#this just in: i'm a sap RIP

[hekateinhell]

OKAY this holiday season i am thinking especially about louis maybe drinking a liiiiitle too much from all the folks wandering around in their post-christmas party inebriation. he comes home to trinity gate all flushed— not quite buzzed, but just WARM and sweet and in a generous enough mood to let armand drain him by the fire. maybe armand lays him down on a nice fur rug in front of the fireplace and studies the warm blood all over his body. and maybe he laughs and feels his heart swell just a little as he fucks louis and watches the way he arches off of the ground, the way the light from the fire crackles in his eyes 🥰

ASHLEY MY HEART JUST EXPLODED. 🥺❤️

Because I think Louis would make the most endearing "drunk" around Armand! With Lestat, Louis gets sassy and has to get fucked before he can even think of settling down, but with Armand he is so sweet.

And Armand just smiles and takes his arm, "Yes, dear"-ing and "Of course, my love"-ing him into their home while Louis reaches over to play with his hair, staring at him unblinking with his enormous green eyes like they're right back in late 1800s Paris and nothing bad has ever happened between them. 😭

"A perfect thing," Louis whispers tuggling on a loose auburn curl as he leans in like he's about to tell some great secret, "An absolutely perfect thing."

Armand is utterly charmed to see Louis like this almost... playful. Boyish. A sight so rare, he can count on his fingers the times he's seen it in over a hundred years. Of course, Armand has to pounce on him right on the fur rug in front of the fire. Preserving every little detail in his memory, thinking to himself that in another universe, he and Louis would have been nothing more than two morbidly romantic youths in love.

[sapsolais]

sometimes you have a shitty day but there are things that make it easier to keep going like:

- being silly with basically strangers

- hugs when you really need them

- quiet 3 am phone calls with people you really love

[stottlemorgan]

"Heat's gettin' t'me." / Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: Seems the heat's gettin' to Arthur. Tags: 18+ MDNI, p in v, kissing, just pure sex, sort of getting caught?, Abigail sees a glimpse of it. Word count: 1,019. Author's Note: This was a request for my mini prompt sprint, and surprise, I got carried away because I was excited!!!! Ao3 Link.

Weeks upon weeks of running from the lawmen, of enduring the sweltering heat, of comforting folk, of rationing both food and patience- it had sapped every last drop of Arthur’s lifeblood. Since the gang had nestled themselves within the sun-soaked, rickety bones of Shady Belle, he had spent a lot of his time helping everyone else get settled and sneaking in the occasional nap behind a wagon. He would usually be accompanied by you, spread over him beneath the cool shadows of a swaying tree, both of your hats shielding your faces.

The warmth had brought you both to the shade of his room, your sticky bodies to his cot, and his hard girth to the lush pool of your cunt. Reduced to a mangle of grabbing hands and eager mouths, the salt of sweat and the fresh cut of rum dances amidst your lapping tongues as Arthur pinches his nails into your rear and whines.

"Yeah-"

"Yeah?" You breathe, grabbing at his shoulders, the sheeny skin making your palms slide with each bounce of you in his lap.

"Yes- that's it-"

With an excited hum into his ear, you squeeze around his length and his eyes roll back, his jaw dropping open.

"Fuck, please- do that again-"

Repeating the movement, you also arc your hips back, drawing it out and moaning at the pull of your cunt around his cock. Arthur's gaze floats over your flushed face and behind you to the ceiling, blissful.

"Oh, like that, yes- good girl," he groans, strangling through a swallow. Your response is a shaky whimper, each nudge of his cockhead quivering through your gut. His heels thump into the cot behind you, and his thighs twitch as a stream of arousal runs through to his seat, thick and hot. "Get here," he gasps, and paws his way up your back before pulling you flush to him, your skin tacking together.

Feeling his muscles flex around your waist and over your back, you mouth at his shoulder, your moans tickling his skin. When you increase the rock of your hips, Arthur cries out, his head landing back against the pillow, strands of his damp chestnut hair falling away from his forehead. One of his hands moves to hold your rear, guiding the call and response of your hips, urging his cock up into the fluttering walls of your cunt.

With each thrust, Arthur's breaths louden, and you look up to see his eyes drift shut, his mouth parted. His hand on your back rubs up and down, gripping and squeezing at your softness. Pressing his palms into your skin, he pushes and pulls, coaxing you into going faster. A long and needy moan slips from you, vibrating through him.

"Arthur!"

"Tha's it, my girl- fuck me nice, c'mon," his voice leaves him hoarse, desperate, the order resonating over the sloppy meetings of your wet cunt and his groin, syrupy with your joint arousal. Huffing, you keep pace, gripping his shoulders. The tangy scent of his shining skin coupled with the strong undulation of his abdomen against your aching clit spurs on your cupidity and your gasps tighten. He glances down at you to see the familiar pinch in your brow and feels your gentle tremors around his cock. His eyes heavy, his brow furrowing as an almost pained groan rips through him.

"Gonna come, ain'chu?" He asks, the words almost stolen by the broken moan that bursts from his throat when you grind down onto him, hard, with an affirming hum. Your hands scramble to the bedframe above his head, gripping, the metal knocking against the wall each time you rock. At the sensation of his cockhead kissing the softness of your sweet spot, pleasure flickers through Arthur's body. His lashes flutter as he shivers and strains, "Christ! I'm-"

With a string of mewling breaths, you fall over the edge, your cunt convulsing around his girth as your orgasm swims through you. Your skin boils, the stuffy summer air sucking into your lungs, your cum coating his cock as his hands clumsily move to hold your shaking body.

"Arthur, you okay in there?" Karen's tentative voice calls through the door as she raps her knuckles against it. Thoroughly in the throes of indulgence, Arthur's only focus is the coiling pressure growing amidst his rolling hips.

"Arthur, fuck- fuck-" you whimper quietly as you ride yourself through waves of pleasure.

The draw of your cunt makes Arthur grit his teeth in tandem with the tautening of his balls, growling noisily as he plunges into the delicious depths of his release, spilling warmly and thickly up into you, "Oh, shit-!"

Another voice sounds through from outside, unnoticed from within the glowing haze stripping your thoughts of all coherence. "Maybe the heat's gotten to 'im, sounds unwell." Between the slowing knocks of the bedframe into the wall and mingling laboured breaths, the door creaks open. A gentle, concerned call of Arthur's name from Abigail snaps off into a guffaw at the sight of him. Flushed, groaning, all bare and brawn as he fucks his spend up into you whilst you whine against his neck, weakly grasping at the bed frame. The door quickly shuts again. Abigail's voice sounds through the wood, giggles breaking through as she talks over Karen who is still asking whether something is wrong, "Oh, the heat's definitely gotten to 'im. Get back downstairs."

Gleaning fragments of the women's hushed gossiping as they amble back downstairs, Arthur lets out a groaning laugh as you release the bedframe and slowly slip his softening cock from your dripping cunt. Kissing your way up his neck, you give a quiet and satisfied hum.

"What're you laughin' at, Mister?" You murmur as he lazily turns you both sideways, planting a few messy kisses to your head. He trails his fingertips over your waist, admiring the shine to your skin and the glimmer of his spend saturating the dark curls between your thighs as his hand reaches your hip. His tongue runs over his lower lip, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Seems the heat's gettin' t'me."

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @dauhtrofsevnthshe @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries @mrsarthurmorgan7 @sensitivegamergirl @kieranduffysgirl - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[stxrbxster]

fragile.

pairing - dean winchester x fem!reader

c/w - near death experience, ooc dean, dean is implied to be older than the reader but no serious agegap, nicknames such as honey, sweetheart,pretty girl, kid, and baby are used, alchohol use, virgin!reader because im such a sap for first time fics, car sex, drunk sex (only dean is drunk but he's not like wasted), unprotected sex, dom!dean, size kink, creampie, slight aftercare, lmk if i missed any

synopsis - you’ve been hunting with sam and dean for a while, and while deans utterly smitten with you, he thinks he's done an exceptional job at hiding his feelings. that is, until you nearly dying on a hunt makes him realize he can’t keep pretending.

wc - 4.4k words

a/n - this is barely proofread, i wrote most of this in the middle of the night while half asleep, so i apologize if its a bit incoherent and out of character

you could feel your heartbeat in the tips of your ears, chest heaving at a wild pace as the vampire behind you dug his cold, dead fingers harder into the flesh of your neck, hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes as his dirty, long fingernails ripped tiny, crescent shaped cuts along your throat.

"not another step, boy." his low voice boomed behind your ear, as he pointed at dean with his free hand. "you'd best drop that blade unless you plan on lugging this pretty thing back to your car in pieces."

"woah- easy there." dean said, voice wavering as he tried desperately to swallow the lump in his throat. he glanced at you, and for the first and only time you can recall since meeting the man, he looked petrified. he dropped his machete without a second thought as hot sweat dripped down his forehead. "there, man. no need for violence, yeah?" he tried to speak with a little humor in his voice but it's washed over with palpable fear. "just let her go, and i swear we'll leave you be, scout's honor."

the thing's grip tightened impossibly around your throat, choaking a hoarsely quiet groan past your lips as your legs began to weaken, your head feeling lighter by the second. it let out a soft, dark chuckle as it's gaze bore through dean like fire.

"i don't think so, dean." the freak tutted as the edges of your vision started to blur, then darken. "but i'll tell you what," your head lulled, consciousness fading. "if you turn tail and run, i'll leave her pretty little corpse in once piece at your motel door once i'm done with her, yeah?" and as your last bit of awareness dripped from you, a loud bang blared out from behind.

when you finally came to you were laid out in the backseat of the impala, head resting in dean's lap as one of his ever so slightly trembling hands rested lightly on the apple of your cheek. the low rumbling of baby's engine gave a certain comfort, an anchor as you opened your eyes to be met with the blurry, spinning image of dean's concerned face.

"hng.." you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes as pain thrummed a pulsing beat in the back of your skull. dean's hand twitched, pulling back slightly from your puffy cheek before slowly, hesitantly resting it against you when he senses no protest from you at the small contact.

"woah, good morning sleeping beauty." dean spoke lowly, his voice a low gravely tone that you'd learned over the years meant that it was dipped in a quiet fear and a shaking concern.

"what..." you swallowed thickly, your mouth impossibly dry and filled with a tangy, almost metallic taste. "what happened?" you asked, your voice slightly slurred as you ran your tongue over your teeth, your brow furrowed in hazy confusion.

"nothing you need to worry your pretty head with." dean spoke with a finality you'd come to expect from him as he swiped a stick, red liquid from your cheek. "sammy blew that freak's head clean off, everything's all done and dealt with." dean said, leaning back slightly as he tried with little success to stretch his legs out a little further in the impala's, admittedly cramped, back seat.

you nodded, your eyes fluttering back shut as you laid contently in deans lap, the sound of the road passing beneath you lulling you into a half asleep stupor as you felt the pad of dean's thumb thumping softly against your cheek, in rhythm with a song it felt like only dean could really hear.

the following days passed in a slight blur, your head still woozy from what dean and sam collectively decided was a minor concussion, but soon enough you were back on the road.

admittedly, it took you a few weeks to notice the shift in dean's attitude when he was around you. sure, he was still his usual self, his biting wit and snappy remarks still filled the air around you with a comforting, familiar warmth, but he was different, more on edge.

you shrugged it off at first. dean had always been protective of you in the same ways he was of sammy, his role of 'big brother who'd kill and die to protect his family' had never dulled or weaned as he and sammy grew older, you supposed you'd just been tossed into the mix of people dean saw that he had a duty to protect.

so sure, his jaw clenched tighter if he saw a man at a bar eyeing you too hungrily, his fists balled quicker when drunk guys made passes at you, and he was much quicker to your side if you even had the suggestion of an injury, but so what? he's dean winchester, and while it had gotten on your nerves from time to time, being treated like you were a child that needed protecting, you knew he meant no harm. at least, that was until louisiana.

bobby had called the boys with word of a huge coven of vampires reeking havoc on a small town out in the backwoods of the boot-state and suggested the three of you make the trek down south and put a stop to it.

"y/n," dean said, pulling his worn leather jacket snuggly over his, slightly loose fitting, grey hoodie. "do me- do us a favor and stay here, yeah? need you to go over some of dad's old notes, see if you can find anything we missed about the filthy blood sucker." dean's voice was low, quiet in a way that wasn't typical. sam rolled his eyes out of your view, seemingly ignoring his brother as he pushed past him and out the motel's rickety old door.

"huh?" you cocked your head to the side, your hands stilling at your shoelaces as they fall limply between your fingers. "dean, what more do we need to know about them? we know what makes em' and we know what kills em', what else do we-".

dean cut you off with a huffed sigh as he made his way to the door, his rough hands pulling the shotty thing open with just a bit too much force as his jaw twitched almost un-noticeably. "just do it." he spoke with an air of finality that set your blood hot, anger bubbling under your skin as he slammed it on it's hinges behind him, peeling away in the impala before you even had the chance to start after him.

frustrated tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you tried desperately to bat them away. running your hands through hair, you let out a loud groan, almost a scream of hot anger. you'd had it.

you could handle the babying and the backseat driving and the occasional off-handed comment about how you 'really needed to be more careful', but this? him full on barring you from a hunt without so much as letting you get a word in edge wise? it made you shake with a mixture of inadequacy and pure indignant rage.

hours passed before you heard the squeaky door to your room whine on it's hinges, its protests followed by only a single set of heavy, tired footsteps. in walked sammy, hair dampened with sweat, face patterned with a light layer of grime and his clothes, soiled and dirty, clinging loosely to his frame.

"where's dean?" you asked, your voice a little too loud and your tone a little meaner than you'd intended for it to come off, but either sam hadn't noticed or he was too tired to pay it any mind.

"at that dive bar 'bout a half mile up the road." sam said, shrugging off his thick jacket and peeling off the wrinkled button up that sat beneath it. "he wanted to grab a drink but i'm fucking exhausted. told him he could go ahead but i was walkin' back to the room." he spoke almost absentmindedly as he rummaged through his suitcase in search for a clean pair of sleep clothes.

you nodded once, quickly slinging your messenger back over your shoulder as you reached down to tie your long forgotten shoes. sam turned to look at you as he made his way to the bathroom, pajamas in hand as he watched you march towards the door with an eyebrow cocked up in confusion.

"where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked as you pushed open the room door even though, really, he knew exactly where you were planning to go.

"to kick dean's ass so hard he won't know what day it is when i'm done with him." you answered simply, a slight humor in your voice as you turned back to see sam give a tired smile and a nod.

when you finally reached the bar you couldn't help but scrunch your nose in faint disgust. the stench of booze creeped out into the air around you and you could practically feel it seeping into your hair and clothes. with a deep breath that you quickly regretted you pushed through the grimy place's door, the bell above it jingling a greeting as you stepped onto the sticky floors.

it was easy to find dean, despite how puny he seemed to look in comparison to sam he was still a big man and when your eyes finally locked onto him, sat hunched slightly forward as he sat perched on a stool you made a hasty bee-line towards him.

"who the hell do you think you are?" you asked, voice raised slightly over the loud music and chatter of the surrounding bar-goers.

dean swiveled in his seat, brows rising as his green eyes met your furious ones. "what the hell are you doing here?" he asked in a tone that almost sounded accusatory, hand tightening around the drink in his hand.

you slammed you palm down on the bar next to his, a frustraited huff pushing past your lips. "what the hell does that matter?" you bit, staring at dean's face in hope you'd see at least a smidge of remourse for the way he was acting. "i'm a grown woman, dean. i can handle myself in bars!" you almost yell, your voice raised so far above your normal state it nearly made dean flinch.

he rolled his eyes, jaw clenching again in that way it always did when something was on his nerves. "i never said you couldn't handle yourself, i-"

you cut him off with a bitter, angry laugh. "you didn't? that's funny, because that sure is how you've been acting." you took a step back from him as you spoke and his rose from his seat, boot clad feet settling to the ground with a soft thump.

"what the hell are you talking about?" he stepped foreward, looming over you as he crained his neck slightly to lock eyes with you.

"don't play dumb with me, winchester!" this time you did yell, hand slamming into the side of your thigh in thick frustration. "you've treated me like i'm a toddler for months now! you're constantly over my shoulder acting like i- like i'm fragile!" you ran you finger through your hair in a futile attempt to calm, to ground yourself.

"i'm sick of it! i'm god damn sick of it! if you really do think i'm so incompetent, that i can't watch my own fucking back then i'm done! you can go back to just hunting with sam because i'm not doing this." angry tears pooled in your eyes, threatening to teeter over and spill onto your cheeks.

before he could get another word in you turned on your heels and headed for the door, silently storming past the drunken townies who's stares tore holes through you. when you finally pushed out into the parking lot you let out a low shaky breath, gravel crunching beneath your feet before you stilled next to the impala

"(y/n)!" dean called out from behind you, his boots thudding loudly on the rocks below him as he reached out for you, grabbing you firmly by the shoulders and spinning you around to face him.

when his eyes met yours again his heart dropped, the now freely falling tears cascading down your cheeks each sending a dull ache through his bones. his expression softened as he pulled you into his chest, the smell of whiskey wafting off of his clothes fills your nostrils with a light burn.

"fuck," he muttered, his hand rubbing awkward circles against your back. "listen kid, i'm sorry." he mumbled into your ear, voice low and words slurred ever so slightly as his grip around you tightened. "i know, look i know you're perfectly capable of takin' care of yourself, but i.." his voice trailed off as he gazed down at the crown of your head.

"but you what?" you asked, voice small and shaking from a sort of embarrassment as you looked up at dean, big doe eyes glassy and wet with tears that clung to your lashes.

"i- for fuck's sake." dean groaned in frustration before he pressed his lips roughly against yours, his hands reaching up to hold your head at the bottom base of your skull as he pressed his chest against yours, pushing you ever so slightly so that your back leaned against the door of his car,his tongue tasting of fiery liquor as it lapped once softly at your bottom lip.

when he pulled away his eyes were lidded, a dazed sort of look plastered on his drunken features as he leaned down once again, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he spoke.

"i love you, okay?" he said with what sounded like a mix of grief and need playing in his tone. "i need you. i need you to be okay." he pressed his lips softly, lightly against your forehead, letting out a shaky breath before continuing. "when that freak grabbed you it damn near knocked me to my knees, kid. i thought.. i thought you were a goner, and it was my fault." his voice nearly cracked as he stroked the back of your head, fingers lacing carefully through locks of your hair. "i wouldn't be able to live with my self,(y/n). if something happened to you when i could have stopped it i'd-".

you cut him off, pressing your lips softly to his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting your head ever so slightly to the side as you felt him snake his arms around your waist. he hummed against your lips as he pressed his tongue against them with a silent plea for you to part them, and really, who were you to say no to him?

your lips parted slowly, a jolt of warmth flooding through you as dean slipped his tongue past them, through your teeth before making his way to your own. his palm's pressed against the small of your back as he hungrily lapped at you, a groan of satisfaction pulling from his chest as you pressed yourself further against him.

he pulled away slowly, a string of spit connecting your lips as he stared down at you, a drunken smirk pulling across his damp lips in a way that made your stomach flip as you stared hazily up at his dimpled grin. before either of you could think to say anything more he dipped into the crook of your neck, wet tongue licking a hot stipe up the side of it before he latched around it, pressing light kisses and soft love bites to it.

he groaned at the sounds you made, your soft yips, sighs and whines sending shivers down his spine and blood pumping to the tent in his pants, the feeling of it slowly pressing against your thigh enough to elicit a small squeal of embarrassment.

he pulled back, a hungry want deep in his emerald green eyes as he pressed another messy kiss to your lips before he pulled you to his chest, swung open the door to the impala and laid you down across the backseat before climbing in with you, propping himself up to loom above you as he shut the car door behind him.

"lemme take care of you, baby." he said, pressing sloppy kisses that made you whine, back arching up to press yourself closer against him as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. "lemme show you how sorry i am, m'kay?"

you shivered as his hands wandered under the hem of your shirt, fumbling to lift your arms as he slowly pulled it over your head, staring down at your chest once he finally tossed it in the floorboard.

"fuck, baby." dean's voice drawled out as he quickly unhooked your bra with one of his hands, the other one quicky moving to fondle your now bare breasts.

he pressed soft kisses to each of them, letting his tongue swirl around and teeth gently tug your nipples. "such pretty tits f'me." he mumbles as he grinds his jean clad cock into your thigh, soft pants parting both of your lips as he places a sloppy line of kisses down your jaw.

as his hands wandered to the button of your jeans you grabbed at them, hands sweaty as you gazed up at him.

"somethin' wrong, pretty girl?" he asked, his lips pursed against your ear as he huffed labored breaths.

"i um.." you mumble, peeling your eyes away from his in embarrassment as your cheeks flush warm. "i've never uh..." your voice trailed off.

dean chuckled a low, deep laugh that sent a hot pool of slickness into your panties before continuing to undo your pants. "ahh, okay." he said as he hooked his fingers into your waistbands, pulling your pants and underwear off of you in one swift motion before planting a sweet kiss atop your forehead. "don't worry, sweetheart. i'll be gentle."

you could only muster a nod in response as he dipped his right hand between your thighs. a satisfied hum pressed past his lips as the tips of his fingers toyed with your wetness. he smiled, watching you squirm beneath him as he pressed the pad of his thumb lightly against your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles as he lapped at your neck.

"so good, so good f'me, baby." he whispered as you panted out soft moans. "think you can take my fingers, honey?" he asked with a tone so sickly sweet yet still drenched in pure lustful desire that it made your head spin as you nodded, desperate for a relief to the growing heated pressure deep in your cunt.

with little hesitation he plunged his middle finger slowly into your sopping cunt, dick twitching in his pants at the way you moaned and squeeze down so tightly around it.

he started his movement slow, gently dragging his digit in and out of you, occasionally curling it up in a way that made your hips buck and louder moans fall from your glossy sweet lips. but it didn't take long for him to kick it up a notch. fueled by your panting and whining to slowly slide in his ring finger alongside his middle, groaning at the loud whine that pushes out of you the moment that he does so.

"good girl." he cooed, kissing at your ear as you squirmed beneath him. "such a good girl baby, you're takin' it so well f'me. so proud." he mumbled, still grinding against your thigh.

as you neared your release your hips bucked wildly, moaning unashamedly as you bit at your bottom lip. "de, god!" you moaned, burring your face in the crook of his neck. "'m close, s'close de, please." you whined, nails dragging down the leather of his jacket.

he tutted, pulling his fingers out of you with a low hum as you whined at him, back arching in protest as you looked up at him with what almost looked like betrayal in your eyes.

dean shushed you with a quick peck to your lips before he shimmied out of his hoodie and jacked and began fumbling with his belt and the button and zipper of his jeans.

"shh baby, i know." he said before scooching his boxers and jeans down to his lower thighs. "i'll let ya' cum baby, don't worry." he slurred as he pressed the tip of his cock flush against your entrance. "jus' wanna feel you, 'kay? want my pretty girl to cum on my cock, you can do that, can't you?"

you nodded, heat flooding you core as dean rubbed his tip against your swollen, aching clit before he slid into you, barely getting his tip inside of you before groaning, shoving his head into the nape of your neck.

"you okay, sweets?" he asked, his voice husky as he fought every urge in his body to snap his hips forward.

you nodded your head slightly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you stretched around the girth of dean's cock, your teeth clenched tight.

"shh, baby it's okay." dean soothed as he slid deeper into you, his hips stuttering to a stop when he'd reached about half of his length. he pressed soft, gentle kisses to the corners of your lips and crown of your hear, murmuring quiet praises while he waited for you to adjust to his size. "god, you're so tight, baby. squeezin' me so good, holy shit. shh baby i got ya', js sit pretty n' take it f'me, please honey. doin' so good f'me."

slowly, as the ache of the stretch began to dull finally, dean pushed the rest of the way in, burying his cock in your gooey core to the hilt, letting out a loud groan followed by a string of muttered curses that you couldn't quite catch.

"too much." you mumbled into his shoulder, eyes again brimming with tears as he stroked your cheek. "de, you're too big, i can't.." your voice trailed off as he peppered your collarbones with dusted kisses.

"yes you can, baby. you can take it." he murmured against your skin, his hands trailing down your body to rub your hips in soothing circles. "it's okay baby, de's got ya. just sit still f'me baby, promise it'll feel good."

you managed a small "ok" as you hid your face in his shoulder, lip quivering in a desperate attempt to keep from letting out a weak yelp as dean continued peppering you with kisses. when the pain finally subsided you rolled your hips, hesitantly bucking up into him and drawing a soft moan from yourself as dean threw his head back with a groan. his grip on you hips tightened impossibly so as he tried to not slam down into you.

"didn't hurt, did it?" he asked with a tight jaw, slowly loosening his grip on your hips.

"only a little." you mumbled, pulling back from his shoulder to meet his gaze with a shy smile. "you um.. y'can move now.."

dean didn't need to be told twice, rolling his hips against yours as soon as you gave him the go ahead.

still, despite his desperation and deep seeded need for you, he was gentle. his movements were slow, calculated and loving as his lips latched desperately onto your neck, biting, sucking, kissing, anything that would draw another honey sweet moan from your lips.

"fuuck." he drawled, his breath shaky with restraint as he rutted slowly into you. "so fucking good, baby. so good for me." praises fell from his lips like desperate prayers to you.

"de, holy shit." you gasped, nails digging into his back as he increased his pace, each drag of his cock pulling you deeper into blindingly hot pleasure, each low grunt of your name tightening the quickly growing knot in the pit of your stomach.

your cunt fluttered around him as your orgasm crept closer, causing a string of muttered curses to fall quietly from dean's lips, his hips stuttering against yours as you slowly tightened around him.

"you close, pretty girl?" he asked, his voice low and teasing as he moved one of his deft hands down your side, trailing his fingers lightly over the flesh of your outer thigh before placing it between your thighs, grinning as he began to roughly roll his thumb is tight circles over your aching clit.

"come on, baby." he coaxed, resting his head next to your ear, his warm, whiskey scented breath against your skin making your stomach flip as he once again picked up his pace, his movements almost frenzied as filthy words dripped like sin from his lips. "come on this dick, baby. you can do it, baby please." he pressed soft kisses into the nape of your neck as he pleaded with you. "make a fucking mess for me, yeah? come on, show me how good you feel."

and with that the knot in your stomach snapped, hot pleasure flooding your veins as your back arched off of the seat of the impala, pressing your chest to dean's as a flurry of moans and cries and curses fell from your spit-glossed lips.

"good fucking girl." he grunted, moving his hands to pull you into his chest as he gave a few more rough thrusts before spilling his cum deep inside of you with a low groan, face burying itself into your neck as mumbled praises poured from his lips.

as the two of you calmed down he slowly pulled out, giving a low, soft laugh at the whine you let out at the emptiness his cock leaves behind.

"did so good for me." he whispered as climbed off of you, instead opting to scoop you into his lap as he traced shapes along the skin of your back. "so so good."

you hummed, content as your bare chest pressed against his, eyes fluttering with a newfound tiredness.

he promised to let up on the protectiveness as he draped your clothes back over you before doing the same for himself. though you're not really sure you buy it, it doesn't bother you much. at least, it doesn't as you wobblily climbed into the passenger seat, eyes hooded as dean turns the key in the ignition as his hand rests firmly on your thigh.

[captain-huggy-bear]

A Love that Gives, Gives, Gives

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Toplessness/nudity but completely non-sexual, just intimate/tender

Summary: Sometimes you think you have the perfect fitting bra and it turns out that it's actually a traitor in disguise. Sometimes your boyfriend is personally offended that an article of clothing would hurt you so much because he's a sap.

Notes: Reader's skin goes red from the pressure of the bra band so apologies if this isn't what happens for you i'm just basing it off my experience as someone who's skin goes bright red.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

There's a special sort of excitement as you get older about seemingly boring and uninteresting things like new underwear. A new fun pair of socks makes your day a bit better, new knickers make you feel more put together than the old ratty ones in your drawer and a new bra make you feel more confident, like you can take on the entire world.

Today is no exception, you had gone into your long day with a sense of confidence thanks to a new underwear set. It had fit just right, or it had originally felt like it had fit just right, when you'd put it on at 6am before going to work. Either way, in that first moment of the day, you'd felt like a bad bitch and like you could take on anything.

Your day had been long, like normal you were out of the house from 6am until near 6pm, and in that time the comfort of your new bra had shifted to a discomforting sort of torment. A level of discomfort that had fallen into pain.

If there was one thing you cursed about being a woman it was the inconsistency of bras. How you could buy the same size in different places and find that they all fit differently, how one style could fit perfectly and another could be torturous, what you hated even more than that was that a bra could feel comfortable and like it fit right for the first few hours, for the time that you tried it on, only to betray you later in the day when it was too late.

This bra had done just that. Perhaps it had been that the band was too narrow? Or maybe that the straps were too tight? Or the style was just the wrong sort for you? Whatever the root cause, by the end of the day you could feel the band of your new bra digging into the skin of your side and back so harshly that you were certain it would be imbedded in you forever if you didn't get it off immediately.

You were quick as you unlocked the apartment door, slamming it a little too hard behind you as you kicked off your shoes, dumped your work bags on the floor without much care and began to rush past Quinn who had sat up from his space lounging on the sofa to greet you.

"Hey, baby," You barely acknowledged him, not more than a grunt as you passed and he frowned. Those green eyes of his following your hurried footsteps to where you disappeared into the bedroom.

It wasn't really a choice that he found himself up and following behind you, leaning against the doorframe of your shared bedroom. More of a compulsion really, an unthinking action, something he couldn't have not done if he tried. Where you went, he followed. You weren't always in the best of moods when you got home, but when you weren't in a good mood you usually sought him out, curling up into his lap as soon as you could for comfort. It was unusual for you to practically ignore him and it left a bad taste in his mouth, a worry that festered.

You feel bad for practically ignoring him, but the burning discomfort of cotton and lace digging into your skin was a more pressing matter, literally. You can feel Quinn's eyes on you from the doorway as you rush to peel out of your work dress in such haste that Quinn's almost certain he hears a rip as you shrug it off your shoulders.

He watches as you reach back, fingers fumbling with your bra clasp and slipping each time despite the years of experience with it. It's your urgency, the frustrated whine you let you that has him stepping forward and reaching for you unthinking, not questioning why this is so urgent but knowing it.

He has the clasp undone in half a second, and the gasp he lets out is as sharp and loud as your sound of relief when the bra falls away from your body and to the floor. Your skin is indented, a divot where the band of your bra had dug in over the day, flesh bright red, every stitch mark clear as day on the surface. It looks so uncomfortable to Quinn, painful and he can tell by your relief that it is.

"Baby..." There's abject concern in his tone, a quiet sort of worry that can be heard in his voice but also felt in the way his fingers barely graze your side. Fingertips careful and cautious as he traces the edge of the welts in your side.

"It's fine...I just clearly brought the wrong size...or style or something..." You lift your arm, looking at your skin in the mirror as you say this. It doesn't reassure Quinn, in fact your casual disregard for your own comfort pisses him off.

"It's not fine." Quinn's tone is short, clipped. His hands find the dip of your waist pulling you back against his chest, chin dipping down so he can press soft kisses to your shoulder, as if it will erase the discomfort of your skin, "Burn it."

"Quinn, I just bought it! It cost like $80!" The price itself makes you wince, $80 on something that seemed to fit but actually couldn't be worn comfortably for more than a few hours no matter how pretty it was.

"So? It hurt you, it can go in the trash and i'll buy you a more comfortable bra, one that won't do this," His hands trail up from your waist, over your skin until they meet the welts in your side. He's gentle, so, so gentle, as he massages little circles into the red marks. "Or, you can go without, who needs bras anyway?" He grumbles into your skin like bras were a personal affront to him. In that moment they felt like they were, anything that hurt his girlfriend was personally offensive.

"Quinn, I can't go around work with my nipples out. It's highly unprofessional." You roll your eyes at him even as you relax into his touch. His fingers are just cool enough that they provide a sense of relief against your burning skin. It's almost like he thinks he can massage the marks away, that if he caresses them enough they'll disappear.

"Okay, so just wear those bras that are stretchy." He thinks to the bra in your drawer, the one that you've managed to fall asleep in before, that never left marks on your skin

"You mean my bralettes? The ugly, shapeless things?" You think of the white that's now off-white from overuse, the fabric pilling, the elastic overstretched from wear. It's not exactly a bra you consider sexy, something practical instead, comfortable.

"They're not ugly. They're comfortable." He mumbles it into your neck, beard scratching your skin and making you twitch. His fingers are running along the indents in your side, giving up on small circles, and going for long strokes instead.

"I...I just wanted to wear something pretty."

"You're pretty enough on your own, baby," Quinn's kisses travel up your neck, pressing into your jaw and cheek as if he can kiss the thought into you, as if he can make you believe it with just a few presses of his lips, "but...if it's that important, we'll go get you fitted properly at one of those fancy lingerie stores and I'll buy you all the pretty bras you want as long as they don't hurt you."

"Really?" You catch his eye in the mirror, the look he gives you is soft and sincere, eyes crinkling at the edges. Quinn's good with his money, responsible, but he loves to spoil you, even more so because you don't expect it or ask for it. Even more so because you're so careful with your own money.

"Mmmhmm, still prefer you without a bra, but I can compromise, for you." He smirks as you twist to whack him in his shoulder, he laughs as his hands slip back to your waist.

"Quinn." Your voice is a bad attempt at sounding disapproving, the slight laughter you're trying to hide still coming out from underneath as you frown at him.

"First things first though," You watch as Quinn slips to his knees in front of you, still tall enough that he reaches the centre of your chest. There's something about him on his knees like that, looking up at you from beneath long lashes that feels devotional, like he's praying at an altar or shrine. It feels practically blasphemous and makes your stomach flip nervously.

"What are doing?" Your hand fingers his hair without much thought on your part, fingers glinding through dark waves, nails lightly scratching his scalp in a way that makes his eyelashes flutter.

"Kissing it better, then you're going to get into one of those really oversized t-shirts I have and we're going to watch your favourite movie and i'm going to order your favourite take-out."

"All because of my bra?"

"Mmhmm, gotta look after my girl."

He doesn't entertain your conversation any further, Quinn's lips trail over waist before they meet the left side of your ribs. He kisses across angry, red skin, warm to the touch from the pooling of blood under your skin. He takes his time as your eyes flutter close, revelling in the simple quiet intimacy, the tenderness as he cares for you. It's perhaps all in your head, but you think every kiss seems to erase a little bit more pain, a little bit more discomfort.

Your nails trail across the back of his neck as he shifts, lips pressing kisses across your ribs until he reaches the marks on your right side. He's as careful, as gentle as before as he presses kisses over the deep red grooves, nose brushing the skin lightly as he goes. It sets an ache of the best kind in your chest, an ache of affection of love, for this man who will supplicate himself to you, who will press kisses to your skin over something as simple as a too tight bra.

Until Quinn you'd never known this sort of love, all consuming, but not loud. Quiet, gentle. The sort of love that seeks to provide for you in every way imaginable even when you argue, even when you fight. The sort of love that sees all your broken and tender parts and just seeks to soften them, soothe them. A sort selfless love that seeks to give, give, give.

"I love you..." You whisper it, the quiet atmosphere too tender and delicate for anything louder. Your thumbs moving to rub against his cheeks as Quinn places one last kiss on your skin before looking up at you like you've hung the moon.

You're not entirely sure what you did in a past life to deserve Quinn and the sort of love that he gives you, but you choose not to question it. Scared that if you do it will disappear like a puff of smoke.

Quinn is no less gentle when he rises to his feet and guides you by the hand to your bed, no less gentle when he finds the biggest, softest t-shirt he can find and helps you slip it over your head.

His love for you is evident when he puts your favourite movie on without asking what one it is again, its evident when you hear him on the phone ordering your exact favourite takeout order, not forgetting a single item off the list. He doesn't need to say it, it's evident in all his actions, still he does. He mumbles it into your hair as you curl up together in front of the television.

For Quinn there is no greater goal in life than making you feel seen, known, loved and he does it so effortlessly.

[gotta-winwin]

Can I request a full oneshot on that dino when accepting an award like shouting out his wife and watching the internet explode and the members reaction to him I NEED THIS it got me kicking my feet and giggling just by thinking this 🛐🛐🛐 HAHHAHAHA

btw I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS!! 😘

hehehe omg ofc! i was kicking my feet and giggling while writing this dino has no business looking THAT fine and bias wreaking me( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) thank you so much for both requesting and enjoying my work!

where's the trophy... he just comes running over to me <3

masterlist fic that prompted this oneshot

word count: 1.4k tw/cw: idol!dino x wife!reader, childhood friends to lovers, public shoutout, a whole lot of sap, seungkwan clowning dino a/n: writing this just makes me want to see svt with their s/o in real life (we know these boys aint single bro)

It's a quiet and unassuming day until you're reminded that today is the MAMA awards. It didn't help that the award show wasn't hosted in Korea this year, leading to you being stuck on your couch, hands quivering as the show began.

It had been a tough yet rewarding year for Chan and his group mates, and you had been lucky enough to see it all. You felt proud that even with the distance, you had always been the first person Chan would call for anything.

Headlining Glastonbury? He had shined brightly onstage and even brighter during your video call, where he took you through his day, making it feel like you had been with him every step of the way.

Tour? He was texting you in between songs, updating you on the tiniest things despite you scolding him that he needed to concentrate on the show. He just couldn't help it, his mind immediately drifting to you whenever something remotely interesting took place. Baby, DK's pants ripped onstage just now. He'd text you, shoulders still shaking from laughter. Coups hyung got barked at again. Whatever tidbit it was, Chan's name lighting up on your screen was a warm embrace compared to the lonely nights without him.

It'd all be worth it now, you thought, as you let out a gasp of joy when Seventeen's name was announced as Artist of the Year. Your hands were still shaking as you picked up your phone to record the moment.

Chan's face glowed on your tv screen as he walked up with his members to accept the award. You couldn't help but remember how he used to look - kidish, tiny, cute and juvenile. You recalled how drastic the change had been, as you both matured and grew together, leading you to realize how hot he looked - so built and handsome. Yet it was the bubbly glow that stayed with him despite aging that you loved the most.

"Thank you Carats!" Your husband raised the trophy proudly into the air. "You know...I was the only one who didn't get to speak when we won a daesang last year..."

You couldn't help but scoff endearingly at how sassy he could be while receiving an award you knew would make him sob to you later.

"Ever since our debut," He continued, staring at you through the tv screen. "My dream was to be an artist that would remain in history."

You could remember that, even now, years later.

"I'm going to make you a promise." 15 year old Chan had told you, on the rare chance he had gotten a break from training. He had taken the two of you to the park in between Pledis and your house.

"Promise me what?" You had replied, lips feinting a small smile as you watched his eager expression.

"That one day, I'm going to be an artist that will stay throughout history." His face was full of raw determination. "And that you'll be right there with me. On top of the world. One day, I'll be an artist you can be proud of."

Seems like he kept that promise.

"And those feelings..." He continued speaking into the mic. "Those feelings will continue as we go into the future with Carats." The crowed cheered at his words.

You could tell from his face that something was up. He had that mischievous look that would only come out whenever he was about to do something to tease you.

"And..." He took a pause, smiling at the dramatic effect it had caused. "Well..."

You half wanted to reach through the tv and smack him, as your heart raced in anticipation. You had ran through his speech with him on video call days ago. This wasn't part of it.

"I once made a promise to someone," He finally said aloud, and you knew immediately what he was doing, mouth dropping in both surprise and realization. "A long time ago, when we were both very young, I made a promise that I would become an artist she could be proud of." He smiled bashfully at the memory of both the moment and the person. "I also promised her that she would be there with me, on top of the world."

You had to sit down, your legs failing you.

"I kept my promise, didn't I?" He said into the mic, and you could tell he was speaking just to you. "I hope you're proud of everything I've done, my lovely, patient wife. Only you could've stuck by me for fourteen years." He added the last part teasingly. "I love you." He raised the trophy in his hands. "This- this is for you." Pausing, he corrected himself. "Well- for you and the members." He smiled sheepishly at the boys behind him. "It is our award."

Dino had gotten Seungcheol's approval minutes before the award show began, begging the leader to let him shout out his wife. "Please, please, please, hyung." He had pleaded, trying to convey that this was literally his lifelong dream. "I've always wanted to do that. Just drop a bomb into the world and walk off." Seungcheol could only sigh, staring at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. He nodded, although he knew it would inevitably create a media frenzy for the company to clean up. "Go for it." He patted their maknae on the back. "Not my problem, not my mess."

Jeonghan had been kept blissfully in the dark until he was watching their acceptance speech live. The further Dino's speech went, the further his jaw dropped. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Dino was shouting out his wife on the stage at MAMA awards, accepting an AOTY award. Immediately after, he calls Dino up, scolding him for not telling him sooner and admitting it was a baller move.

Joshua had been busy trying to comfort a near-tears Seungcheol, Dino's speech barely registering in his ears. He's blissfully confused when the crowd goes bonkers, yelling into DK's ear to tell him what on earth happened. He's proud of Dino, acknowledging that their maknae has grown up to the point that the world now knows he has a whole wife.

All the way in China, Jun's watching the show live on his phone from his trailer on set. The connection is spotty, leaving his members in pixels and full of lag. Thankfully, the only clear part is Dino's speech, leaving Jun in deep shock and a little wounded. He wished he had been there for that.

Hoshi's loud ass gasp is the only thing fans can hear from the crowd other than their own screaming. It's clear on his face that he's flabbergasted - leading fans to speculate if he even knew Dino had a wife.

Wonwoo can't help but let out a hearty laugh once the weight of Dino's speech sinks into his bones. He knows the media and fans are going to have sooo much fun with this. He feels bad that you're now in the spotlight and hopes Dino got your permission beforehand...did he?

Very busy trying to will his tears away, Woozi's shocked out of his feels, tears evaporating at the sound of Dino's voice and the word wife. He's shocked, but happiness takes over when he realizes this will overshadow the fact that he's about to ball on global tv.

Minghao's just got that goofy shocked expression on his face as he registers the moment. He's smiling from ear to ear, basking in the joy that's radiating off of Dino. Who is he to stand in the way of Dino finally showing off his love?

Mingyu is over the moon. Having been your biggest supporter, he's elated you and Dino are finally going public. The fact that he's currently onstage accepting a daesang is completely thrown out of his mind, replaced with the joy of seeing Dino thrive.

Poor Woozi has DK's arms wrapped around him as if DK's trying to suffocate the man. He can't contain his excitement and joy at the reveal, accidentally using Woozi as a stress ball. He tackles Dino as they walk offstage, yelling about how CUTE that was and how lucky you are to have each other.

Seungkwan's stunned into complete silence. He's lowkey judging (just a little bit) at how insane Dino is acting right now - knowing this is bound to stir the pot online. He's the first one to tease Dino, going as far as clowning him during his own speech. "I once made a promise..." Seungkwan fails to keep a straight face as he clowned Dino's speech to his wife. "And I-" He's kicked off the mic by Dino before he can finish.

Vernon simply nods in approval as he watches Dino finish his speech. He respects the confidence and craziness to do such a thing, especially with how dating was basically a taboo for them as idols- and bros hard launching a whole ass wife!

[mintmatcha]

Even with the warming spells, the cold breeze off of the Northern Sea rips through your cloaks. Snow has already melted through your pants, shivering your skin and sapping away your body heat. It's a full days walk to the nearest port, then a ferry ride back to the mainland. In three days, you'll be out of his hair forever and he can move on, live a happier life than you could even provide.

The salt air burns your cheeks.

That is, if you can even make it there. You might die on the way. You don't know if that's a bad thing; not when the pain you carry is so heavy. Maybe it would be easier to just lay down and succumb.

Obsidian had said that you would break his heart one day, but it turns out that the opposite was true. His silver tongue bewitched you and you had lost track of the truth: men would always hurt you, always-

Your name is carried on the wind.

Obsidian. When you turn, he's running, barreling towards you with all the might his body can muster. Snow is caught on his shoulders and stuck to his coat, building as he rushes down the path.

There's no reason for you to run towards him. Your decision has been made, your die has been cast. This man has broken your heart beyond repair.

And yet.

Your legs move on their own. Just as you always do, you run towards him. When you meet, almost colliding with force, he takes you by the forearm and pulls you in close, arm wrapped around your shoulders.

"You're so cold." His voice is haggard, not entirely from panting. "I thought-- you're so cold."

You can feel his heart pounding under his skin, racing faster and faster. His body jerks with each breath and you suddenly realize he's on the brink of crying, sucking in air to hold back tears.

"Why did you follow me?" you ask. The real question you want to ask is why is he crying, but you bite it back, afraid of the answer.

"Why did I--? I would follow you to hell and back. I would swim oceans to find you." He drops to his knees, sinking with the snow, clutching at your legs with a fervent need, as if you'll slip away once again. "Every step I've ever taken was bringing me to you."

His frame is so big that when he looks up, his head rests against your torso. Those bright green eyes stare up at you, the whites red stained and glossed with tears. the ones that have escaped have frozen to his face, sculptures to his misery.

"Why did you go?"

The tears you had swallowed escape all at once. You sob, body heaving and shaking even as you cover your mouth.

"Obi..." you mourn as you wipe away his frozen tears. "I need to go. I'm not right for you."

He squeezes you tighter, gathering your coat in his hands.

"I don't belong there, Obi." You stroke the crest of his head, trying to engrain every ridge into your memory. "I know your mother wants-"

"I do not give an everloving fuck what my mother wants." Obsidian spits out the curse. It shocks you a bit. "I want you. I want you. I want you."

He kneels for you like it's worship, like he's praying for something he cannot have. It's mournful, hopeful, pained and healing. His expression is soft, even as his tears continue to roll.

"I want you."

Love is cruel, you decide. Vicious and cruel. The two of you cry together, frozen in place by the cold.

"Sorghum told me about the other girl," you say.l once you gather yourself. "The one you're going to marry."

Obsidian shakes his head together. "Other women don't exist to me -"

"The one your mother chose. The white-"

"Bubble?!" // He is so aghast the it makes you laugh through your tears.

"Sorghum translated your conversation." Laughter has freed more tears. "She said Umi matched you two-"

"She clearly did not translate well!" He swallows down his anger, over and over again. "Bubble and I were matched together, yes-"

You try to pull away, but he grips tighter, another plead. His manicured claws don't hurt when they dig into your skin.

"When we were children," he stresses. "I rejected the offer years ago-- before I ever left for school. My mother just wanted me to visit an old friend before we left."

The statement sits with you for a long moment. The bitter night has left both of you quaking and wet, shivering into each other's heat.

"But, Sorghum said-"

"Sorghum is a horrible, bitter woman who is caught in her own misery," Obi says. "I told my Umi under no certain terms that you are the love of my life."

He releases you to sit back on his heels, fishing into his pocket. From his pocket, he produces a familiar item- your abandoned earring. He holds it out with reverence, like it's a precious jewel.

"A direct translation would be that I have placed my heart in a silver dish for you to dine on," Obsidian says. "I am yours."

You uncurl your hand. The other earring had been gripped so hard that its edges cut into your palm. A perfect, heartbroken set.

"Loving me means we can't stay here. You'd be losing your culture," you whisper, barely audible over the howl of the wind.

"I don't want to stay here!" Obsidian gestures to the world around you. The ice barren cliffs, the white capped sea, the dot of a town behind you. It's lifeless, frozen and snowbound. Obi had always preferred the warmth, sun to bask in, warm waters for swimming. It had never occurred to you why he had ventured off, why he had chosen the life of a traveler when his family was waiting.

"I adore my family, but they do not control my life. They do not dictate my happiness. I left to explore the world to become my own self, to choose my own life." He stands finally to brush the hair back from your face. It's frozen in tendrils to your forehead. "And I choose you with every bit and fiber of my being."

He takes his earring and loops it into its place. His hand stays extended expectantly, waiting for your half of the set.

"I should have told you about Bubble, but I knew you were feeling othered. I didn't want to make it worse."

"I will always be a human." You place the earring into his palm. You look at him, truly look, drink in every curve of his face, every scale and horn and tooth. It's yours, all of him is yours and yours alone. "Loving me will never be easy."

He loops your other earring in for you. "It's always been easy to me."

Suddenly. you press on to your toes and press your forehead against his.

"Come home with me." Obi whispers. He holds you again, softer this time, now that he knows you won't slip away. "Let me warm you tonight."

This time, it's you who holds tight. "Keep me warm for the rest of our lives."

[harrysfolklore]

Harry Styles Answers the Web's Most Searched Questions | WIRED

this was posted on my patreon a few months ago, enjoy ! MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"Hi I'm Harry Styles and this is the Wired Autocomplete Interview."

Harry introduced himself to the camera and you smiled, you were currently at WIRED Studios for Harry's long awaited autocomplete interview that he finally agreed to do thanks to yours and his fans persistence.

You were sitting behind the camera with the rest of the crew, watching him with a small smile.

A crew member passed the first board to him, he looked at it confusedly for a minute before speaking.

"Okay so. I'm answering what I think or what?"

Everyone in the studio laughed and the director quickly explained to him how the game worked once again, you rolled your eyes with affection and he sent a wink your way.

"Alright, how is Harry Styles?" he said after taking the little piece of paper off the board, "I'm good, I'm really enjoying being home in London, I was away for a while on tour and I'm going to stay here for a bit so that's exciting."

"How did Harry Styles," he paused to rip the next paper and reveal the rest of the question, "Become famous? Well, when I was sixteen years old I auditioned for a singing show called The X Factor, I got put in a band with four lads and we didn't win but we put out a song called What Makes You Beautiful," he smiled for a second, "that one put us on the map, we released a bunch of albums and now I'm here."

"How did Harry Styles meet his wife?" at this, he turned his gaze to you to give you a big smile, you immediately mirrored his and nodded your head, signaling that you were okay with him talking about it.

"We could say that it was basically a blind date, we had a friend in common who thought we would be a good match and set us up, we had an amazing first date but then I had to travel to Los Angeles for work so we couldn't really see each other after that but once I was back in London we hung out all the time, and now we're married."

He smiled at you again and you couldn't help but feel your heart melt, you had been married for 6 months now but the married life was still new for the both of you, and everything he called you his wife butterflies made its way to your stomach.

"How is Harry Styles still alive?" his eyes widened in surprise and he looked around the room, making a few present laugh, "Um, that's a weird thing to search on the internet, but I guess, I don't know if I can answer that, I don't think anyone can answer that we're just lucky to still be around and enjoy life."

He gave the camera one of his infamous "frog smiles" and handed the board to a crew member who was ready with the next one.

"Does Harry Styles have tattoos?" he revealed the first question of the new board, "Yes, he does. I have a lot of tattoos actually, they're basically all over my body. The most recent one is right here," he pointed at the back of his right arm, "It's my wedding date, actually, everyone might call me a sap but I was reserving this arm for tattoos about my wife a and future kids, so I guess it's finally time to fill it."

It was safe to say that  fans watching at home and everyone in the studio absolutely melted, especially you.

"Does Harry Styles have siblings? I do I have a sister, she's older than me and her name is Gemma. A lot of people claim she's cooler than me for some reason but I don't thing that's true," he shrugged and revealed the next question, "Does Harry Styles speak Italian? I would like to think that I do, I spend a lot of time there and I've learned how to communicate pretty decently."

"Is Harry Styles an actor?" he said after peeling the first sticker of the new board, "He tries to be an actor that's for sure," he laughed and everyone in the room did as well, "I mean, I've been in a couple of movies, I've auditioned for a bunch of roles and my agent has sent me scripts to go through," he shrugged "So I can say that makes me an actor."

"Is Harry Styles american?" he shook his head at that one, "He is not! He's Britain, born and raised okay? He's very proud of it."

"What's Harry Styles BeReal? I don't have a BeReal, but if I did I wouldn't tell you," he pointed to the camera jokingly, "What are Harry Styles fans called? I think they are referred to as Harries, but I don't like to speak on behalf of them, you should ask them."

"What was Harry Styles first song? My first song was Sign Of The Times, I wrote it with friends that I love, and that is my wife's favorite song I've ever written, right love?"

"That's correct." you said from your spot, pretty audible so you know it would make it to the final cut of the interview.

"What are Harry Styles songs about?" he peeled the last sticker of the board, "They're about a lot of things, life, friends, love, my wife," he shrugged, "I even have one about the female orgasm."

You quietly giggled, knowing that his fans would go crazy over that last sentence.

"Did Harry Styles go to college? He did not, he became a singer."

"Did Harry Styles win a Grammy? He somehow won Album Of The Year last year, which is absolutely insane if you ask him."

"Did Harry Styles finish high school? Oh I'm glad the internet asks," he laughed, "Contrary to popular belief I did finish high school, I completed my GCES and I graduated, I don't know why there's a rumor there that I didn't finish high school tho."

"Anyway, last one!" he comically threw the board to the floor and grabbed the final board a crew member was handling him, "Who is Harry Styles best friend? Um, I have a ton of best friends. Jeff who's also my manager, Mitch who plays in my band, my childhood best friend's name is Johnny, so yeah, I'm very lucky in the friends department, I love my friends."

"Who does Harry Styles look like? My mom, I would say. A lot of people point out that we have the same smile," he shrugged, "My mom is a beautiful woman so I'm flattered."

"Who did Harry Styles write Love Of My Life about? My wife and London."

"And final question," he slowly peeled off the sticker for dramatic effect, "Who does Harry Styles love? Okay, that's cute that people search for that on the internet, um, I love my family and friends, I love my wife that's for sure, I love making music and performing," he listed with his fingers, "And love love, yeah, love is great."

He smiled to the camera and put the board aside to say his goodbyes.

"I thought my Google searches were much more appropriate that I expected. I was fun to see what people wonder about me, so yeah thank you WIRED for having me."

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

can we hear more about ace's shithead sister whats her problem

goddd straight up everything is wrong with her

her name is Saliko and she's somewhere in the neighborhood of 60ish years older than Ace, which means yes she was absolutely a grown-ass woman in her sixties beefing with a literal toddler when Ace was first brought to live with their father in his stupid blood magic murder cult.

and as noted she's mostly beefing with her because Ace was born because their father, who's supposed to be busy running his very serious secret magical blood murder cult, fell mortifyingly in love with a cruise ship fitness instructor and had a child with her, that child being Ace, when he's only really meant to have children every half century or so with women who are carefully selected for optional contributions to the bloodline. and you're saying "hey, that sounds yikesy" well it is. I'm sorry to report the blood magic murder cult is a little problematic.

except sweet baby Ace kind of actually accidentally disproved the whole "superior bloodline" thing because she's, like, insanely powerful; she has a lot of really potent magical potential. she could, hypothetically, make someone's heart just stop beating if she focused hard enough, which isn't supposed to be easy to do. most of her dad's acolytes spend their entire lives in training and never accomplish more than being able to numb their own pain receptors and heal themselves enough to a.) be pretty daunting assassins and b.) live a good deal longer than the average dude. and those are only the really talented ones! most of them never get that far, and meanwhile Ace can like. you know. cleanly rip out somebody's lungs if she feels like it.

it's one thing to have a bastard child, but if your bastard child is also smoking all of your legitimate heirs and acolytes that's like. it's a bad look. especially since Ace is, by the standards of her daddy's cult, just way too emotional and sensitive and daydreamy, just way too irresponsible to be having this much power.

(please note that to most normal people Ace is very hard to read and pretty emotionally inscrutable, and she can't figure out why since she spent like twenty years of her life being derided for being such a sap.)

so our girl Saliko—who, don't get me wrong, is a very powerful blood witch in her own right, do not let her get ahold of you because you won't like the shape she leaves your organs in—was like. okay. I fucking hate this kid, she's an embarrassment on our noble father's spotless reputation, and she has too much juice. what to do. and her brilliant solution is an elaborate sacrifice on Ace's 21st birthday that would, in theory, let Saliko suck up all of Ace's raw magic prowess and also kill Ace. so that's a win win, right? especially since Ace was down for it! again, she's always loved her big sister and wanted to help her out however she can!

the whole thing got botched on several levels, which is perhaps obvious given that Ace isn't dead, and their dad was pissed, since he's never actually been the one who has a problem with Ace; that's all on his followers. he's not, like, dad of the year, given the murder cult stuff, but he is very find of her and Saliko is turbo grounded for the attempted murder, by which I mean she's spending a few years in some of torture dungeon being submerged in acid 24/7 or some shit like that so she has to constantly heal herself and doesn't have time to scheme.

normal family stuff, y'know.

[unboundprompts]

Got any romantic world war (1 or 2) prompts? Like ones a medic and treats them when they're wounded and it's love at first sight?

Love you and your prompts btw– x

Medic x Soldier Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"How are you feeling, soldier?" the medic huffed, rummaging through their bag for the bandages. The soldier, laid in bed with their arms crossed behind their head, smirked. "Better now that you're here."

The medic rushed across the barren field, bag slamming against their back as they raced to the fallen soldier. It was a drill gone wrong, some poor sap's stray bullet striking another solider. The medic pushed through the crowd surrounding the soldier, collapsing to their knees next to him. His face was scrunched with pain, sweat coating his dirty face. His eyes fell upon the medic, relief immediately flooding his senses. "Thank god," he groaned. "I've never been so happy to see someone before." The medic's heart skipped a beat, quickly getting to work to treat his wounds.

"You're a life saver," the soldier sighed. The medic felt the corner of their lips tug upwards. "That's what I'm here for."

The medic ripped open his uniform, revealing his chest and the wound that was pouring blood. They pressed a hand against it to stop the blood flow as they quickly rummaged through their bag to get the materials they needed. "You're not going to die today, soldier," the medic told him. "You hear me? You're not going to die. Not on my watch." A single tear fell from the soldier's eye.

"You're too careless," the medic scolded, wrapping the soldier's leg after stitching up his wound. "Am I careless?" the soldier asked, "or do I just want an excuse to see you?" The medic fixed him with a look, jostling his leg just a little so he winced. "You don't need a reason to come see me."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[nectardaddy]

sappy bitter thoughts on this fine day

☆ kyotani eventually let's yn stay with him. he has the better apartment and he has money to spare. but it's so insanely obvious that a man lives there that first day she asks if she can decorate. he is secretly SO here for it, like he's deadass excited about it but will never tell her

☆ their first REAL date (no spoilers here hello) is getting sushi at this cute little shop that she's always wanted to go to since it opened. yes he does know about that, he listens duh, but he 1000% told her it was just a coincidence (she's not fully convinced she's starting to see that he is secretly a huge sap)

☆ they know how they like each other's coffee, even before kyo let's her move in (but it definitely becomes apparent when they do). he likes his boring with a little sugar and nothing else, hers has to have as much creamer as possible. she mainly makes coffee for him though since he sleeps in later

☆ idc if it's ooc he's a huge cuddler, he just likes touching on her. he's always the big spoon and fully latches onto her, she can not escape him once he's asleep lol she's stuck

☆ fully an "I love you" and "you're so pretty" kind of guy after she does/says something stupid as hell

☆ yknow that tiktok trend of "quick I'm someone hitting on you what do you do???" she never has to worry about that :)) he's either completely disinterested or an asshole (the worst was when all he did was grimace and walk away. no words. rip.)

[hollybell51]

If I don't have you

Navigation

Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding. 

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip. 

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?” 

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened. 

“That was fucking insane!” you burst. 

“Are you ok?” 

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” 

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers. 

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back. 

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.” 

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.” 

“A bullet graze!” 

“It’s fine.” 

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.” 

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !” 

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics. 

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes. 

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair. 

“Ethan?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another silence, though less tense. 

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest. 

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso. 

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–” 

“No, (Y/N)–” 

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall. 

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast. 

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled. 

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?” 

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own. 

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–” 

No one’s coming. 

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.” 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!” 

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear. 

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him. 

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should. 

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards. 

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed. 

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle. 

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back. 

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath. 

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you. 

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure. 

“(Y/N).” 

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive. 

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…” 

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.” 

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

 You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know. 

“For yelling at me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–” 

“All that matters. You said.” 

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle. 

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.” 

The frown deepened. “Hm?” 

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real. 

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely. 

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.” 

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek. 

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up. 

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades. 

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.” 

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” 

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his. 

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too. 

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition. 

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt. 

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything. 

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

“All’s fair in love and war.” 

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?” 

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine. 

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind. 

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?” 

Again, “Yeah.” 

You smiled. “What about me?” 

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.” 

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it. 

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity. 

“What else?” you asked. 

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.  

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys. 

“Can–” 

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair. 

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.” 

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.” 

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit. 

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders. 

“Hm?” 

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.” 

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?” 

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face. 

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises. 

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–” 

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad. 

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–” 

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders. 

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again. 

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail. 

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification. 

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?” 

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.” 

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?” 

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again. 

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap. 

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand. 

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.” 

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?” 

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?” 

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.” 

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–” 

“Insane?” 

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?” 

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?” 

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.” 

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again. 

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?” 

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other. 

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.” 

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined. 

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.” 

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.” 

“Hm?” 

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?” 

“(Y/N)–” 

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–” 

“In me.” 

“You sure?” 

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–” 

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter. 

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress. 

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?” 

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything. 

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?” 

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?” 

He nodded. 

“I still want to check them.” 

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.  

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?” 

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.” 

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?” 

“Yeah.” 

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.” 

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.” 

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.” 

“Guess I’m just that special.” 

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

[ivysangel]

jason todd being so desperate to be inside of you after watching you defend him to some snobby Gotham socialites. just pulls you into an empty hallway, practically begging you for permission between breathless kisses before pushing your panties aside and sliding in in in. one large hand over your mouth to pin you in place and muffle your moans because those are only for me sugar. you’ve got one knee hooked around his waist straining the seams of your dress but you don’t care if it rips because you just need him closer. even now jason’s a romantic sap, threading his figures through yours with his free hand pinning it to the wall above your head, making him feel and look bigger than ever at this new angle. it’s quick and dirty, the risk of the two of you getting caught hurrying the both of you along to climax. after, when jason’s helping you fix your dress and rescue your hair, he kisses you sweet as anything. a sharp oh has you breaking apart from the kiss, turning to see one of the same socialites from earlier standing at the entrance to the darkened hallway. you smile sunnily at them and link your arm around jason’s. brushing past them you walk back into the ballroom, knowing that if they were so scandalized by a little kiss, they’d be passed out in a dead faint over the cum dripping down your thighs.

(you asked for nasty thoughts to share with the class, here’s my submission for an A+)

sunnie @fic-over-cannon

sunnie you always always always give me A+++ content. star student, honor roll, valedictorian of the graduating class. the way i was literally thinking about a scenario so similar to this just yesterday?? we're so like this 🤞

i'm so obesessed of the idea of him with someone strong-willed and fiery. i think he genuinely finds that seeing you kind of riles up turns him on in ways neither of you knew were possible, especially in defense of him.

you're dressed in an expensive dress courtesy of his blood money, and you probably fit in better than he does. so for you to draw attention to yourself by defending him? and i don't even mean yelling, like a classy drag, champagne glass in hand and fully without breaking a sweat...yeah, that does it. (he would also find it hot if you got into a full-blown yelling match, but that would probably constitute you guys getting kicked out rather than removing yourself from the conversation to slip away)

the quickie at the gala is only a precursor to the rest of the night and very soon after you guys get back to the ballroom, that he doesn't want to be there at all anymore so he's pulling you along with him to coat check and the valet and then boom. out the door

[starlight-drive-in]

I'm in my feelings about THE Emmrich decision and the fact that over half of players chose it?! Disorganized sappy rambling below.

I had seen a spoiler after starting the game the Emmrich could become a lich before I had the quest in game (and before I had really gotten a feel for his character) so I wasn't surprised when he told me about the possibility and I wasn't necessarily opposed to it at first. It sounded - at surface level - pretty cool and like a solution to his fear of dying.

I was considering romancing him at this point and thought a romance with a lich sounded interesting enough, my Rook was a Mourn Watcher, so it made sense to me that this wouldn't bother her all that much. (At this point I didn't know it was a choice between that and Manfred)

But the more I thought about and the general trend of immortality corrupting a person, and thought how tragic it would be for Emmrich lose his joy for life, his childlike wonder, his kindness, or even how immortally would impact his capacity for love the more i strayed away from "letting" him do it.

Now include the fact that Manfred shows all that new potential right before he gets ripped away? How excited Emmrich was to hear Manfred talk? How he kneels down to Manfred's height to encourage new words from him right there in Hezenkoss's basement. It really clicked for me then that Manfred isn't just a friend or a assistant to Emmrich, no. That is his son.

As soon as Manfred is crushed, he immediately takes him to the lich lords, I think he knows they aren't going to let him have his cake and eat it too but he takes him straight there regardless. He doesn't teeter on the decision the way he's been teetering on the decision of Lichdom.

It's only when he considers "should" that he falters. He says something to the effect of, "What kind of Watcher would I be if I can't accept death?" In that moment it felt to me that he wasn't choosing between Manfred and Lichdom he was choosing between what he wanted and what he thinks he should do, who he thinks he should be and his duty to the Watchers. I wanted so badly to be able to say something like "Forget about the Watchers, what do YOU want?"

Post decision, Emmrich doesn't seem to have regrets about not becoming a lich? Sure he wonders what could have been but we don't hear about companions overhearing him mourning his lose of immortality, and Manfred seems to give him a new lease on life immediately. In the scene after we revive Manfred, Emmrich's literally so proud and happy? Plus he pretty much says "no regrets". I can understand that maybe people think Lich Emmrich is more inline with what he "should be" and that's the way to go, or maybe people just think lich's are cooler and skeletal sons... who knows. The stats just really surprised me given that you make that decision after the heartwarming scene of Manfred's first words.

After hearing some of the post-lich banters (that ripped my heart out), I want to know how many people re-loaded that decision, especially if they romanced him. But I also understand that TragedyTM has its own appeal.

I watched the romanced version of the lich scene and the scene itself has it's appeal (and a waaaaay earlier love confession than human Human Emmrich but it makes sense) but as for the rest of his existence, I prefer the happy family ending. What can I say?

I have waaaay more thoughts on this and the angst potential of the lich path but that's another post entirely.

If you read all this, you are amazing and I hope you have a wonderful day, or your day gets better if its going poorly.

P.S. if you chose Lichdom, absolutely no hate, you do you. I'm just a sap.

[twst-drabbles]

Malleus 18

Summary: You show Malleus your form, in exchange for being able to explore his. An equal exchange. You are a danger and a tempter in turn. Malleus could never hate you, no matter how much his body wished for him to run from you.

(I had a lot of fun with this. Please enjoy, my audience!!)

Whenever Malleus looks at you, he always feels as though he's looking at the empty part of the night sky.

You occupy space, and in his vision, you color the world as anyone else does. But when he recalls those moments, when he's just about to go to sleep and dream of older days, Malleus would always remember you, your presence, and the way your very being just seemed to sap the color away.

Perhaps there was something wrong with him, because, as he so heard from wayward whispers and Lilia himself, there wasn't a spark of magic in you. There was nothing in you that would affect his memory. Maybe it was simple boredom or some illness affecting him?

…the feeling didn't fade. He finally met you in the middle of the night, outside a dorm he thought long abandoned.

He felt you more than he saw you. When he went to that dorm, he felt that comforting silence, then it was… well, not ripped away but unveiled? As though one is gently taking off a table cloth to put away. It took some time for Malleus to figure it out to be your eyes. Your attention.

Did you know that people have this odd habit of being quieter at night? They whisper in the dark, lower their voices as though not wanting to disturb anyone, even though there is no one near. People, regardless of their origins, are the slight touch different at night, and Malleus is no exception. At night, he looks not towards people, but towards the wind, to the night sky above, and to the ruins to give him that solitary comfort that's simply deeper at night than during the day.

When he met you, your voice was clear. You were still in your uniform, and there wasn't a hint of grogginess that comes with staying up this late. You didn't look to ground to keep track of your steps despite all lack of light. You walked to him, not with confidence but with a casual gait. Almost lackadaisical, as though there was nothing in the world that can bring you harm, other than death by sheer boredom.

But when he talked to you, exchanged greetings with you with all the manners befitting of him, you had felt human. Before your first words, the strangeness of you almost made Malleus forget himself, he very nearly thought you to be another fae. All his instincts point to you being something other than human, but fae you were certainly not.

And so he had said, What are you? Because, by all means, you appear to me as nothing more than a human being. But, that's not quite correct, is it?

You are, and you aren't. But, if you need a definitive answer, then the answer is ultimately yes, I'm human. At least, for now.

Then, as though some missing piece finally slotted itself into place, Malleus felt small. The moon cast you a normal shadow, but something in Malleus told him that this was wrong. That there should be more, but there wasn't. You wouldn't elaborate further, and he wouldn't give out his name.

As such, he parted.

When he walked away, he couldn't find that lonely comfort again. Sleep did not come to him that night. No matter how he adjusted his curtains, the weight of your gaze simply didn't fade.

There was fear and there was reverence when people would whisper your name. It was a strange feeling for Malleus, certainly. To think that he would find you at the center of it all, when it would normally be him. Strange caution in his gut aside, Malleus never thought your reputation would elevate itself to something infamous within this college.

Oh course, what choice did he have other than to bring it up? A wondrous topic to discuss, no? And besides, while there was this itch settling in the back of his head, it was easy enough to ignore. After all, you are a new… companion. Not quite friend, but companion.

It seems you have many of these students on edge. Mind telling me your tales? If you have any to share, that is.

There wasn't a twitch to your face, your smile ever serene, ever stable. A rarely changing thing.

Should I tell you, or should I show you?

Oh my.

Perhaps it was simply the secret veil of night, or the weight of which you place in your tone, but there was a slight thrill that went up the back of his neck. It made his scalp tingle, even.

But, at the time, he said no. A part of him wasn't quite ready yet. And, quite frankly, he didn't wish to set himself up for disappointment. But, he will admit…

There was an overblot that I took care of. It seemed I scared quite the number of people. I save them, and I damned them in turn.

Your vagueness left him wanting more. But there is this unspoken deal you both have. So long as he refuses to give out his identity, you, in turn, will only give the barest of details. He cannot make demands of you, so long as this stands.

And so all he can do is dream and wait for the next night to come.

I find comfort in you, you know?

Another night, another series of topics, with mostly Malleus recounting a particular set of ruins with the most exquisite set of gargoyles he's ever seen. Highly likely enchanted by someone to weather the natural forces of nature. How could he not talk about the clear love put into them?

Words clogged his throat. Comfort. How… warm, that tone of yours was. How fond that smile of yours was. The constant weight of your gaze turned just the slightest bit lighter.

There was only a glimpse.

A cold had broke past the natural protections of his clothing and poisonous magic, and settled deep inside his marrow. His blood rushed through his body too loudly, and the colors surrounded his view dimmed, warped, and ripped.

There was the sound of broken glass, a hiss that shot through his head and left behind a horrid headache.

Malleus pushed on, because if nothing else, his magic is more than enough to take care of anything. It was his crown, his birthright.

There was only a glimpse, and that was enough for his vision to be cut in half. Night, from a pinprick, cut out part of your back. It followed a jagged path, expanding fast past the limits of your human body, consuming the space around you as though fungus upon wet wood.

It didn't matter that it was air, all it wanted to do was consume. Consume the air, consume your body, consume the sky, and consume the mirrors.

The sounds around him rushed to you, as though unable to resist your pull, leaving behind only the mess of static in his ears.

There was only you, pulsing in the vague shape of a human being, all in swirling colors, near nauseating colors.

Malleus blinked, and all was well. Everything had settled. The students slowly got up from the floor, nursing injuries and headaches alike, but happy to be alive. And you… were untouched. Clothes not so much as wrinkled.

And when it was over, when the conversations upon the stage of VDC had settled down, Malleus turned to you and said.

Show me. When night comes for us once more, show me.

You smiled and laughed.

Of course, Malleus Draconia.

"Come on," you chuckled against his skin, breathe brushing against the little hairs on his neck, standing them on end, "aren't you supposed to be royalty? Isn't patience something you ought to have?"

"Even you--" Malleus cut off with a hiss when you wrapped your tendrils tighter around the base of his tail, lovingly stroking the side scales with your palms. Firm, your tendrils are firm as they slide and take in every little crevice in his scales. Firm, and like fluid at the same time without leaving behind residue. "Even you have to understand that I have limits. Must I keep my eyes closed?"

Your touch practically sparks his skin, and his every instinct is warning him to open his eyes and spot the danger. The stiffness in his spine tells him he's about to fall and land on the ground. All while swimming in the vast muteness of his suppressed magic.

We can't have any accidents, now can we?

"You hear that fuzziness in your ears?" you traced his neck as white noise buzzed, both far away, yet blanketing him as though a bubble, "The way I sound as though I exist in all spaces, and the way I speak as though I'm coming from your heart? Don't open your eyes, Malleus. Otherwise, you might dissolve into me."

Dissolve, in the same way your back drew in all those colors, and mixed it into yourself, became a part of yourself for a small moment. Malleus wishes to see it, even though his body broke out in a sweat at what might happen.

"Is that," he swallowed, "such a horrible thing? Didn't you say you would show me?"

"Does showing mean you have to witness with your eyes?" A tendril wrapped over his ankle and slipped through the leg opening. You caressed the back of his knee, and Malleus's fingers broke through the wood of the wall behind him. "Careful there. I'm showing you, through all your other senses other than sight."

"Other senses?" Malleus managed to breathe out, "then… what of taste?"

You overwhelm his touch with electric touches, fill his smell with the scent of you, and play his hearing. What of taste? Will he regret this? Well, it doesn't matter. Malleus is curious and he has no intention of curbing it.

"Oh, aren't you a sweetheart?" Your voice was concentrated to a single point, right over his left ear. "Well then, lift your head up, dear prince."

There was an ever-shifting noise beneath the static, like flesh constantly adjusting itself, like blood flowing and popping it's large bubbles.

"How bold of you, making demands of me like this, knowing full well who I am." There was no hatred in his tone, only heated amusement. Malleus lifted his chin, and he almost curled into himself when you pressed your lips against his. You were gentle, almost painfully so as though you were guiding him. You had almost your entire being tied up around him, and you're kissing him as though he's nothing more than faint-hearted fae.

And that makes his fingers curl deeper into the wall of your dorm.

"How," that was close, Malleus's voice almost pitched. How unbecoming of someone such as him, "How cruel of you, to kiss me as though I'm fragile glass."

"Because I know that would affect you most. You know how I am." You chuckled against his lips, stroking his neck in such a way he had no choice but to relax back into them. "Again?" you asked.

He licked his dry lips and answered, "Again. This small taste isn't enough."

"Alright, be careful not to destroy my wall, alright?" you swiped a thumb over his lips, practically hearing the widening smile on your face.

"I'll be more care--" You silence him with the blissful magic of a kiss, tenderly moving against him, coaxing him to relax into a shivering pile of scales. You pulled back and Malleus was ashamed in how desperate he was when he chased after you. "Wait--"

You tilted his chin and stole his breathe once again, fingers slipping past his collar, tendrils wrapping up higher and higher until they're poking at the scales on his thighs. You trailed a hand over his shoulder, down his arm, and guided his fingers to lock with your own.

"Is this better?" You asked, pulling away from his surely reddened lips.

"Y-yes." Malleus tightly clung to your fingers.

[luckyartdrawer]

(Warning: Body horror, Dead bugs, Blorbo in bad shape, Sap that looks like blood)

Putting the art below since I think a good chunk of people may not wanna see their blorbo be stuck in a tree covered in bugs. :)

(Apologies for the 10 seconds of dead air, Tumblr won't upload music without it!)

I am the honeybee

Drink the blood of the tree

I can't breathe, I can't see

Evil wind comforts me

Buried deep inside of me

Acarine

Buried deep inside of me

Acarine

vvv Alts and Yapping below! vvv

(Wish we could do more than one break rip)

No Bees, No Post Processing

Goofy ahh starting sketch

HEHEHE BE SUBJECTED TO THE MIND OF A CYCLE PATH

But actually you are being subjected to my music tastes, literally this whole idea comes from my interpretation of lyrics from the hit band King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. ✨✨✨

Like imagine this: You wake up one day after years of being offline, only to find that you've been abandoned for so long that a full on tree grew through you. (Like how some do with stop signs or other posts.) The sap is all mucked up in your gears and all over your body, and then you notice all the little bees eating the sap. But oh- they aren't moving. With a quick scroll through the ceaseless database in your mind, the answer finds itself. You, the tree, and these bees are infested with Acarine.

Hope y'all enjoyed the art and the little snippet of the song I added in! :3

It just didn't feel right to not add the song I mean C'MON THE MOOD OF THIS MAN- THE SONG IS SO MOODY

AND ITS ONLY A TRANSITION SONG UAGHHH- I love this band <3

Anyways, combining both of my hyperfixations has proven to have done magic for me, so follow your heart lovelies. lololol

(Definitely not the last time Imma do that either oop-)

I have multiple art projects I already started but I cranked this one out in 5 hours because I needed it out of my head. I also thought it would be an amazing lighting practice and a good excuse to try new brushes and techniques. :333

It seems like with how busy I was in both October and November, I didn't get all the spookiness out of me yet. I've been thinking of horror stuff so much lately. o3o Hopefully this lets me embrace the holly jolly now lol

Man I'm so glad fall semester is over, I needed this-

I also need to go to bed 2:30 already uagh-