna wake up on the floor, mostly you. Then he wakes up like “why you on the floor?”

Sasuke🗡️-*

He may seem cool but he gets very flustered. He doesn’t cover his face though he just closes his eyes so he doesn’t get more flustered and so he can ignore the fact that he is red

He CANT Dance, don’t EVER take him dancing. It’s not because he’s bad at dancing he just never learn. If there is music he will bop his head to the beat though, if you try to get him to dance he will freak out and freeze. He just doesn’t like it ok!

His waist is weirdly sensitive, you could barely touch his waist and he will start giggling. He isn’t ticklish anywhere else but if you take a feather to his waist he will start LAUGHING

He will kick your feet when he wants attention. If you guys are out to dinner with friends he will kick you under the table to get your attention, he thinks it’s funny until you fight back and stomp on his foot. He made you kiss his pain away at home, atleast he got attention LOL

He forgets the silliest things one time he forgot how to tie a knot so anything he needs to tie like his clothes or shoes you had to do for him. You don’t know if he actually forgot or if he just wanted to be babied-

Itachi🥀-*

He can’t handle heatwaves. If it’s over 90 degrees he’s gone for. One time you woke up on a heat wave morning waiting for him to wake up and walk out but he never did, you went to find him and he was in bed, sprawled out, shirt and covers off soaked in sweat. You had to rub ice on him to get him conscious -

Unlike naruto, he likes drawing and can ACTUALLY DRAW, although he can only draw plants but he doesn’t mind he likes plants! He will draw you flowers instead of buying you some which is like equally as cute~

He has very sensitive eyes. Like how he can’t handle heat he cant handle the sun either. If it isn’t cloudy he will have to squint to keep his eyes from hurting. When you told him to wear sun glasses he said “I still want to see you clearly though love…”

He’s not a big fan of skin care but he likes those face roller things. He bought one just so you could use it on him, he likes that it’s cold but also massaging!

He sneezes like a girl- he has the cutest, most petite sneeze you’ve ever heard out of a man which is cute and very funny. He doesn’t even realize it either “a-choo!” “That was crazy out of character” “huh?”

Kakashi🍃-*

He’s allergic to cats, he likes cats sure but he never hangs around them because he’s allergic. You didn’t know that and one day you brought a stray inside and he instantly turned puffy (poor thing)

Once he gets home and discards the mask he puts lip tint on. He has pink lips for that reason. When he first puts it on he will find you and kiss you just to leave a mark before waiting 10 minutes then whipping it off

He needs reading glasses but never uses them, then complains to you when he gets a headache as if you didn’t tell him to put them on

He takes a lot of baths. If he showers it bound to end up a bath. And he doesn’t care if your using the bathroom if he wants a bath he’s gunna make a god Danm bath. One time You were just washing your face and he busted in the door and ran to the bathtub, You washed your face as fast as you could-

He is EXTREMELY tired when he first wakes up, he doesn’t move for like 20 minutes so if he needs to get up and do stuff your gunna have to make him, like actually you’ll have the carry him out of bed.

Kiba🐺-*

He bites his nails from stress so you have made it a habit to smack his hand away when he does. It worked since all you have to do is tap him softly and he will stop. He’s so glad you help him get over bad habits

He decorated akamarus ears when he’s bored, one time you walk in on him giggling like a little girl and akamarus ears were pulled together in a little ponytail! You joined in on the fun🤞

He comes back from a casual walk along a complete mess, you have no idea how but one day he came back with half a bush stuck on his leg. He always cleans up though!

He sometimes transforms akamaru into himself to prank his friends or you, mostly you. One time akamaru came up to you as Kiba and started licking your face “EW OH MY GOD?!” “AUUFF AUF!” “KIBA YOUR NOT FUNNY”

He always has tan cheeks and nose. Compared to the rest of his face, his cheeks are cute and golden!

Shikamaru🀄️-*

He lets you win at intelligents based games to make you feel better. Except one time he actually tried and lost. He’s convinced you cheated

His hair is straight but gets very frizzy if not cared for. (You care for it since he’s lazyy)

He draws on himself when bored, mostly just trippy designs like swirls and stuff. Will also let you draw on him, only if your good tho he doesn’t want “bad drawing” on him😔

He has a box FULL of hair ties and will notice if you take one. “This one you literally stole from me?” “Don’t care put it back!!!”

He gets Freezingly cold at night, like really really cold. When he snuggles up to you to warm up you could feel how cold he really is and you don’t understand how since you are both under covers-

Shino🪲-*

He keeps bugs in the house so they can watch over anything, they are basically his security cameras-

His hair is so cute and wavy! Also gets very frizzy because of the texture like Shika. He also makes you take care of it, he just really likes you touching his hair

He gives you bugs as gifts, not like freaky beetles but cute little bugs like lady bugs or fuzzy green caterpillars. You find it cute that he gives you things that mean so much to him

He shockingly has a sensitive neck, only to you though. Bugs can crawl all over it and he doesn’t move but if you try to kiss it he gets chills. Also shockingly he has really soft skin idk maybe he sheds skin (IM JOKING)

When he gets home and can finally undress he lets you take his glasses off since you love his eyes and he loves that you love them. He gets insecure about it sometimes!

Neji🎋-*

He speak really highly and intelligently but he’s honestly a little dumb sometimes, or maybe he’s just dumb with you to be silly we don’t know

The only jewelry he really wears is an ankle bracelet you got him

He loves hair charms, he likes decorating his hair! He likes putting clips and braids in it, sometimes even put color streaks in it if he wants to be festive

He really likes pottery and making things out of clay, he’s very creative and he finds clay the perfect outlet. He even makes pots for you!

He has a flower garden that NO ONE is allowed in. He treats them like they’re his baby’s, because they are! He’s favorite plant he has is his cactuses.

Lee🥋-*

He’s extremely energetic and powerful yet he has asthma, he denies it. But if it’s really hot outside he runs out of breath REALLY fast which makes you worry

He’s scared of spiders you kill the spiders for him or he runs! If you trap a spider and chase him with it he will almost start crying (he will start crying) he’s ashamed to admit spiders are his weakness

He wears mascara, he gotta make them lashes voluminous yk. He stole his mascara from tenten too. You made him give it back to her and bought him his own

It’s pretty obvious but he is FLEXIBLE! Backbend, splits anything he can do. You thought he broke his spine onces-

He’s not much of a plant guy but he has the TINIEST succulent in your room that he cares for, every other plant he has had died but not that one~

Choji🍥-*

He loves finger painting and is actually really good at it, you’d think it was made by a professional and an actual paint brush but no it was Choji and his finger paint😭

His hair is so thick most hair ties he uses break. He has to use hair needles instead because it’s the only thing that holds if he wants his hair up for a while

He thinks pillow fights are actually entertaining he could have a pillow fight with you all day and never get bored. He goes crazy if he’s over at someone’s house and they suggest pillow fights!

He loves bath bombs!!! He basically died when you run him a bath and put bath bombs in it, his favorite scent it lavender. Even if you didn’t add a bath bomb he loves when you make him baths he thinks its adorable

He paints your cheeks like his in your sleep, that’s his idea of a prank even though it’s basically him just being a cutie “look now your like me y/n!!”

Gaara⏳-*

He turns the black rings around his eyes to cat eyes sometimes. He looks ADORABLE with cat eyes. He sometimes even uses eye shadow too, if he can’t change it he thought might as well make it look cutee

He’s scared of mosquitos, he just doesn’t like bugs that can fly and go after human blood it freaks him out

He wears one of those scent bracelets and puts your signature scent in it so he always smells like you~

He gifts you plants all the time

He collect the silliest things, there are these cute little cat charms at a near by store and he’s working on collecting them all!

Kankuro🪆-*

Shockingly he really likes reading. He likes fiction books the most, he asks you for suggestions

He asks you what new make up design he should try, sometimes he just gives you the brush and lets you go wild. But you always make him look cute~

He fidgets with the ears on his hat when he’s bored. It rubbed off on you so now if he’s around you with his hat on you start messing with them-

He steals your clothes and hides them so you have no choice but to ask to use his for the day. After the day is over he comes up to you smiling and hands you your missing clothes “found em!” “By found em do you mean took them out of the hiding spot?” “Yeah-”

He paints his nails either black, pink or purple. He also lets you paint them, it honestly just ends up a mess. He would totally whip nail polishes on your nose~

[gtgbabie0]

Helloo can I request a sweet smut with aegon x reader where they've been apart for some time due to work and when they come together they just want to be intimate with one another

Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: {Aegon’s patience has been wearing thin, he soon reaches a breaking point}

!!-18//MDNI-!! Sorry this took so long I simply cannot catch a break, enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

Since the moment Aegon sat down on his council chair he wanted to leave, to abandon the whole damned meeting and let the fools figure it out for themselves. What was the point of even being there if they overlooked everything he said?— if they did not take him seriously?

It angered him beyond belief, the way they looked at him, the snide remarks that left a stupid pain in his chest no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He sits there bored and pissed off, spinning the marble against the wooden table as their words blend into one another making one big dull noise.

He feels silly, ignored, and he doesn’t enjoy it— so he leaves, slamming his fist onto the table so hard that it causes each of the council members to jump in their seats. The marble rolls off of the table, smashing onto the stone floor as the door shuts behind him with a loud thud.

Aegon bites the inside of his cheek, trying to cool his temper down before entering your bedchambers- the last thing he wanted to do was sour your day with his mood, but it doesn’t work he can’t seem to quell the frustration that coils around his already tense body.

It's your laugh. The sound of your laughter, light and merry calms him. It clashes so greatly with the heavy weight of his heart, with the turbulence in his mind. He stands there for a moment, just outside your shared bedchambers, his anger evaporating as he listens to the heavenly sound.

With a deep breath, he opens the door entering with a relieved sigh. His lilac eyes meet your own with a tender expression that softens his features, watching your dressers ready you for bed, taking your necklace and earrings off with great care.

“You’re dismissed… leave us.” Aegon commands, waving a dismissive hand to the two ladies. They both bow courtly before leaving the room with knowing smirks gracing their lips.

You stand there however with furrowed brows, tilting your head in confusion as he draws closer to you. “I’m still in my day clothes?” You state only receiving a chuckle in return.

“I’m aware.” He smirks, admiring the way the silk of your dress hugs your curves. It drives him to madness and he can’t help but grasp at your hips as he continues to drink in the sight of you. "You don't need your dressers to get you ready for bed... I can take care of that for you."

The realisation hits all so suddenly, taking your breath away and the only response you can give him is a small ‘Oh’ which only makes him chuckle once more against the soft skin of your shoulder.

It had been far too long since he had taken you, all the interrupted moments and the long busy days had caused a searing ache between your thighs that you had tried to sate with your fingers, but nothing could compare to Aegon— he knew you like the back of his hand, he filled the spaces you couldn’t.

“What has spurred this one?” You ask, tone hushed and breathless as he leaves a trail of warm kisses along your neck and the dip of your shoulder. It wasn’t a complaint, far from it, you just wanted to know whether or not he burned for you the way you did for him.

And gods did he. Aegon's fingers work at the laces of your dress with practised ease, his touch feather-light and yet exhilarating. He watches you through the reflection of the mirror, the way the silk of your dress ripples down your body like a waterfall until it pools around your feet leaving you vulnerable to him.

“Do I need an excuse to want to touch you like this?” He whispers, lips grazing against the curve of your jaw. It’s all so dizzying in such an embarrassing way.

You lean back against him, enjoying the way his fingers trace along your waist causing your skin to break out in gooseflesh. He mumbles something about how ‘sensitive you are’ into the crook of your neck and you can feel the smirk that teeters on his lips when a breathless moan escapes you.

“No of course not— I’ve missed you.” You sigh, leaning your head to expose more of your neck to him as your fingers find his hair.

He nuzzles his nose against the underside of your jaw, humming in contentment as your sweet flowery scent surrounds him. “I’ve missed you— so much.” He breathes.

Aegon cups your jaw, tilting your head slightly to the side so he can kiss you. So slow and yet full of passion that has only been building up for the past few weeks. He groans into your eager mouth the taste of your tongue against his own going straight to his cock.

His arms wrap around your midsection, pulling you closer to him. He press his growing erection against the curve of your ass and he can’t help but rut against you slightly. He was more pent up than he realised.

He breaks the messy kiss momentarily, his breath warm against your skin. "You taste... incredible..." he whispers, his voice a low rumble, before kissing you once again.

“The wine perhaps.” The words are hushed through a small giggle. Once again his lips find yours, not breaking as you turn around in his embrace, one of his hands reaching up to caress your warm cheek.

"No," he murmurs, pulling back to admire you with a hungry look and a lazy grin. "It's not the wine." He leans back in. "It's... you," the kiss is much greedier, and his hands trace a path down your spine, resting against the small of your back, drawing you closer to his body.

You gasp, hands flying to grab his forearms as he suddenly begins to guide you backwards over to your shared bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress as you collide with the softness of the bedsheets, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Where did your manners go?” You tease him lightly, propping yourself up on your elbows, watching him with desire in your eyes as he lifts his tunic over his head, discarding it on the floor somewhere.

He smirks, leaning over you, trailing his lips along your collarbones— a clash of teeth and tongue. His hips lay flush over your own as he slowly grinds himself down onto you, relishing in the sweet sounds that you make.

"My manners?" he murmurs against your chest, his eyes meeting your own with a glint of playfulness flashes through them. "They flew out the window the moment I took that dress off of you."

His gaze roams over your body, drinking in the sight of you laid out beneath him bare— hips writhing desperately. You gasp against the pillows as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak whilst his other hand cups your unattended breast, thumbing over the nub.

“Aegon— please.” The words are a struggle to get out as he’s rendered you completely breathless, but the way your hips lift up to try and press against his, desperate for attention, tells him everything he needs to know.

He hums in understanding, leaving a trail of kisses along your breasts. “I’ll get there, my love… I’ll get there.” He coos softly, his hand falling to your restless hips as his thumb rubs over the curve and dips whilst his mouth ravishes your chest in wet kisses and small licks.

Aegon slips his hand in between your thighs, watching your face intently as his fingers part your slick folds, running along the sensitive flesh before catching your clit, rubbing slow circles over the bud. He’s completely taken with the way you arch up into his touch, how your lips part, the sounds you make. All of it— all of you—causes his cock to throb.

You mewl, hips bucking against his hand as he pushes two fingers inside you, curling them. “Mhm… you’re so beautiful with my fingers buried in your cunt,” He smirks, enjoying the fact he isn’t the only one who has been pent up. “So wet…” the words are muffled against your lips, your slickness coating his digits.

You brush your fingers through his hair, pulling him into a kiss as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Your free hand works deftly to unlace his breeches, the fabric falls mid-thigh letting his cock spring free, begging for attention.

Aegon hisses sharply into your ear, burying his face against your shoulder as your hand wraps around his length. “I want your cock inside me, please…” you beg him, voice strained with pleasure. The deep desire to feel him as close to you as humanly possible completely drowns out everything else in your mind, your thoughts now are only of him.

He nods his head in compliance, not having the strength the refrain himself any longer than he already has. Sliding his fingers out of your cunt, he coats your slickness around the tip of his thick shaft, the feeling sends a tingle down his spine, his skin hot to the touch.

Aegon swats your hand away gently as he guides the head of his cock between your folds, nudging the tip against your clit over and over again basking in the way his name sounds coming from you all whiny, laced with such wanton passion.

He groans as he lines himself up to your entrance before sinking into you slowly, whispering soft lovely words of encouragement against your jaw. The way you take him with ease, how your slick walls clamp around him it’s all so maddening— so mind-numbing and all he can do is huff and moan against your skin.

The stretch of him is so achingly good, the drag of his cock along your walls as he thrusts his hips against your own sends a searing heat through your abdomen. Aegon mutters on about how ‘good you feel’ and how ‘well you take him’ like some sort of crazed man, completely drunk off of your body.

His movements soon become sloppy, trying so hard to keep himself from spilling too early but the sounds of wet flesh and your moans coupled with the way your cunt squeezes around him makes it nearly impossible as he teeters closer to the edge.

“Fuck— I can’t— it’s been too long I— I won’t last.” He whimpers, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. His hands pin your hips down to the bedsheets as he continues to fuck himself into you, moaning hotly against your flushed skin as you wrap your thighs around his waist to hold him closer.

“I- I’m close… don’t worry.” You reassure him, your hand grasping at his white hair. The tightness deep inside him eventually snaps, spilling his warm seed inside you with a broken cry of pleasure, panting and whining into the crook of your neck as apologies fly from his lips. You grab his face, kissing him greedily as you come around cock, milking him practically dry.

The pair of you go boneless against the comfort of the pillows, catching your breaths with dazed expressions. Aegon’s fingers trace a soothing line along your spine as you instinctively seek out the warmth of his arms.

“Sorry-” He rasps with a lazy grin, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek. "It's been too long"

“Mm… don't apologise, we'll never go that long apart again.” You reply earning a weak nod and a hum of agreement from him. You rest your cheek against his chest, allowing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calm your own erratic one.

[hopesworlld]

౨ৎ lot of pretty boys, lot of funny business

౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — percy has missed you, and dang wait to show you just how much

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — just a little bit freaky nothing explicit

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

“angel,” percy crooned, slipping behind you and slipping his arms around your waist. you melted into his warmth, head lolling back between his muscled pecs.

“hey, babe,” you hummed, smiling at the feel of your boyfriend holding you in his arms.

“i missed you, gorgeous,” he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “missed your face, your lips,” he held you closer, trailing kisses along your jawline. suckling on the spot just bellow your ear. “your voice,” a small gasp escaped your lips.

“percy, we’re in public,” you sighed, but you couldn’t help but curl closer into him, tilting your head allowing him more aces to your neck.

“so…” he said, his hands tightening on your hips, rubbing circles along your hip bones. “i need you, angel,” he groaned, “haven’t seen you in so long,”

“it’s only been two days, percy,” you laughed, but percy growled quietly, tugging you closer. his hands slipping down your thighs.

“have you not missed me?” he questioned, lips on your neck, “did my gorgeous girl not need me while i was gone?”

“percy,” you sighed, “of course i did, i always miss you,” you replied, turning in his arms so that you could face him, leaning up and wrapping your arms around his neck. percy grinned at you, that charming smile that made your knees weaken.

“then love me, angel,” he pleaded, slipping his hands beneath your thighs and cocking them up so that they wrapped around his hips. he was so strong. effortlessly so. the way he could easily support your weight as though it were nothing and still hold that gorgeous smile that swept you off your feet.

his long tan arms holding you so impossibly close, you wanted him closer. so so much closer.

“baby,” you whispered, finally drawing his lips to yours.

percy kisses you as though you were the air in his lungs, the stars in his sky, his entire world held in his grasp.

he kissed like he would never kiss you again, would never feel the caress of his lips on yours, the slide of your tongue against his.

kissing percy was something like you had never felt before, you adored his lips on yours, would sacrifice everything for just five more minutes of being his. and only his.

“oh, my gorgeous, lovely girl,” percy said against your lips. “never leaving you again,’ he declared, running his fingers down your sides and playing with the hem of your top. “can’t,” he declared, kissing you deeply.

“won’t let you,” you hummed, feathering kisses along his lips and across his cheeks, “the gods have had you long enough, you are mine,” you said, sucking his earlobe into your mouth.

��oh, gorgeous you are gonna get us in trouble,” percy chuckled, swinging you around so that your back was pressed against a tree. you were sure there were probably nymphs pressed together giggling about the pair of you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as percy slipped his fingers up your top, squeezing your breasts.

“fuck,” you groaned, lopping your fingers through the belt buckles of his shorts. “i love you, love you so much,” you whimpered, as percy pressed closer, his flush against yours.

“i love you’re more, gorgeous girl,” percy swore, words sweeter that a promise.

“prove it,” you hummed and percy dove straight back in, determined to prove himself.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.  

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly. 

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean.  To suffer from withdrawals.  And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day.  The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter.  Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be.  They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times.  First, through your phone, but you blocked him.  Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar.  Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees.  One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right.  All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself.  You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said.  Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning.  Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls.  Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device.  You answer without looking at the caller ID. 

“Y/N speaking.”  You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.”  There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend.  “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!”  You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance.  “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.” 

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.”  She whines behind the line.  Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long.  Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday.  He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.”  You tried to sound apologetic.  “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh.  There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.”  She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues.  “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.”  You can hear her begging behind the phone.  She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor.  Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier. 

“Fine, I’ll come.”  You roll your eyes.  “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach.  “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues.  In the community beach house.  You dress however you like.  I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips.  She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her.  “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter.  “Duh.  I love you too.”

“See you later.”  You grin.  “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!” 

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit.  Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them.  You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly?  Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods.  But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work?  Yeah, something casual yet put together.  It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts.  With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.”  You call while trudging over to open the door.  There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands.  “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable.  “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss.  He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line.  “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically.  “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently.  “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.”  She mutters, amusement in her tone.  “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling.  “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.”  You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room. 

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed.  Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs.  It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.”  You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert.  “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.”  He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again.  “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.”  You say simply.  “Gotta go.”  You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up.  “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?”  He asks hopefully.

“Yes.”  You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you.  “Hold on, I can drive you there.”  He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him.  “I can drive you to the party.”  He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him.  His smile grows wide.  He missed having your eyes on him.  You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side.  He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval.  You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too.  Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.”  You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way.  He watches you walk away to greet your friends.  He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him?  You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to.  Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party.  You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours.  He’ll get another chance there.  He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly.  Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table.  You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves.  The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities.  You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did.  You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door.  You watch him struggle to keep himself up.  He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk.  You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs. 

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall.  You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-”  He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?”  You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins.  “Y/N?”  He drawls out while rubbing his eyes.  “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him.  “I did.”  You smile when he groans out again.  “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  He glances at you.  “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?”  You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch.  “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.”  He points a thumb behind him.  “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face.  “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh.  “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No!  No, he didn’t.”  You reply right away.  “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace.  “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ.  I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.”  You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?”  He touches his jaw and winces.  “Ow!  Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.”  You finish for him and he clears his throat.  “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.”  You mumble before crouching down in front of him.  He swallows at your close proximity.  “Come on, JJ.  It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.”  He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!”  You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away.  When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare.  “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away. 

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh.  “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.”  He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused.  “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes.  “I wouldn’t blame him.  I mean, you saw how I can be.”  You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly.  “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.”  He says quickly.  “I was just being dramatic earlier.”  He rubs his nape.  “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.”  He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him. 

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.”  He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.”  You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you.  “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting.  “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.  

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout.  “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean.  “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?”  You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips.  “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys.  It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly.  He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face.  “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”  The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up.  “I really wanted to kiss you.”  Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice.  “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly.  “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter.  “Oh, so you have feelings for me.”  You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.”  He says animatedly.  “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!”  He dodges a punch from you.  “You’re like the total package.  You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.”  He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?”  Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up.  “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out.  You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.”  You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch.  He looks at your hand and then your eyes.  You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?”  JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back.  Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow.  He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him.  For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen.  Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

[hanasnx]

“ DO YOU REMEMBER HOW IT FELT WHEN I TOUCHED YOU? ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: nsfw link inspo. WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | explicit sexual content.

PETER PARKER messes up a lot. He knows he does. He knows you’re constantly about to sit him down for a serious talk regarding your relationship with him. Maybe he’s not spending enough time with you, or when he does spend time with you he’s suspiciously absent-minded, or maybe he’s not dividing any of his priorities evenly—but he knows you’re sick of it. You try to be strong, he can see it in your eyes, but the sag in your shoulders and the sigh in your voice tells him everything else. However, even if he screws up constantly, he knows there’s one thing he can get right.

“Oh, Peter!” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair in a way that sends shivers down his spine. His tongue swipes back and forth against your clit, the first stimulation the neglected thing has had in so long. It’s extra sensitive tonight, and he almost can’t believe his stroke of good luck—almost. It’s not like he’d blame you for saying no to this, letting him get you on your back and kneel at the foot of the bed to stick his head between your legs. From the sound of your feather-light voice, he can tell you need this. It takes up some brain space to scold himself for not doing this to you sooner. “Pete- Pete, keep going—please.” you plea, writhing languidly in the mess of sheets. He clears his cloudy mind.

“Right, sorry.” he speaks against you, and his soft slippery lips caress your excited bud in a way that has you arching your back. Hot breath fans you as he flattens his tongue, licking up a long stripe and leaving a wet trail in its wake. You cry out sharply when the tip of it flicks up your little clit, making it ache in asking for more. Obediently, he reintroduces his fingers to the mix, leaning to the side as he wetly makes out with your bud, and the rough pads of his two digits draw up your slit. It feels raw from sensitivity, and yet your hips chase more stimulation, mewling for a deeper penetration than what the length of his tongue can provide. He doesn’t speak again, he lets his actions do the talking, gaze flickering up at you in the low light every so often to gauge your reactions. You’ve since thrown up your arms, keeping them out of his way, laying your hands next to your head. The lighting compliments your every curve and dip, nipples perked up and pebbled, your lips molded into whatever shape they need to take to keep those pretty sounds spilling out of you.

You look like an angel. How do you even put up with him? he asks himself. Maybe whatever he’s doing now has something to do with it, you seem to like it. “Peter…” you sigh, and once he knows you’re loose enough, he pushes his two fingers in a knuckle without any friction.

“Baby, you’re so wet.” he tells you proudly, planting a sweet kiss onto your clit to which you loudly moan in reply. He keeps pushing, another knuckle, one more, two fingers seated inside you and you’re bucking your hips trying to get them in even deeper. Your legs suspended in air begin to tremble as he pulls out and goes in again, this time adding a curl at the end of his descent so his fingertips stroke at that spongy spot inside you. Incoherent babblings mixed with the sound of his name pour out of you, followed closely by the sodden symphony of your pussy getting finger-fucked. Gradually, he speeds up his pace, sucking on your clit as pistons his arm in very particular way, ensuring he hits that spot inside you every time.

A curious arm of his curls around one of your thighs, his free hand laying over your chest to cup your tit, pinching your nip between his thumb and index experimentally. You grow more pitchy, trying to move your body with his stimulations, unable to keep still. He’s not going to keep you waiting any longer than you already have, he’s fucking the cum out of you now. He adds another finger, this time he feels the stretch but you clearly don’t care about the sting—in fact you welcome it. You’re loud, howling throughout the room unapologetically while he screws your pretty pussy into raw and puffy oblivion. His tongue rolls around your clit, three fingers drilling your g-spot, that coil in your tummy impossibly taut. Don’t need to tell him you’re close, he’s able to tell just from your body movements getting more and more erratic. Your hole pulses around him, and the coil snaps. Spurting out creamy white to spatter the bed and his hand. It oozes as he slows down. You gasp, convulsing, and very gently he places another kiss on your raw clit, exiting his fingers from your constricted hole with caution. “You did so good, baby, you want another one?”

[tempfrangit]

who eats your heart

price x reader, 1.2K, 18+. MDNI content: alcohol, aphrodisiac, breeding, drugged sex, monsterfucking, noncon to dubcon, piss, unrealistic painful sex, hemipenes (two dicks) dividers by @/cafekitsune

thank you red5cars for letting me talk your ears off about points. (and thank you for letting me take your much better fic name, red 😹💚)

when you start to work with him, you don’t think anything of John’s offers for coffee, lunch, dinner. you’ve always been a moderately independent person, meal prepping everything so that you were always ready, so you just can’t bring yourself to be a bother. you don’t think about how often you turn him down, honestly. you remember the times you say yes to a morning coffee or a very early dinner before going home to continue to work.

a part of you thought he was quite sweet, in all honesty.

you couldn't have known he was trying to figure out how to help you realize that he was perfect for you, happy to help you come to the same point as him. it takes seven months of knowing you, seven months, to finally get you to agree to accompany him on a work trip. you don't think much of letting john handle everything, because you'll be meeting with another specialist and want to make sure you don't embarrass yourself… or john.

everything goes smoothly. you know you’ve both done well, and when you exchange emails with kevin, you can’t wait to chat with a new person in your field (and reading for fun, as it turns out you share some common interests). john is kind enough to offer his place for the night, where you’re able to make dinner together to celebrate and you don't stop yourself from having a glass of wine, even though this was work. the day had been truly… lovely.

you can feel your eyelids growing heavier as his deep voice rumbles through you, talking about his other work. you try to apologize as his strong hand touches your shoulder so feather light despite his size. when you look up, you swear his eyes are like jewels shining in the light. your words slur as they fall from your mouth and suddenly you feel like you’re slipping too.

the first thought to bubble back up into your head is that it’s so pleasantly warm. like a balmy summer night in your childhood, sleeping with the window open, listening to the frogs out there.

blue eyes like jewels stare into yours and you do not scream, but only because you cannot find it in you to scream, cold terror flooding your brain as you stare up at him, dazed mind still trying to fully comprehend everything, something, anything.

you'd always known there were other humanoids in the world, you just hadn't known john was a naga. you never would have even thought to guess he wasn’t a standard human. the realization is a heavy chunk of iced slowly settling low in your stomach as his thick scaly body moves, and you are made aware of how massive john price is.

his smoky words are so smooth but you don't understand them, brain still reeling and simultaneously slow cottony.

it's this lack of response that seems to draw his attention, leaning closer.

you don't know what spurs your next actions. you would never understand the thought that led you to rear up to bite him, to sink your blunt teeth into the heavily muscled spot where his shoulders joined his neck, desperately trying to break skin. some part of you must have been convinced the pain would make him let you go.

it was wrong.

his hiss so close to your ear makes your body lock up, fear making you fall limp like a ragdoll as the tip of his tail so gently begins to wind around your ankle. your bare ankle. a shudder courses through you as you try and bring all naga knowledge you have to the forefront of your mind, however, you... can't.

you're never felt so useless in your life.

you're just a rabbit caught in his coils.

you think you scream like one as his fangs pierce your neck, as he oh so lovingly begins pumping his venom straight into your veins.

you can feel the hot rush of piss between your legs but can do nothing to stop it, thighs shaking as if you’re freezing.

his breath hitches in your ear, you can feel the quick flicks of his tongue.

the splash of liquid startles you, makes you jump as your eyes shoot down and...you... you didn't know naga's really had hemipenes. the one currently splashing his musky piss on the underside of your tits, each drop that hits your nipple making you shudder, shares its brother's fat head, but it was definitely longer, thinner. you'd rather not focus on the other, avoid it as best you could.

the stream edges lower, coating your belly before he takes aim between your legs. your clit throbs at the contact, pulling a strangled moan from you as you throw your head back. you'd never — no one had ever — why did your belly feel so warm?

"there we go, darlin'," john soothes down at you, rough hand stroking the side of your face as his eyes meet yours. "knew you were perfect for me the moment i saw ya. and look at this, my venom getting my pretty bird in the mood, having her show how ready she is."

"gonna make sure your cute little cunt'll be full of me."

you want to correct him, to tell him you weren't his, that you didn't want whatever the fuck he seems to think you'll be doing.

but you can't move. and worse, it's not terror holding you still this time.

you can feel your clit swell, heart beat in your ear as his musky scent washes over you. oh. you can't stop yourself from moaning, hips canting forward in search of some relief. the room felt too hot. or maybe you were too hot.

but more importantly, you needed him.

when john chuckles, you can feel it, the heavy cockhead bumping against your aching hole with his amusement.

"deep breath, luv."

there's no real bracing for the fat intrusion, your breath catches and the next moment you've never been so full in your life.

you feel john speaking more than you understand it, his words are a rumble against your neck. when his thumb parts your lips, you start. or try to, really only accomplishing pulling your eyes back up to his face to stare owlishly up at him as the room continues to ring soundlessly around you.

it felt like he was right behind your bellybutton, which you knew was impossible, but-

you can't stop the moan that's dragged out with his cock, a high shuddering thing that seems almost punched out of you as a strong thrust has your hips meeting again. john tilts your head, keeps your eyes locked. you know you’re still rocking, still being fucked, trying to get him to hit that spot he’d grazed past upon sliding in. 

when he laughs again, he does. and you’re not proud, you wish you were, but it had been so long. your moan is instinctive, as you clench down on him, trying to keep the pleasure, follow it so that it continues to be just right. 

but you... can't.

your current position was too flat. 

a disappointed whine leaves your throat with the realization. 

leading to john's immediate freezing. 

his breath pants across your bare chest. “what do you need, luv?”

your tongue feels so thick as you stare up at him.

“more.”

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.