#this turned out way fluffier than I thought ;;

[frogchiro]

continuing being the omega for 141 from 🐙. they find out you’re an omega when you’re sick. and you curl up in their laps, all docile and sweet and glassy eyed like they’ve never seen from you before.

when you go into heat right after the sickness, it’s like you have planets orbiting around you. through the haze of it all, you have brief moments of lucidity. you remember laying with your back to soap’s chest, your flushed cheeks and bleary head laid back against his shoulders while he was buried balls deep in your ass. meanwhile ghost is making slow, precise strokes into your pussy and softly petting the hair out of your eyes.

you briefly remember graves (yes i’m including him i want him so bad) laying you down on top of him while you sobbed from overstimulation so he could rub his fingers up and down your back until you calmed. you remember price having to fuck you full so gaz could make you drink a little water and eat bites from a granola bar without throwing a fit.

when the heat is over, you blink awake and find yourself in your nest surrounded with large, sleeping men and you feel like the safest and luckiest person in the world. and you slump back down and run your hands over your slightly bulging tummy (full of cum) and snuggle back into price who unconsciously cradles you closer !!

-🧸 (tell me if someone else has used this emoji i’ll use a different one if so)

I actually don't think that this emoji is used, no, so I want to welcome 🧸anon!! <3 I really need to make an actual list of all my emoji anons

BUT OH MY GOD THIS IS SO CUTE AND HOT JABDFUDBFU

Poor omega reader can't catch a break can she? :( First getting sick and immediately after going into heat but it turned out fine! A least she's mated now...to a whole pack of alphas but still!

And they'd be sooo sweet and careful with you since you're still dizzy from the post-heat headspace and the lingering sickness. All these big, dominant alphas would be crooning and rumbling quietly and release all these relaxing pheromones that will calm you down and make you feel comfortable.

The nest they've thrown together while not the prettiest is definitely comfy; military issued blankets, pillows and their clothes made for a surprisingly good mating place and judging by your happy purring they've done their job well.

Soap, König and Gaz being so insistent on cleaning and comforting you, bless their hearts :(( Together with you they're the youngest of the pack and as young alphas they feel the instinctual need to prove themselves to their omega mate that they're capable and able to provide. As the oldest and most experienced alpha, Price understands that need, he really does so he doesn't feel agitated but he can clearly feel the frustration rolling off of Ghost and Graves. They're not the youngest but they have still that possessive instinct even while in a pack.

So Price takes the initiative and with a warning growl he lifts you gently and places you right onto him and holds you close to his warm body with a pleased rumble. His fellow alphas may yowl and hiss and make displeased chirrups all they want but soon they all settle into one big cuddle pile with Philip gently nudging and nosing at your full belly with a smile and a quiet hope for a big healthy litter in the future.

But for now they all settle around you to ensure your safety even while asleep <3

You've just gained yourself the best and safest pack these can be, congrats <3

[feyascorner]

as the snow falls

summary. years after becoming the vampire ascendant and harnessing the endless power he’s always wanted, the loneliness of his throne brings him to reminisce about the only person who’d ever cracked the surface of his frozen heart.

so why not visit them disguised as someone else?

warnings. angst, little to no comfort, bittersweet, this is kinda long

pairing. astarion x GN!reader

a/n. happy holidays everyone! I thought about making a fluffier fic but what’s better than holiday angst!! this takes place years after the game where Tav/reader breaks up with astarion once he becomes ascendant btw!

He hated fresh snow. At this time of year, he left the palace more often, leaving deep footprints that ruin its perfect evenness. He preferred when it was stained with blood, but then again, he preferred anything over untouched snow.

So when he sits up from his bed, which is far too big for one person, he sighs irritably at the snow falling softly on the other side of the window. His voice awakens the woman beside him, who rubs at her eyes, her other fingers grazing at the two identical puncture wounds at her neck.

To be quite honest, he'd forgotten she was there. He only notices her when she revels at what he's staring at, letting out a shrilling gasp. “My Lord, it’s snowing! How beautiful.”

Judging from the way she oh so comfortably addresses him, he figures she’s one of the newer servants in the palace. Any other half witted person would know to keep their head down and leave quietly, but not her. While it would bother him on any other occasion, he doesn't bother reprimanding her as his mind fails to supply him the words. He doesn't even know her name.

“Get out,” is all he says, voice an octave deeper than usual. There's a slight pause before she scrambles to climb out of the bed, finally having had some sense knocked into her. He only glances at her right as she shuts the door, eyes only noticing how her hair is the same shade as his late lover.

When he turns back to his window, he remembers how your hair had looked softer than hers. He remembers the way it had felt when he ran his fingers through your strands, and the way you'd smile in that enchanting way of yours. The way he'd let you run your own hands through white curls in return, immersed in a world where only the two of you existed in that cruddy tent while the very real problems of the outside world didn’t weigh as heavy as they usually did.

He pulls the curtains closed.

By the time he gets to his throne room, the palace is already wide awake. While Cazador’s operations had run themselves mainly during the night, Astarion was different. He could bathe in the sun all he wanted and would only come out glowing, and he'd abuse that to his full advantage. He was not afraid of the sun, because they were not the same.

They were not the same at all.

As he paces by the servants, they all hush down, quietly returning to their busy schedules as they prepare whatever housework they'd been assigned to. When he perches on his throne, he looks down at all of them, eyes narrowed at each of their movements. He’s not truly paying any of them any attention, except for the occasional ones who have the same shade of hair as the servant this morning. Those ones have puncture wounds on their necks.

Even if their blood tastes vile in comparison to yours, it’s the closest he can get.

Finally, something truly catches his attention. If he didn't have such keen ears, he wouldn't have heard the few in the corner, whispering.

“The heroes are celebrating the restoration of the city at Elfsong tavern tonight!” one says excitedly. “Do you think Master will go see them?”

“No, certainly not,” another responds. “He rarely meets them anymore, does he? Shame. I would love to see them in person before they leave. I heard a few of them won’t be coming back for a while.”

“Surely we could go ourselves?”

“Well,” one ponders. “If we hurry with all our assignments perhaps we can make it in time…”

Astarion snaps back into attention when a male servant approaches him, admittedly with a swallow of his throat. “My Lord.”

“What is it?” he snaps, thought it surprises even himself how harshly it came out. Not that he cares.

“T-the entire first floor has been scraped clean, my Lord. The second floor, twice,” he stammers, eyes looking anywhere but at Astarion’s face. While it first boosted his ego seeing others cower in fear, now it just irritates him. “Of course, we haven't touched the left wing, as you instructed, but there were some worries regarding the dust collecting in the main bedroom there, and-”

“The left wing will remain the way it is until I orderwise,” Astarion responds immediately, then pauses. “Tell the others to rid the yards of snow.”

The servant’s eyes go wide. “But my Lord, it’s still snowing…and there's already a few inches—to clean it would just result in the snow piling again-”

“I won't repeat myself, child.”

He is not like Cazador. Not at all.

As the servant stumbles away with a frantic nod, Astarion’s gaze drifts towards the windows again. He’d had them installed the second he took possession of the palace, refusing to keep its walls in darkness any longer. He'd torn off the curtains, wallpaper, decorations, and replaced them all with new ones—ones that were more to his liking. It was an entirely new Palace, and yet…

The only place he'd left untouched was the left wing. He knew the servant’s words came from reason. The left wing was surely to rot away at this rate, being left unoccupied for so long. He hated the way it had no windows, the way the curtains were the same blood red shade Cazador had favored, and how the hallway was only dimly lit with a few candles.

He closes his eyes.

He remembers your voice so clearly, he might’ve mistaken you for standing right before him. “Once we kill Cazador, isn't this place yours?”

He had raised a brow. “Perhaps. Why do you ask?”

“Maybe you can make this place more pleasing to the eye, I don't like how dark it is now.”

“Really? I am curious as to what you would deem admirable interior design. Perhaps I’ll give you a portion of the palace to yourself, my dear.”

He snaps his eyes open.

He truly hated when it snowed.

He looks down at all his subjects once more. And this time, he found the isolation of the throne eating at a heart that he no longer had.

——

The snow doesn't stop, even as the sun sets.

And while he detests himself for doing so, he finds himself entering Elfsong tavern, where the night’s just begun. After hours of contemplation, convincing himself he had no reason to join the celebrations of common folk, he thinks of course you of all people would celebrate at a mere tavern over a lavish party with the rich. Of course you'd prefer to listen to a less than pathetic excuse for a bard than a musician with years of experience.

He curses that humble streak of yours as he steps into the building with a disguise spell. He’s still an elf, handsome but not as much as his ordinary self. His hair is a shade of chestnut brown, eyes in a different color than his usual as well. It’s enough to pass as a different person.

He doesn't have to look around long, because someone bumps into his shoulder, yelping an obnoxious ‘ow!’ before turning to him. And while Astarion contemplates a more violent outcome for daring to cross a vampire, he quickly stops when he sees a familiar wizard.

“Sorry about that. Have a lot on my hands right now,” Gale apologizes with that annoying smile of his before rushing back to his table with the two drinks in his hands. It’s crowded in the tavern, but none of it stops Astarion from spotting you in an instant.

Gods above.

That same shade of hair framing your laughing expression is all he can see. Gale sets the drinks in front of you and Shadowheart, and the vampire makes out your thanks from the way you mouth the words before taking a chug from it.

You’ve matured. Your hair is styled differently than he remembers from a few years ago. The way you carry yourself is different too. And you seem more comfortable under so many gazes—all of which he wishes it were only his.

You look happy.

A part of himself hates you for it.

But when he dwells on the feeling a moment too long, he realizes it’s more directed to himself. Because while you sit there with that beautiful smile on your face, surrounded by your companions and the admiration of the city, all he has is the cold grips of his throne, where all he seems to think about is blood, and more importantly, you.

Enough, he thinks. He's making a fool of himself. He's sure you'd rather not see him anyway, after the poor falling out the two of you had. And he's not sure what he'd do if you came too close to him, which is also something he'd rather not test.

But then, you stand up. You wave something at the others before pacing across the tavern toward the back door. Astarion doesn't even have to will his legs to move before they're halfway across the door, trailing after you.

When he finds you again, you're ankle deep in the fresh layer of snow behind the loud tavern, in the otherwise quiet city of the night. You're staring at the sky as a snowflake lands on your nose, and you make no moves to wipe it off, instead you breathe in, and then out, leaving Astarion to stare blankly from the shadows.

“You can come out, you know. I promise I don't bite,” you hum, and a lump grows in his throat. Still, he does.

“It’s cold,” he says.

“It is,” you smile, oblivious to who you're speaking to through the disguise. He simultaneously wants to reveal himself and hide in the shadows. “It’s nice though. I've always loved snow, and this might be my last chance to see it in Baldur’s Gate for a while.”

He stares at the way your breath steams against the freezing air. “Have plans of travel? Surely a hero like you would prefer to stay in a city of people in your debt.”

“Adventuring, probably,” you shrug, turning your gaze back down to the snow. “I’ve done what I can here. No reason for me to stay.”

The selfish part of him flares, though it seems to be most of him nowadays. Him. He should be the reason.

His brows furrow. “You won't be coming back?”

“Probably not for a while. This city holds a lot of memories, and not all of them are ones I'm rather fond of,” you sigh. “I just wish I could've helped more people, but I suppose life just doesn't work out the way you want it to.”

He raises a brow. “How ambitious. I would think saving an entire city is enough for at least a few lifetimes.”

“Well,” your voice drops. “There was one more person I really wanted to help. One that I lost.”

He remains quiet, eyes glued to the way you kick at the snow.

“I should have guided him better. Should have let him know that he was enough. Not because he was some all powerful being, but just because he was him. I thought—” your nose crinkles. “—I thought I'd been helping him, by encouraging him any way I could. But that tore us apart, and I'd do anything to go back and fix it.”

To be in that tent again, to hold you close again, to love you again.

“Sounds like a lucky man to receive such endearing words from you,” is all he manages.

You snort, laughing a bit. “I was the lucky one to have ever met him. I just wish our time together hadn't been so short.”

And as you hold out cupped hands to the sky, gathering the snow, Astarion feels his chest go impossibly tight when you finally meet his eyes. Gods, had he missed them. “I wish we could've seen the snow together. The first snow in the morning, when nothing’s touched it and it’s just a perfect even layer. I think he would have liked it.”

“I’m sure,” he says. “I’m sure he would've enjoyed watching the snow with you.”

You smile again, and he forces down the urge to pull you closer right then and there. To remind you that you can have all that, and more. He could give you everything, the world be damned. He could have you sit on his lap in the throne of his palace, and fill your head with hushed promises of love and praises, holding you tight to his side with one hand and wine in the other.

He could forget about how cold the throne feels.

Instead, he only watches you step out of the snow and pace towards the door leading back to the tavern. And as you open the door, you glance back at him. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“I ought to return home. I have quite the night ahead of me.”

You tilt your head. “Shame, I was hoping to buy you a drink for listening to a complete stranger for five minutes.”

Astarion offers a slight nod. “Perhaps next time, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He hates the churning inside of him as he realizes this is your final farewell. This is the last time you’ll give him your full attention, and he detests the way all he wants to do is to convince you to stay. To realize he can offer so much more than the rest of the world. That he’d ruin the world for you.

But when your smile softens, he stops himself again. He curses the effect you have on him. “Next time, then.”

And then the door shuts closed.

He stares at it for a long time, waging an internal battle where he struggles to gather his composure relentlessly until he looks away and turns his attention back to the snow.

He breathes. Not because he has to—because he doesn't—but because it finally allows his shoulders to relax.

The air is cold in his throat.

Somehow, from here rather than the view from his bedroom, the snow doesn't look so bad.

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Hardest Thing Is Letting Go

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

1.9K words

Warnings: Funeral

guy's im still so sorry for this one, it's incredibly angsty - I promise I'll make things fluffier soon

Series Masterlist

"There was a time when I was afraid of the world. I was afraid of what was happening in my life and what it was becoming. I was afraid of the world we find ourselves being apart of."

Y/N had never addressed a room like this. Each and every mafia boss stared at her. Her own husband stared at her, with admiration in his eyes, Lando too. He was so proud of his little sister for doing something like this.

She shouldn't have to do it. The fact that she was standing in front of everybody to honour her best friend was astounding.

Tears were ready to fall, but Y/N wouldn't let them. She was going to be strong. For Oscar.

"There was one person who I could count on when I was this scared. He watched over me, kept me company and made me feel normal. There were times when I was breaking down and he'd play some music and get me to dance, taking my mind off of everything.

"That man was Oscar Jack Piastri."

She'd started writing this letter the moment that Carlos had gotten her back to Spain. It had started out as a letter to Oscar, with a lot more in it than she was willing to say in his funeral.

"Oscar wasn't a part of the Norris family," she continued. "In theory, we were never destined to meet. Every day since he first came into my life, I thank my lucky stars that we had him on loan from Webber."

Her hands shook as she turned the page.

"Without Oscar, I wouldn't be here today. He saved my life in so many ways. There was a time in my life, without him by my side, I would have ended it all."

The tears were free flowing now. Carlos stood from his seat and came to stand beside his wife, trying to gently coax her to sit down, but she wouldn't. She had a a speech to make.

She skipped over the next little section. That bit was for her and her only. "Oscar was the bravest of us all. He endured so much. He didn't have to be harsh or domineering to show just what power he had.

"But he was also kind and sweet." He was my soulmate, in the most platonic sense of the word.

Platonic, Y/N thought. But a small part of her was so sure, had circumstances been different, it would be Oscar she was in love with, Oscar who was holding her through the night. Even if they were still in with world of crime and mafia families, if Y/N didn't have to marry Carlos, she was sure she and Oscar would have been together.

She knew this before she got married, but she couldn't say anything. In another universe she would have loved Oscar.

"He saved my life more than once, and I will never be able to repay that debt," she said, wiping away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "He was the very best of us and our world will never be the same without him. Oscar-" But she stopped, just a second to compose himself. "Oscar..."

This time, when Carlos wrapped his arms around her, Y/N fell into him, crying against his chest. He held her for a moment, stroked her back and ran his fingers through her hair.

He moved Y/N behind him and addressed his fellow heads of family. "Oscar became a very dear friend of mine. Without him, I wouldn't have my beautiful wife standing by my side. To that, I say we raise our glasses-" Nobody had a glass in hand "-to a man we will sorely miss."

It was different to the funeral of Norris. The grief Y/N felt was different, harder to deal with.

After the funeral, Carlos took his wife home. They sat in the very back of the car as they were driven to the Webber plane hangar. Lando had organised food for everybody for after the funeral, but Y/N just couldn't be here. And Carlos knew it, too.

They sat beside each other on the jet, her head on Carlos's shoulder as she cried herself to sleep. Oscar was gone. The words still felt foreign to her.

It was incredibly long flight, with the couple stopping over in Malaysia. They had been the ones to take Oscar's body back to Australia, back to his family, to be buried. It meant a long trip for them, but they didn't care. After all that Oscar had done for them, this was the least they could do for him.

It was near a day later that they touched down in Spain. Their stay in Madrid had been short lived, just long enough to refuel the Spain. They should have stayed in Australia, the couple thought. But that was too painful.

Carlos drove them back to the house. He kept his hand on her leg as the radio played quietly, filling the space between them. They didn't have to speak; it wouldn't help anything for the time being.

"I wish he could have met baby Oscar," she whispered as they approached the gate in front of the house. She cradled her bump with one hand, the other on top of Carlos's.

Before the funeral, Carlos had insisted that they go to the hospital, for Y/N's first prenatal check up. They found out just how far along she was and the sex of the baby.

As soon as they found out they were having a boy, she knew they had to call him Oscar. Oscar Sainz, after the man that had saved his life. His middle name was chosen by his father. Pau, a Spanish name. OP Sainz. Their baby was OP Sainz.

Carlos drove through the gates when they opened and pulled into the garage. He opened the car door for Y/N and held her hand as they walked through the house. The house was different now, it felt colder somehow.

"I'm going to get us guard dogs," he said as they climbed the stairs.

Y/N nodded her head as she walked through the hall, heading towards the room that Carlos and Oscar had decorated for the baby. She hadn't seen it yet, just listened as Carlos told her about it to try and calm her down.

Her breath caught in her throat as she walked into the nursery. "You two did all of this?" She asked as she looked around the room, They had done everything, put up shelves and built the drawers and wardrobe. They'd painted the walls and set up the crib, including a little tee-pee tent full of cushions and blankets.

There was a blanket in the crib, one decorated with giraffes. Y/N picked it up and held it close to her chest as she looked around the room. Her husband and her best friend had done all of this for her baby. It was a living memory to Oscar, just like the baby would be.

"I'm thinking of painting his name on the door," said Carlos as Y/N turned towards him.

Y/N put the blanket back and fell against her husband, pressing her lips to his. "My wonderful husband," she whispered, her eyes closed as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her softly.

He took her hand and walked her out to the window. "Take a look," he said and she looked to where the golf course used to be.

Carlos had set up an entire play area for their child. If Y/N had the strength to cry, she would have. But she couldn't anymore, her body too exhausted.

"What would you like for dinner, mi corazon?" He asked, his finger trailing up her arm.

"I just want to sleep, Carlos," she croaked, exhausted.

That was fine, he'd let her sleep. Carlos followed her out of the nursery. He watched as Y/N turned left, heading back to her old room. That was right, he hadn't told her yet. "Querida, wait!" He called as he grabbed a hold of her arm. "This way."

Carlos led her into his bedroom, the bedroom they now shared. He'd moved all of her things in during those twelve weeks that he had been alone. He sat her on the bed and got her changed into her loosest and comfiest pyjamas. "Sleep, mi corazon. I'll have dinner for you ready when you take up," he said and pulled the sheets back.

Y/N climbed under it. She closed her eyes as Carlos kissed her forehead and left the room.

He spent the next few hours making his way through work. It was comforting, having things back to normal. Or, as normal as they could be. Most of the work he went through was sorting through his fathers affairs.

After three hours of working, there was a knock at the office door. He glanced up briefly and returned to his work. "Not now, madre," he muttered under his breath as he strode into the room.

"��Y? ¿Ya no hablamos nuestra lengua materna?" She asked as she sat in the seat opposite him. (And? Don't we speak our native language anymore?)

Letting out a sigh, Carlos looked up from his work and placed his pen down. "Podemos hablar nuestra lengua materna, madre. ¿Qué te gustaría hablar?" (we can speak our mother tongue, mother. What would you like to talk about?)

"No hemos tenido una cena familiar desde que murió tu padre," she said, correcting her posture and sitting up straighter. (We haven't had a family dinner since your father died.)

Carlos shut his eyes for a moment. It was their first night back in the house since Y/N's kidnapping. "Por favor madre. No es una cena familiar a menos que mi esposa esté allí. Después de todo lo que él ha pasado, ella necesita tiempo." (please mother It's not a family dinner unless my wife is there. After everything he's been through, she needs time.)

He stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he began as he switched back to English. "I'm going to make my wife some dinner."

Carlos strode out of his office, leaving his mother where she was.

And he really did make Y/N dinner. He didn't ask the cooks to do it, he got stuck in and made her something to eat. It was surprising, just how good of a cook Carlos was. It was also surprising how much he enjoyed it.

He made her dinner, along with a side of buttered toast, just in case she didn't want what he made her. He walked it up to the bedroom and placed it on the dresser as he gently woke her up. He whispered her name and shook her shoulder gently. "Wake my, mi amor. I made you dinner."

Y/N opened her eyes. It was clear from the way she stared at him, eyes wide, that her sleep hadn't been peaceful. Carlos placed the plates in front of her as she sat her. "Here, querida," he said and pulled the cutlery from his pocket.

She dug into her dinner, eating it all (including the toast). "My wonderful husband," she said as he placed the plates back onto the dresser.

Carlos climbed onto the bed and sat himself beside her. He grabbed a hold of her and pulled her onto his lap. "I love you," he whispered, his forehead pressed against hers. "My beautiful wife. I'm never going to let you go."

She grabbed his cheeks and lifted his mouth to hers.

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i can’t close my eyes alone ; satoru gojo

synopsis; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (he calls you ’stubborn girl’ n ’pretty girl’ but other than that it’s gn!!), toru and reader have a fight, reader sleeps in the bathtub (don’t ask it came to me in a vision), hurt/comfort, he's doing his best :<, fluff!!

a/n; smth abt …. arguing w satoru gojo ……. idk why the concept has possessed me in the way that it has i just think hurt/comfort w toru is <33

okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.

in your defense, you weren’t exactly thinking straight; fueled by spite, eager to get far away, and admittedly a little curious as to how it would feel, the decision was made almost purely on impulse. and stupidity, probably.

it’s not comfortable at all.

maybe it could be. maybe if you had just a couple more pillows, a fluffier blanket with a cozier texture. maybe if you had something soft to put beneath you, another blanket or a comforter or — whatever. maybe if you had a warm cup of tea to drink. maybe if you had something warm to hug to sleep. 

or someone.

(aw, what’s wrong? can’t sleep without me after all, huh?)

— nope. you are not going back there. 

just the thought of how smug he’d get makes you bite the inside of your cheek, increasing your already growing frustrations. in desperate search of a more comfortable position, you nuzzle further into the pillow, but nothing works.

your limbs feel stiff, and your bones can’t seem to relax, a discomforting numbness seeping into your spine. and it’s cold. the feeling of porcelain against your skin keeps you tossing and turning, akin to an icy winter breeze, caressing the apple of your cheek. 

still, there’s simply no other option. under absolutely no circumstances can you turn back now. not when you’ve come this far, when you can almost begin to sense an inkling of sleep’s familiar call, the drowsy flutter of your eyelashes.

it takes time, and perseverance — but eventually, the road to sleep does seem to brighten on the horizon. crawling closer and closer, lulling you into its embrace, while all you can do is lie there. completely at its mercy, exhaustion ghosting your subconscious, eyelids ripe with fatigue. 

slowly but surely, your consciousness begins to fade. tenderly, soothingly, like a curtain over your eyes being slowly unveiled. you can almost taste it, on the tip of your tongue; sleep is only a moment away.

soon, you’ll fall into that cozy abyss. and then you’ll open your eyes, and the morning sun will greet you. it’ll be a new day, a better day.

so you keep your eyes closed, and sink a little further into the plush of your pillow, and —

the light flickers on.

in the state you’re in, tiptoeing on the edge between dreams and reality, so tantalizingly close to falling asleep, the brightness is positively grating. even through your shut eyes, it invades your senses — a glow so irritating it’s startling. the bathroom lights mock you with their shine, illuminating your figure, curled up in the tiny bathtub. 

the whine you let out is involuntary, coaxed out from deep within your throat, as the uncomfortable sensation rouses you from your would-be slumber.

satoru raises an unimpressed eyebrow, where he stands by the door.

chest bare, wearing only a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts, he looks at you with tired eyes. exasperation painted onto his dishevelled features. then he clicks his tongue, voice raspy and rich with fatigue.

”you’re ridiculous.”

the judgemental tilt of his voice only makes the annoyance in your veins bubble up once more, just when it was finally about to dwindle. eyes squeezed shut to escape the burn of the artificial light, you let out a sharp wince, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. 

”turn it off!”

ignoring your angry plea, satoru makes his way over to you. with long, slow strides, vaguely uncoordinated steps. just a little clumsy. he plops down on the edge of the bathtub, and gazes down at you.

you’re lying on your side, arms wrapped around a fluffy cushion, knees against your chest. under the illumination of the bathroom lights, he can see you clearly; messy hair that he yearns to ruffle, a crease between your brows that he yearns to smooth away.

you look awfully uncomfortable, to no one’s surprise. he isn’t sure what else you were expecting. 

despite the sting of the bright lights, you force your eyes open — only to give satoru a halfhearted glare, an attempt at appearing intimidating. though you somehow doubt it’ll work.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, satoru tilts his head. soft locks of white hair follow the movement, falling over his eyes, a little more tousled than usual. like he’s been tossing and turning, sprawled out on the bedroom mattress.

and, just like you suspected, the dirty look you send his way doesn’t seem to scare him off. not even in the slightest. if anything, you think you catch a flicker of lazy amusement dancing through his eyes. and it irks you, it does — an itch beneath your skin, a taste of irritation on your tongue.

because satoru is looking at you like you’re somehow in the wrong, here, like you’re the one acting out. as if he isn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

at this point, you barely even remember what the fight was about. too sleep-deprived to recall it properly, too stressed to make a genuine attempt. all you remember is getting ready for bed, and the familiar sensation of frustration prickling your skin. you remember his pretty little grin, his teasing remarks and refusal to take you seriously.

remember the way he laughed, when you told him what was bothering you; the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth of his hands reaching over to squish your cheeks. a little patronizing.

(there was no malicious intent behind it, that much you know. he probably just wanted to lighten the mood. but it irked you, all the same. hurt you, maybe. just a little bit.)

then you remember storming out. grabbing a blanket and pillow and telling him to sleep on his own, if that’s how he was going to be. the words felt cold as they left your mouth, little breathy icicles. and then you left.

which is why you’re here, right now. curled up in your goddamn bathtub, for some reason that still escapes you, trying desperately to get even a wink of sleep without your boyfriend there to help.

and that’s also why satoru is here, back a tad slouched as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking at you like you’re some misbehaving cat. blinking slowly, drowsily, dragged down by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes. 

(he can’t sleep, either.)

”you’re really gonna sleep in there?” he sighs, after a moment’s pause. any honest concern in his voice is almost entirely overshadowed by the sense of admonition that follows it.

a scoff falls from your lips, sharp like a razorblade. ”yes,” you deadpan, shifting to lie on your stomach, hiding away from his insistent view. ”i was sleeping just fine before you barged in here.”

satoru shoots you a look, thoroughly unimpressed, entirely unconvinced of your blatant lie. ”you’re being dumb,” he huffs. ”at least sleep on the couch.”

”i don’t wanna hear that from you,” comes a hiss, low and disgruntled. a growing irritation. ”and i’m comfortable where i am.”

another dissatisfied huff. why are you being so irrational? he just doesn’t get it. scrambling for excuses, satoru tries his hand at another tactic. 

”you’ll hurt your back.”

another little scoff. oh, so now he suddenly cares? you can’t believe him. 

”so what?”

a moment passes. satoru bites his lip, teeth sinking softly into the flesh; a little pang of ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twist of discomfort in his chest. you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, he thinks. always so stubborn. 

what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to convince you to come back to bed, when you’re already so set on denying him?

god, he’s tired. he just wants to sleep, close his jaded eyes. just wants to not have to think, for a couple hours, curled up with the only person who makes him feel safe. just wants to dream in soft shapes.

but if you aren’t there, then…

a deep sigh. weary, annoyed. ”c’mon,” he coaxes, blinking sluggishly. ”you know you won’t be able to fall asleep without me. can’t we just make up already?”

your nails dig into the fabric of your blanket. every word he says only seems to deepen the sense of irritation plaguing your sleep-deprived mind.

it makes you want to shut him out, bury your head in the soft sheets and forget about everything else. he keeps acting like you’re just overreacting, like you wanted to have an argument. like he wasn’t the one who made you upset and then laughed at you about it. 

”i don’t need you to fall asleep,” you grumble, muffled by the pillow in your grasp, arms tightening around it. nuzzling deeper into the soft velvet comfort.

satoru’s fingers twitch, as if urging him to pull you close. he almost glares at the cushion in your arms, that you’re hugging so fondly, putting all your body weight on — snuggling into it in search of comfort and warmth.

(that should be his chest.)

the gears in his head turn, slowly and mechanically, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair.

satoru hates seeing you so upset, so far away from him. having to watch you close yourself off, not allowing him to be near, soothe you and take care of you. kiss all your worries away. that’s all he wants to do, everything he needs to keep himself whole, to keep himself from being devoured by an exhaustion he’s lived with for as long as he can remember.

a strong frustration gnaws at his conscience. a certain desperation.

a big, heavy sigh leaves his lips. it bounces off the walls of the bathroom, the white tiles and shiny mirror, as he drags it out. almost childishly. then he’s angling his body to face you properly, big hands resting on his knees, a determined gaze set on your figure.

”look, i’m sorry,” he starts, rigid and earnest. blinking once, twice, chasing away the drowsy weight of his eyelids. ”i shouldn’t have laughed.”

your ears perk up.

shifting to your side as if hoping to hear him better, you peek up at him through half-lidded eyes. almost in disbelief, a kind of hope sprouting in the corners of your dilated pupils.

is he genuinely going to apologize, you wonder? admit that he was in the wrong? does he actually feel bad?

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, until satoru’s voice spills into the air again.

”there. i apologized,” he exhales, a little gruff. annoyed. ”now will you please just come to bed?”

…

wow. 

okay, nevermind. you hope the ceiling fan falls on him.

beneath your skin, a mellow kind of anger bubbles up, blood slowly coming to a boiling point. he’s not sorry at all. of course he isn’t. you were stupid to think he’d actually give you a sincere apology, stupid to think he’d do the one thing that would actually make you want to fall back into his comforting embrace. stupid, stupid. 

clenching your teeth, nails digging into the velvet fabric of the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut once more. only this time, you don’t plan on opening them again — at least not until morning comes. not until you see the sunkissed tiles of the bathroom, until the ache inside your chest has passed.

”satoru,” you enunciate, frigid and final. ”just let me sleep. we can talk tomorrow.” a beat. the tiniest grumble resounds from your lips, tinged with exhaustion. ”i’m too tired for this.”

under his breath, satoru winces. that palpable fatigue in your words sends a tremor running through his chest, discomforting, a shiver of his heart. you won’t look at him anymore, and the hint of finality in your tone makes him feel slightly dejected.

god, he’s awful at this. sincerity has never been his strong suit. he’s gotten better, lately, but it’s still so very foreign.

he didn’t mean to make you angry, didn’t mean to upset you. didn’t mean for the lilt of his voice to make his apology sound insincere. but that’s still what happened.

and satoru isn’t quite sure what to do. 

he’s tired. eyes heavy with lost sleep, glimpses of would-be nightmares he knows he’d have were he to fall asleep right now. an anxious lump has long since formed in the back of his throat, and he misses you. misses your presence, your warmth. misses the feeling of having you close, the knowledge that you haven’t left yet.

(without you, he can’t —)

a sigh. soft, and resigned, flowing from his lips.

the inner turmoil in satoru’s mind begins to fade, slowly but surely, smoothed away by the sight of you. bundled up in a blanket too small to cover you properly, lying in that cold and cramped bathtub, discomfort evident in your features. sadness dripping from the bitter words you grace him with.

so out of reach, too far for him to follow, a boundary he wants to cross more than anything. but something about that meek expression makes him falter, makes his heart twist and turn inside his ribcage.

(he knows that you’re tired, too.)

so satoru swallows his pride.

the words are spoken in a whisper, hushed, through a voice so low you wouldn’t hear it if the silence of the bathroom wasn’t so suffocating. a soft lilt of his voice, bare and raw. meek, in a way that makes him want to crawl under a rock and die. but it’s there, and he lets you hear it; that soft little truth.

”… i can’t sleep without you.”

satoru doesn’t look at you. his confession rings in your ears, laced together with a softness you’ve come to associate with warm spring mornings and rooms so dark you can’t see his face. moments in which satoru feels safe. safe enough to be sincere.

— inevitably, your heart begins to soften.

(he’s trying. it’s difficult for him, but he’s really trying. sincerity and honesty are things that have been used against him all his life, so it’s no wonder he’d be scared.)

it’s very hard to stay mad at him, when he sounds like that. when his words come out sounding a little too much like a plea, a silent call for help. 

with hesitance, you allow your eyes to flutter open, shifting a little to get a better look at him. he’s there, staring into space — the man you’ve grown to love so dearly. his tousled white hair, those slightly forlorn eyes. the vague darkness beneath them, slightly puffy skin. that tired, tired expression. 

satoru taps the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers, absentmindedly. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over.

then, at last, he meets your gaze. and you think he swallows down a gulp, before smiling — it’s a pretty smile, somewhat tiny. a little sheepish, but awfully sincere. awfully satoru.

he tilts his head, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that melts your heart to the marrow.

”… please?”

a second passes. then two. 

soft and melodic, your heartbeat resounds in your ears, akin to a lullaby. like the call of a siren, coaxing you into giving in. and you’re weak, you realize, so very weak. just a smile and a tilt of his head, and you’re rendered utterly helpless. 

(he’s just too pretty.)

without fully realizing it yourself, you’ve begun to move, dragging yourself up with sluggish motions. blanket still draped over your shoulders, and pillow snug against your chest, you blink. drowsily, slowly. a little meekly. 

and satoru brightens.

it’s visible, in the way he physically perks up, back straightening, smile finally reaching his aquamarine eyes. a blend between hope and affection sprouts in them, slathered over with something honeyed.

a soft grin blooms on his lips, and he opens his arms wide — silently beckoning you to fall into his embrace. a raspy coo tiptoes on his tongue. 

”c’mere.”

before you can make a move to do so, satoru leans over. scooping you up with ease, as if you weigh absolutely nothing, tucking you into his warm embrace. smothering you in his cushiony chest.

almost instinctively, your arms go to wrap around his neck, cheek smushed against the warm skin of his shoulder. if you strain your ears, you think you can hear the soft patter of his heartbeat. he smells of the tiramisu you ate before going to bed, and just a hint of expensive cologne. he smells of comfort.

satoru is soft, and warm, and everything you need right now. lulling you back into that cozy, sleepy state. your very own personal dose of melanin.

with a big palm on the small of your back, satoru keeps you pressed up against his chest, as if you could change your mind and try to escape at any moment. he stands up, still holding you, and hikes your legs around his waist. breathing out a satisfied hum, before turning on his heel.

satoru smiles, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. ”let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

after turning the bathroom lights off, he begins to walk to your shared bedroom, still carrying you with one arm. always so strong and reliable. you know for a fact that he’s not going to drop you, so you opt to close your tired eyes; stretching out your limbs, lazily, releasing a quiet yawn that makes his lips curl up.

despite your lingering frustration, you find yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck — and satoru coos, so painfully soft that you barely even hear it. the restlessness inside his own chest washed away, by the familairity of your body against his.

and before you know it, he’s dropped you down on the mattress. gently, but still enough to make you feel a little jostled, so close to falling asleep in his arms. he drags the blanket up to cover you, tucking you in; this one is bigger, with a fluffier texture, enough to cover you both with ease.

smiling softly at the sight of you all cozy, content in the knowledge that you’re finally comfortable, satoru crawls beneath the blanket and takes his rightful place beside you. eyes crinkled at the corners, rich with affection.

two strong arms reach around your waist, to pull you flush against him, until your head meets his chest and you can hear the soft thrumming of his heartstrings. then he sighs, in pure bliss, thoroughly content. melting into your embrace, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head, nuzzling into the warmth that seeps from your body to his.

he runs his big hands down your back, affectionately, rubbing circles into your skin. coaxing you into melting a little, too.

”see, isn’t this much better?” he smiles, a little cheeky. such a tease.

”… the bathtub was fine.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, rich with fondness. his hand goes to card through your hair, nimble fingers smoothing down your scalp and running through the soft strands. every touch gentle, full of care. every word soaked in a syrupy sweetness.

”stubborn girl.”

despite your best wishes, you’re too tired to bite back the blissful sigh that leaves your lips. a part of you still wants to protest, to push him away —

but then you start leaning into his touch. helpless to his warm hands, his soothing voice. satoru is just a little too good at making you melt. so good that you finally begin to let your guard down, nuzzling into his bare skin, sinking a little further into the mattress. 

and satoru stifles a coo. 

”honestly,” he sighs, equal parts exasperated and amused. ”sleeping in the bathtub… you’re so silly.”

before you have a chance to respond, he’s pulling back — ever so slightly, just to get a better look at your face. arms looped around his neck, you blink up at him with droopy eyes, and he can’t resist the dopey grin that sneaks its way onto his lips. doesn’t even begin to try, when you look so unbearably sweet.

unable to stop himself, he broaches the distance between you, leaning close to kiss the top of your nose. and you squeeze your eyes shut at the gesture, face scrunching up, but it only makes him chuckle. smiling, honey-sweet, he admires your sleepy pout. soaks up every soft little grumble that slips from your lips.

his hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb smoothing down your cheekbone. just gazing at you, taking you in, every single contour of your face. there is only adoration in his eyes. something silently delighted, that seeps into his words, his raspy voice.

”my pretty, pretty girl.”

a heat rushes to your cheeks. looking up at him, into those lovesick eyes, you can’t help but grow flustered.

he looks so content.

all you manage is a weak furrow of your brows, pressing a palm against his bare skin. softly, as if pushing him away, forehead meeting his chest with a soft bonk. hiding away, so he won’t see how much his words affect you.

”lemme sleep, toru…” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

unfortunately, your boyfriend is not one to give in so easily. before long, his fingertips are trailing across the skin of your jaw, coaxing you into lifting your chin. and you’re too sleepy to resist — practically melting, as he begins to smear openmouthed kisses all over your face. all you can do is close your eyes, attempting to ignore the sound of his exaggerated mwahs, frowning in a silent disapproval that you know you don’t actually mean.

satoru notices it, though. he always does.

”you still mad at me, baby?” he asks, in a way that sounds a little like he’s cooing at you. there’s a teasing tilt to his voice, but it’s also a genuine question. your frown deepens.

averting your gaze with a soft huff, even as he cradles your jaw with his slender fingers, a pout plays at your lips. under his kind eyes, you feel just a bit meek — recalling your argument from before. absentmindedly, you fidget with the waistband of his shorts, hoping to ease your nerves.

despite your valiant efforts to direct your vocal cords in a different direction, the voice that spills from your lips comes out sounding just a tad hurt.

”… you never take me seriously.”

satoru’s eyes soften.

his smile falters, by a hair, a brief stilling of movement. subtle, but hard not to pick up on. there’s a certain sense of shame in his irises, a genuine guilt stirring his heartstrings; several discomforting sensations, gnawing at the bones of his ribcage.

(you look so small.)

two hands reach out to cup your cheeks, big and warm. swallowing up your whole face. and before you can react, satoru leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your lips. he tastes like tiramisu. 

”’m sorry. we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he hums, and you can tell that he means it. ”i promise that i’ll take you seriously. for real, this time.”

as you look into those eyes of his, blue and soft around the edges, the last of your frustration is finally washed away. with a meek downward glance, and a faint nod, satoru relaxes — releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. relieved at your silent forgiveness.

tomorrow, he’ll definitely make it up to you. he’ll hear you out, without opening his big mouth, or trying to skirt around any emotions that make him feel even slightly uncomfortable. smoothing a big palm down your back, he hopes you feel it as a silent apology. 

for now, he’ll just hold you. he’ll hold you, and kiss all your worries away, and keep you comfy and warm. that’s his duty. the only one he’d willingly choose, the only weight on his shoulders that never feels even a little bit suffocating. the only one he wouldn’t cast away, if given the chance.

nuzzling back into the safety of his collarbone, your heartbeat settles into a drowsy rhythm, slow and serene. satoru squeezes you in a tight hug, reassuring. comforting.

he can be a handful, and a little insensitive, but you love him a lot. you can’t imagine not loving him. 

”… goodnight, toru,” you whisper. ready to give into sleep’s call, at last.

satoru smiles. you can hear it in his voice, sweet and silky, a soft curl of his lips. ”goodnight, honey,” he presses a kiss against your shoulder. warm, his breath on your skin. ”i love you.”

a yawn escapes your throat. ”love you too…” you mumble, sleepily. that one soft truth, before your consciousness fades.

and satoru’s smile only grows. hopelessly, inevitably, in the same way his hands can’t help but to bring you closer. until your heart is flush against his own, and he swears he can feel your heartbeats synchronize.

finally, with those three little words, satoru should be able to go to sleep. drifting off, he can only hope you’ll still be in his arms by the time he awakens.

(then again; you always are, aren’t you?)

[princessmaybank]

hi princess, I hope your break is going well <33 this is like super specific but could you do a jj x Routledge!reader with super blonde frizzy hair nd jj doesn’t know she dyes it brown until he walks in on her with a lions mane getting dye ready

No pressure at all for u to get to this, i love ur work so so much and I hope you’re going okay princess <333 thank you

thank you for the request! wasn't sure if you wanted smut in there but that's how all of my Fics end up so I'm assuming you do! I'm sorry this turned so dark if you wanted it fluffier. I have recently started Haunting Adeline 😂🤭🩷

Hair Dye

Pairings: JJ x Routledge!Reader

Warnings: Surprise Kiss, Fingering, Rough!Dark!JJ, Spanking, Panty Ripping, Hair Pulling, Choking, P in V, Creampie, Caught, etc.

Summary: Read the ask^

Author's Note: Wrote this so fast, I hope you like it, sorry it's so late!

"I just don't see the point, dad and I have brown hair, you got blonde hair, you should feel special!" John B says as I walk down the aisle searching for the color I want. "That's exactly the point JB. I feel left out. It's odd, plus people have asked us way too many times if we're dating, even though we have the same face." JB rolled his eyes in defeat as I found the shade of brown I was searching so hard for. I was so excited that I could barely wait until we got home.

"Hey JJ is coming over soon!" I hear JB yell from the kitchen as he puts away some groceries. "I expect nothing less. Your boyfriend basically lives here!" I laugh as I go into the bathroom and read the instructions. Once I think I finally have it down and the parts mixed together, my brother calls me into the kitchen. "I'm gonna start cooking dinner. Is there any way I am going to talk you out of this? Blonde hair takes a long time to come back." He says and almost on cue JJ stumbles in the front door. "And yet yours keeps coming back." I say throwing my thumb over my shoulder. He chuckled at my stupid joke and ruffled my hair, causing it to frizz up even more than it already had.

"Hey there, hot stuff." JJ said with a wink. I roll my eyes before walking to the bathroom. "He was talking to you!" I shout teasing JB about his best friend. "I definitely wasn't but okay. What's with her?" I hear him ask my brother. I put the gloves on and get a towel ready under my neck. "She's going to dye her hair. I kept trying to talk her out of it. Fuck, I forgot something at the store. I'll be back, try not to kill each other." I heard the screen door slam as John B ran out.

I heard loud footsteps coming from the hallway until they reached me. "You're not gonna try to talk me out of it too are you?" I say setting down the bottle of dye. "Not gonna try shit" I breathe out a sigh of relief. "You're not doing it." He demanded. "Who do you think you are?" I ask with a full attitude. "Y/N. You don't need to dye your hair." I shook my head. "I want to!" I whined. JJ went to grab the bottle of hair dye and so did I. Eventually he tore it from me and held it above his head. I wasn't able to reach it and he laughed because he thought he had won. I looked him in the eyes and took his face in my hands, planting a big kiss on him. when his lips moved back and forth with mine, I knew he'd drop his arm any second. And he did. I took the chance and stole my bottle back running to the guest bedroom and trying to make it to that bathroom. I wasn't aware JJ was right behind me until I was pinned against the bathroom door.

"Why must you be a little brat all the time?" He asked. JJ's eyes are dark now. This wasn't a game anymore. He removed the bottle from my hand, I let him take it because I was so stunned by this sudden change. "You're. Not. Dying. It." He said with a low menacing voice. "Jay-" I tried to plead, I don't know why, but he was scaring me. He was also kind of arousing me. I never had these feelings for my brother's best friend, maybe it was just how dark he felt in this moment.

He stared into my eyes before placing his lips to mine once again. It felt different this time, I felt a zing, coursing through my veins. His fingertips were now bruising my hips as he lightly humped me through our clothes. This felt unreal. I peak my eyes open for a moment. Yep. it was still JJ. He was still grabbing me with an intense force and grinding his rock hard cock into me.

My eyes shut again and I just went with it. His right hand moved to unbutton my shorts. When he found his way in, he didn't tease, he only plummeted two fingers into my soaked core. "He won't be gone long, if there's something you want from me..tell me now." He demanded again. My eyes stared into his begging to be fucked but I knew it wouldn't be that easy. "F-fuck me.." I whispered through my breath, unable to think as his fingers moved back and forth. "Speak up." His harsh tone scared me slightly but I said my phrase again, louder so he could hear.

His fingers escaped my opening, causing a whine to spill from my lips. He rolled his eyes before pulling my shorts down. I kicked them to the side before I was roughly turned around and slammed up against the door. A gasp flew out of me unexpectedly followed by another when I felt him slap my ass. I let out loud moans as he continued, taking turns with my cheeks. When they were blood red, he squeezed them in his hands. I hissed from the sensitivity he caused.

He toyed with my panties for a few seconds before he spoke. "You don't need these." He chuckled lightly before I heard a ripping sound. Shock was written all over my face as he tore the rest of the thin fabric off of my body. His fingers found my slick folds and teased them for a moment. I was about to chime in before hearing the sound of a zipper and shorts dropping to the ground. I didn't have enough time to process the noise before I felt his cock slide inside me. He let out a dark groan and quickened his pace, not letting me adjust to his size. He was going so fast and so hard. I was a moaning mess. My head started to fall but he didn't let it get too far. His hand pulled me back by my hair while his other wrapped around my throat. His fingertips squeezed tighter, not giving me much room to work air in or out. "You like that? Like my hand wrapped around your throat while you take my cock?" He asked and all I could do was give a small nod before he pulled my hair again, so now my ear was against his lips. "What would John B say if he walked in on us right now? Think he'd be pissed to see his sister with my cock jammed in her tight pussy?" He teased.

Those words were enough to cause an eruption in me. My orgasm hit me like a freight train and slid down his cock and onto his thighs. His hand left my throat and fell to my hips as I pulled in as much air as possible. He fucked me hard a few more times before his cum leaked inside of me.

The sound of the screen door opening and closing apparently wasn't enough to get JJ's dick out of me. My throat was tired, I couldn't mutter a word and JJ knew that. He rode out his high which made my eyes roll back. It was enough for me to squeeze my thighs together and cum again.

"JJ when I said anything, this is not what I meant!" JB shouted. We never even heard him walk in, but we heard the bedroom door slam. We cooled down and I went into the bathroom to inspect my neck. There were bruises where JJ had a hold of me. "What did he mean by that?" I asked. JJ was a lot brighter now. "Oh he messaged me before you two got home and told me to make you not dye your hair. He said to do anything I have to." He chuckled. "Wasn't planning this.." He said pointing to my neck. "But I'm glad it happened." He shrugged and kissed my forehead. A smile spread onto my face before I laid my head on his chest. He held me in his arms and I promised to never dye my hair.

"Good, I like pullin' on this blonde lion's mane." He giggled before I swatted at his chest.

[spidercomics]

wc: 1.096k

contents: jake sully x f!avatar/na'vi!reader, established relationship, pregnant!reader, creampie, breeding kink, unprotected sex, riding, m/f ejaculation, (use of she/her prounons once or twice!).

a/n: seen jake with a deserved breeding kink but not much smut with an actual pregnant mate and it couldn't leave my head, it was so much fluffier than i intended to make it, might have to make an alternate version with more dirty shit 😭 i kinda like this one tho!

jake was in love with you, everyone knew this. but right now? he felt as if he just saw you for the first time again. you had him smitten, flustered, feral — everything that came with being absolutely enraptured by someone.

you looked peaceful, sitting beneath the tree of souls, queue connected with the bioluminescent tendrils that link you directly with eywa. he heard your prayers of gratitude, how you thanked eywa for the healthy, precious child growing within you.

his child, your child.

he was forever in debt to the deity for blessing him with a second chance of life. jake believed his life was over, taken from him so young when he was shot. he survived, but to what cost? he lost everything on earth, leaving for pandora was a way out of the miserable life back home. he thought he was to die on the new planet, hearing the most vicious stories. turns out, it was more military propaganda. he got a new home, all those dreams of flying came true.

he never believed he would find a woman to spend his life with, have kids with. and here he was, a man who'd lost his legs, still running towards his most sacred place. you.

his hands running over your waist, arms wrapping around the skin and bones that protected his firstborn. mo'at thought they were having a son, and jake had the most perfect visual of how a mini-you would look. precious.

he hadn't startled you, his presence was always in the back of your head, you had felt him searching you down.

his hands were enveloping your body, holding you pressed against him for absolutely intimacy. the hormones during your pregnancy had been horrible at the start, anger and sadness was hard to deal with so often. but now? it was pure lust, and even if jake found your pregnant stomach, something he helped cause, incredibly attractive — he was terrified of hurting you. even if your body was stronger than ever right now, he still looked at you as if you've never been more fragile.

his hands traveled around your body, the warmth of his palms lighting a fire in your body, desperate for his attention. desperate to be put out.

and he had caved in, a man could only do so much when his wife was pregnant, round with a product of his love, and begging for him to do something about the heat between her thighs.

his fingers were stroking your spine, your hands perched on his strong chest as you sat on top of him, going up and down on his dick so slow, he thought he was going to explode. the position allowed him to go so deep, reaching places inside of you that had you squirming.

the urge to grab your hips and hold you still, eagerly fucking up into you was too much for jake, but he had to be patient. he was too focused on your tits, that had grown bigger, his fingers tenderly flicking your overly sensitive nipples, body shuddering. your stomach had grown significantly over the past weeks, hands running over the skin, fingers tracing the stretch marks on the sides. your hips, that had grown wider, sat so perfectly on top of his own, so easy to handle you around with.

he loved your body, always.

his hands helped you move, moving between your hips, ass and thighs, front and back — up and down. it was so slow, so deep, that he almost let out a hiss when you bounced up, his dick almost slipping out, tip right in your slit when you clenched around him. the night air was making everything so real, every drop of sweat felt cold. the warmth of your skin, your cunt, the only source of heat.

he was addicted, how did he think he could go months without this?

even as you layed down on him, chest against his own, hips dragging front and back, his dick pushing in and out, he was teased everytime you let him slip out to rub against you instead, catching your clit in the process. he pushed inside again, slowly hitting the spot that made you whimper and quiver.

his dick bottomed out, filling you to the brim, just like that fateful night where you'd ended up pregnant with his child. he'd fill you up again, breeding you as much as he had to to keep having you like this. raw, bare and open to him. it wasn't like anything else he'd ever experience.

"so good sweet girl," he would hold you so close, kisses peppering your forehead that was covered in a sheen of sweat, "so good, gonna fill you up again, keep you round and full for me forever, hmm?"

"please, jake, wanna feel you," he knew what you meant now, grabbing your braid, watching the protected tendrils connect with each other. you were so close, he could feel it now, the pressure building inside so tight. he felt every beat of your heart, of his heart, of his sons heart.

he felt your pain, the soreness of carrying a life around. he felt the pain of the pending orgasm, teetering on the edge, dancing around the sighs of relief that would come if the coil snapped.

"you're so good baby," his fingers traced over your spine again, "want me to take over?" he received a small hum, taking your hips into his big hands, he did what he wanted all this time, holding you still, his hips fucking up into your own, the familiar sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the area surrounded by trees. he felt himself so deep, he felt the hits of his dick tapping against your cervix, the pleasure you felt when he hit the spongy spot, making your vision blurry, ears blocking out all noise around you.

weeks without a release, you'd never been more happy when euphoria hit you, head in jake's neck, the scent of him bringing more pleasure than it should. jake felt your tight walls around him, sucking him in further as his own release came shortly after, small groans of ecstasy leaving his lips. this was so much better than getting off on his own, feeling his beautiful wife instead of imagining you. it could never compare.

he'd fill you up everyday if he'd have you forever, showing everybody you're his. he was so grateful for you, for his child, for his home. this was merely a dream a year ago.

now it was his reality.

© 2023, spidercomics - all rights reserved.

[zorrasucia]

you cannot say they had mirror sex in the bathroom and not give us the entire thing 😭 thank you for part 4 it was amazing as always!

Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it!!! <3

It's a little fluffier than usual but here you go:

Teach Me Tonight - Deleted Scene

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] Deleted Scene: [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (1k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Fluff, Domesticity, Virgin!Carmy, Mirror Sex, P in V sex, Fingering, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

It was a quiet night with Carmy at your place. You had dinner and watched a movie. Well, half a movie, you had both fallen asleep on the couch, wiped out after a long day. You woke up to some indie song playing over the credits. Carmy was breathing peacefully, his head on your chest and your arms around him. It was a crime to wake him up but you were both going to regret it if you actually spent the night intertwined like you were. 

You squeezed him.

"Carm..." you kissed the name into his temple. 

"Mmm?" 

"Let's go to bed, baby."

He shook his head and buried himself deeper into your embrace, his curls tickling your neck. 

"Well, I'm going to bed. Last time we fell asleep here I was sore for days. And not the kind of sore I like," you joked.

Carmy let out a resigned huff and kissed the inside of your arm. He helped you to get up, dragging his feet to the bathroom while you got changed. You joined him as he brushed his teeth, your elbows touching, sharing tired looks. Carmy leaned against the counter, waiting while you washed your face. There was a tenderness about him. You couldn't resist kissing him, slow and sweet, the minty taste of toothpaste tickling your tongue. 

You opened your eyes and saw in the mirror a glimpse of Carmy's bare torso, the muscles of his back beautiful in the dimly lit bathroom, and your hands caressing all over. It did something to you. And so you kissed him again, a little harder this time, keeping your eyes wide open to see the way he moved when he was caught up in wanting you...

"What're you looking at?" he asked when you parted for breath and he found your gaze fixed on the mirror. 

You blushed. "Well, believe it or not, I find you very attractive."

"Oh?" he tilted his head, sleep still clouding his thoughts a little. 

"You look very nice when you kiss me, is all," you explained and he huffed in disbelief. "You do! I promise!" 

You grabbed his waist and turned around with him, your back now to the mirror. You got close, an inch away from his lips, and instructed him: "Don't close your eyes," and you kissed him with all your might. 

You could picture it: his tattooed hands grabbing at the satin of your sleep shirt, his toned forearms pulling you towards his body... 

If his sharp inhale was any indication, he enjoyed the sight just as much as you did. 

"Fuck," he said against your mouth after a moment. "Can I just-?" his fingers touched the thin straps on your shoulders. You nodded, feeling the slippery fabric pool at your feet a second later. 

He held you, hands roaming your back, marveling at the reflection, the way you shivered with his touch. He kissed you with newfound fervor, biting and grabbing greedily. It made you feel wanted - but also a little left out. 

You swayed in his embrace so that you were both able to see. 

He turned you around, your back to his chest, holding you close by the waist. Your fingers carded his hair leisurely, admiring the picture of you two together. You saw his hands roam over your body, kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples, closing on your neck. His breath tickled your cheek and his eyes were dark with lust, transfixed on the mirror.

"Fuck," you exhaled. Your hands joined his, encouraging him to squeeze a little harder. "Yes."

Something animalistic took over Carmy and he turned you around and cornered you, a little rough, your cheek to the wall, and started kissing your neck, your shoulders, your back while he got rid of your shorts. He kept stealing glances at the mirror every now and then. His hand snaked between your body and the wall, and cupped your pussy. In the reflection, your face was flushed, full of want, mouth open, a perfect match for Carmy's. You thrusted into his hand, involuntarily grinding your ass into his clothed cock, making him groan and get even closer to you. He nipped at your earlobe while two of his fingers went inside you, hooking up to hit your G-spot. 

"Shit," you sighed, feeling your knees buckle. "We're going to need a condom, huh?"

Carmy chuckled into the nape of your neck, the rough facade fading away. You escaped his attentions for a few moments to get one from the bedroom. You returned to find him completely naked, the head of his cock covered in precum.

In the mirror, you could see the strain on his arms as he rolled the rubber on his cock, then grabbed your thighs and pinned you against the wall. 

"Carmy..." you mumbled into his neck, his hard on teasing at your entrance. You arched your back; the sight reflected was straight out of porn. 

"Look at you," he praised.

"Shit, look at you," you said back, swaying your hips so that he could watch himself moan, face a little sweaty and jaw slack.

He thrust forward, slow and deliberate, drawing a low groan from you. 

"Fuuuuuck, yes, fuck," you blurted out when his cock went inside you.

He hummed appreciatively: he loved when he could hear how much you were enjoying yourself.

He moved, almost all the way out, and then a snap of his hips made you roll your eyes and exhale sharply. He did it again: snap, bottoming out, snap - just this side of painful, almost loving in its forcefulness. 

"Please, please," you keened. 

"Mmm?" Carmy looked so blissed out he could barely speak and you couldn't blame him in the slightest. Your eyes locked in the mirror with his blue ones, and you held tighter to his broad shoulders, anticipating. 

"Harder," you pleaded.

And he was all too happy to oblige. You turned into a pliant mess: legs shaking, boobs bouncing, pussy squeezing the fuck out of his cock. He went faster, the sight of himself buried deep inside you egging him on. 

"Just like that," nonsense spilled out of your mouth, his hair grazing your cheek. Your ankles locked behind him and his hips kept rutting into yours. "You look so good inside me," you praised.

"Yeah?" he exhaled, his eyes were glazed and half lidded. You kissed the side of his face with your mouth open, tasting salt. 

"So fucking good," you insisted, you were close and, judging by Carmy's jagged breath, he was too. Your eyes wandered over his body, his tattooed arms, veiny hands, muscular shoulders, and taut legs. All enclosed by your embrace, all yours. "Mine, you're mine." 

It slipped - soft, a confession in your half lit bathroom. 

"Yours. Completely," he replied immediately. He wasn't even watching anymore, eyes shut, engulfed in you. His nose was buried in the crook of your neck, every breath he took a full bodied experience. "Take it," he punctuated with a hard thrust. "Take me."

You shivered in his embrace, losing control of your limbs. He kept on, holding on just enough for your release. 

His knees gave out and you found yourselves lying on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. 

"That was fire," he said, heaving. 

"Some of your best work, Carm," you managed to quip, feeling boneless and giddy. "Three stars."

You raised a hand for a high five that he returned; it ended with your fingers intertwined in his and both of you laughing breathily. 

You remained there for a while, looking at the ceiling, groggily trying to come up with reasons for not installing a mirror above the bed you shared.

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly. “Baby,” he tugged at your wrist. “C’mon. If we fall asleep on the floor, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You hummed in agreement, not quite coming up with some clever remark about how now you were sore just the way you liked. Instead, you let him lift you up and carry you the couple of steps that separated you from the bed, inhaling the smoke and lust of his skin. 

"Hey," you called softly, "I love you."

He settled behind you on the mattress, one arm over your waist.

"Love you too," he breathed into the nape of your neck.

~

@th3h0nkz

[luvvannie]

!? --- YOUR HUSBAND, FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

>> husband!fyodor x fem!reader (one use of 'princess,' and 'milaya,' but other than that, pretty gn!)

syn. a compilation of husband fyo headcannons :)

gen. fluffier than his hat

care.

i see a lot of people making him out to be so confident and MPH and although i am not here to undermine that thought (bc i am also horrendously in love w/ that possibility), i simply bring to the table SHY FYO !!!

like like like :(((((( him expressing his care for in like the most subtle ways,, like memorising your nap schedule and working around it for dates and outings AAAHH

and then ud be like 'but fyo isn't that time difficult for u??' and he'd respond 'but thats an hour after the time u wake up from ur nap in the evening so ull have enough time to get ready and pick ur outfit and do ur hair and ur makeup' AND THEN ULL BE LIKE 'AWWW FYOOOOO' and then he'll be so confused bc to him it's like how was that cute i was just being practical 🧍‍♂️

going off of the whole memorising things about you... i feel like he would just have your orders for whatever place written off on a little sticky note in the back of his mind... like he NAILS ur order without so much as a confirmation from you... it's like watching a well-oiled machine run tbh, 'one ___ but without the ___ and extra ___ and also a ___ in a meal with a ___. thank you." LIKE WOW!!! THATS UR MAN!!!

physical affection.

okay listen... still going with shy fyo but steering a little away because AFFECTIONATE FYO???? FYO WHO WILL RANDOMLY GRAB YOUR HAND OUT OF NOWHERE AND STROKE HIS THUMB OVER YOUR KNUCKLES, BEFORE TAKING YOUR HAND TO HIS LIPS AND KISSING EACH FINGER??? FYO WHO WILL WALK INTO THE ROOM, KISS YOUR TEMPLE AND TELL YOU HE LOVES YOU WHILE YOURE JUST MINDING YOUR OWN BUSINESS AND THEN WALK BACK OUT LIKE HIS BUSINESS WAS FINISHED???? FYO WHO WILL WALK UP BEHIND YOU WHILE YOU'RE COOKING OR DOING CHORES AND JUST BACKHUG YOU AND STAY LIKE THAT FOR THE NEXT HUNDRED BEATS???????? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH

i think it definitely wldve taken a while for him to adjust tho. just imagining him at the very start of ur relationship when u both were just silly little college students and you would put your arms around him for a hug and he would just STIFFEN COMPLETELY and not know how to respond... BUT HE GOT THERE IN THE END OKAY!!

i think i may go as far as to argue that he will be the one initiating most of it now... although that's not to say you don't do any of it, because you most definitely do.

i think his favourite is your hugs :(( although i don't think he would ever say that outloud..

householding.

he doesn't like it when you do chores. like he REALLY REALLY doesn't like it...

when you first started living together (before marriage), and he would find you washing dishes, he would just silently come beside you and bump you out of the way and take over without a word LMAOOO

he has gotten more used to it however,, considering the fact that he, unfortunately for him, cannot princess you for every waking hour... he still doesn't love it though. he would much rather you sit there and look pretty and not raise a fingertip.

cooking is an exception though, because he likes doing it with you :((

BUT NO KNIVES AND ESPECIALLY NO CHEESE GRATERS AFTER THAT ONE TIME YOU ACCIDENTALLY CUT YOUR FINGER GRATING A CARROT...

you get to do the fun stuff though, like measuring the ingredients and mixing them all together. i really don't think he's that vocal though, he'll just kinda do him part and then nudge the bowl towards you silently like 'its ur turn do ur thing'

he loves that you're talking your ass of the entire time, something about it feels so endearing to him... the whole time he'll just be giving you small, half-sentences like...

'FYOOOO THE BATTER IS ON MY SHIRTTTTTT!!!'

'that's why i tried to roll up your sleeves earlier, darling...'

'ITS GOING TO STAIN!!!!!!!!!!'

'just... we can just wash it off...'

'HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEEEE!?!?!?!?!'

'uhm... you have something on the-'

'AAAAAAAAA ITS ON THE FRONT'

'i told you to wear an apron...'

healing.

when you're sick, he's gone complete caretaker mode... he will NOT allow you to get up from your resting space (whether it be the bed, or the sofa), NO MATTER WHAT THE CIRCUMSTANCES.

he'll cook you very good meals!! making sure they're healthy for you and also extremely tasty so that he can try to coax you back into your appetite and get you the nutrients you need to get better :(( carries you your meals on a little lap desk, and will spoon-feed you each bite until you've had enough, AND ONLY UNTIL YOU'VE HAD ENOUGH!

he's just overall very gentle with you :((

you've lost your appetite and can't have anymore than half of the portion he cooked for you?? 'it's alright love, i'll save it for later.'

your blocked nose is keeping you up and you haven't been able to sleep the entire night because of it?? 'oh, milaya, why didn't you tell me sooner?' before he gets you some nose drops and then rocks you to sleep in his arms.

you're sad because you can't go out for date night like the two of you planned for anymore?? THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN'T HAVE A GOOD NIGHT IN EACH OTHER'S COMPANY!! ITS GO FISH TIME!!!! (yes he will use his expensive playing cards to play go fish with you just to make you feel better he's THAT devoted)

de-stressing.

those nights when you're both stressed and tired and overstimulated out of your minds are strangely enough, your favourite nights, because you know that you'll be able to come home to your loving husband and disappear into his warmth...

you get home a little earlier than he does, so you take the opportunity to warm the bed, as you wait for him to arrive with your mandatory de-stress-cuddles, and before you know it, you're drifting off...

until you're awoken again by the feel of the warm covers gliding against your skin, and the mattress shifting slightly beneath you, opening your eyes to see ITS YOUR PACKAGE!!! ITS HERE!!!!!

you both don't waste any time and practically envelope each other with warmth take a few moments to situate yourselves, mumbling a few croaky 'i love you's before completely falling asleep.

you'll pay for sleeping in your uncomfortable work clothes when the two of you wake up again around three in the morning and decide to FINALLY shower... and then go back to bed.

a/n. hehe first post on this acc yayayay!! hope these were good :)) i'm so inlove with him oh my lord... N E WAYS REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !!!

[flowersandbigteeth]

Your werebear mate takes you camping

I've gotten a whole bunch of requests for a sweet moment with Hugo, so this is filling a bunch of them ^_^' This is a lot gentler and fluffier than the other ones, per request :)

General Plot: Hugo wants to teach you some camping skills, so you go on a hike!

Hugo (Werebear) x Female reader

Word Count: 2.5k

W: sweet, fluffy smut, vaginal sex, outdoor sex

NSFW Masterpost <-- previous parts

“Why are we doing this again?” you griped as you smacked another mosquito off of your neck. You paused your march to spray yourself down with more bug spray.

The trees rose up around you, tall and old deep in the forest you were hiking through. Ahead of you Hugo cleared a path through the brush with his wide body, bending whatever saplings he encountered out of the way. 

“So that you can learn some survival skills,” he said cheerfully. 

He loved hiking and the great outdoors. It was one of his favorite hobbies. Usually he went by himself or with another bear from his pack, but this time he’d insisted you tag along. 

“You’d be totally helpless if you were lost in the wilderness. I’m going to teach you some things,” he went on. 

Something rustled in the brush and you skipped a bit to catch up to him and buried your hand in his fur. 

“When am I going to be lost in the wilderness?” you asked, “you gonna abandon me here?” 

A deep chuckle erupted from his lips as he snapped another sapling. 

“Of course not honey cake,” he said, “but you never know when you’ll need to know how to start a fire or set a trap. What if your plane went down in the forest and you had to survive until rescue came?” 

You let out a deep sigh, sure that would never happen. 

“Are we even allowed to be here?” you asked. 

You’d strayed from the trail long ago and now Hugo was leading you deep into the woods. Your pant legs were already shredded from brambles and the mosquitos were terrible. 

“Who knows?” he said, shrugging his massive shoulders, “but I have someplace special to show you.” 

“Is it much further?” you whined. 

“Not much,” he offered vaguely. 

While you dragged one foot in front of the other, you daydreamed about being in a nice air conditioned coffee shop with a large iced latte in your hand. 

“My legs are tired,” you pouted to Hugo, “if we don’t stop soon, I’m going to drop dead right where I’m standing.” 

You heard him laugh, before he turned to you and scooped you up in his arms. 

“I should make you walk,” he grumbled, “in a real life situation I won’t be here to carry you.” 

Giggling up at him you snuggled deeper into his arms, rubbing your face against his furry chest. 

“Good thing we’re not in a real life situation. I’d have already given up and would be eaten by wolves,” you said. 

You felt his chest rumble as he chuckled. 

“I bet you’d be delicious,” he said, pinching your bottom with the hand holding you up, “they would tell their pups stories about your tender flesh and lament that they couldn’t have it again.”

You looked up at him and narrowed your eyes. 

“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” you said, giving him a flat laugh. 

“Don’t worry,” he snickered, “if anything is going to eat you it will be me.”  

You patted him on his furry chest and giggled, your cheeks warming a bit. Somewhere in the distance you heard rushing water, getting louder each step Hugo took closer to it. 

Finally, the trees thinned and you peaked out of Hugo’s big arms to see a beautiful waterfall. Water rushed over the many large rocks that appeared to have tumbled out of the mountain creating shelves as the water worked its way down. 

“This is beautiful, Hugo,” you gasped, taking in the lovely green foliage that crowded the fall. At the base a clear pool filled with fat fish and multicolored river rock collected ice cold water from the mountain top. 

He set you down on a rock overlooking the peaceful scene, taking the pack off of your back and started setting things up. You’d brought plenty of supplies, since Hugo could carry a lot on his back. The only thing missing was a tent, as he informed you that it would be much better to sleep underneath the stars. With him around you didn’t have to worry about predators sneaking up on you in the dark. 

When he’d organized your little camp, he started a fire. You watched him step out of the old pair of jeans he was wearing and gasped. His body never ceased to excite you. Even covered in fur, you could make out the planes of his impeccable muscles, flexing as he kicked off his pants. You swallowed a sip of water from your bottle, taking in the thick cock nestled between his thighs. It took you a moment to even question why he was undressing. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” you stammered and he shot you a predatory flash of fang. 

“I’m going to catch us some dinner,” he explained, turning away from you and wading into the water. 

The sun was already getting low in the sky, the rocky mountainside casting long shadows over your camp. You had no idea how Hugo could see, but apparently his vision was much better than yours. Curious about his technique you watched him standing stock still in the rushing water, his sharp eyes cast down. It was a testament to his size that the water just moved around him. It would have knocked you off of your feet in a second, but Hugo stood like a statue. Then he was a blur, striking the water with his large hands. A second later he tossed a thick fish next to you on the ground. 

You jumped, surprised and hurried to capture the fish before it flopped back in the water. Comically grasping the fish as it thrashed in your hands, all you could think to do was walk a few steps away from the water’s edge and shove it in the pot you’d brought to cook with and stick the top on. 

Not sure what to do with the first fish, you certainly weren’t sure what to do with the three more Hugo tossed at you. When he finally got out of the water, he shook it out of his fur like a dog. He shot you a big smile as you tried to wrestle the other fish that were gasping for air. 

“Come here,” he said, taking one of the fish from you and scooping up the other two, “I’ll show you how to dress them. 

After that gross lesson, he put the cleaned fish on sticks, propping them over the fire. 

You sat down next to Hugo, cuddling into his warmth as the temperature dropped. The sun was already behind the mountain and the sky was turning a rich bluey-purple. 

“It’s official,” you said, “I’m never going into nature without you. I would never be able to gut those guys by myself.” 

He chortled, putting an arm around you. The campsite was filled with the delicious smell of roasting fish and your stomach grumbled with anticipation. When they were done, Hugo carefully extracted yours and sliced it up so you could eat it easily. He chewed on his right off of the stick. By that time the stars were popping out one by one in the inky sky. Out this far there was no light pollution so your mouth hung open as you took it all in. 

“There’s so many!” you chirped, as you leaned back into Hugo’s fur to observe them. “It’s beautiful.” 

He chuckled behind you, his belly full. 

“See? Camping’s not so bad, is it?” he asked into your ear. 

You felt his soft, fluffy fur brushing your neck and a shiver rolled over your body. Pursing your lips you gave him a fake pout. 

“Like I said,” you sulked, “I’m only coming out here with you. I couldn’t do any of this on my own.” 

He wrapped his big arms around you and squeezed you tight. 

“No one else better be taking you on camping trips,” he said, “or they are going to have to fight off a very angry bear.” 

You rubbed your cheek into his furry chest and yawned, tired after the long walk. 

“Let’s get you tucked in,” he murmured. 

He rolled out two sleeping bags and you pouted. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reading the disappointment on your face. 

“Nothing,” you snapped. 

His eyebrow rose as you fussily got into your sleeping bag and huffed, turning away from him. You were being a little childish because you were kind of cranky after the long hike. 

“It’s cold,” you pouted. 

You heard Hugo let out a rumbling laugh and drew your brows, annoyed that he found it funny. 

“Come here honey cake,” he said, extracting you from your sleeping bag like you weighed little more than a doll and pulled you into his. 

“Did you want to sleep next to me?” he asked. 

You felt silly, so you just nodded into his chest, snuggling into his warmth. He laughed again, stroking your hair. 

“I should have guessed,” he whispered, “look up.” 

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be looking at, getting comfy next to your mate, but when you did your eyes popped. The sky was streaked with shooting stars. 

“I chose tonight because there is a meteor shower,” he said, his thick fingers brushing the hairs crowding your face out of the way. 

“This…this is amazing Hugo,” you gasped, unable to tear your eyes away. 

Hugo watched for a moment with you before his interests turned elsewhere. The pads of his fingers traced your neck and then across your shoulder blades. Instinctively, you cast your gaze on him, but he nudged your chin back up. 

“Don’t look at me,” he purred, “keep watching.” 

Your body was tingling with anticipation as he pushed your shirt up and tugged your bra down to get access to your breasts. His big warm hands cupped them and you could feel the delicious prick of his claws on your skin. You tried your best to keep your eyes on the many streaks of color lighting up the sky, but your eyelashes fluttered with pleasure. 

A low moan left your lips as his warm mouth closed over your nipple, circling it with his tongue. His touch was so familiar and comforting. You never wanted another person to touch you the way and the places he did. He possessed your body and you eagerly accepted his attention. 

“Hugo!” you gasped, arching your back so that he had better access to you. 

His fingers tugged at the other nipple, making you mewl out loud. Your panties were already soaked, feeling sticky against your skin. 

“Please, Hugo. More,” you managed to mutter and you felt his body, tucked so close in the sleeping bag, rumble with delight. 

His thick fingers unzipped your pants with surprising dexterity and slid them off you, leaving only your wet panties. A thumb traced your slit, stopping at your clit to stroke languid circles. You gasped and keened, pressing your mound into his fingertips. 

With a tearing sound, you realized his claws had sliced right through the chaste cotton panties you were wearing, leaving you bare for his fingers to explore. He dipped a thick digit inside of you, collecting some of your wetness before he circled your needy bundle of nerves with it. 

His mouth found yours, his thick tongue snaking out to taste you. Your peaked nipples brushed the soft fur on his chest, the sensation decadent and luxurious. He was so big looming over you, carefully holding himself up so he didn’t crush you. You adored the way he was incredibly strong but could be so delicate with you. 

You reached out to find his cock, thick and firm, dripping a steady stream of precum. Feeling his need made your insides melt to mush. Your mate wanted you and only you. He hissed in pleasure as you rolled your palm over the wide head, then down his shaft. 

You both moaned and grunted in pleasure as you handled one another. His cock was hot and throbbing in your hand, while he pinched and rubbed your clit faster and harder every second you touched him. He wound the thread of pleasure tighter and tighter until the stars were imprinted on the back of your eyelids. You screamed his name as he pushed you over the edge, bucking your hips into his big hand. 

“Who do you belong to, honey cake?” he muttered, “tell me who makes you feel good.” 

“You Hugo,” you gasped, hardly able to let out the words. 

You heard his approving growl before he pulled you on top of him, letting the sleeping bag fall back so your breasts were exposed to the night air. It was cool, but his big hands roaming over you were so hot, you hardly noticed it. 

“Take what you want, (Y/N),” he groaned, “I want to see you come apart on top of me.” 

You let out a little squeal, lowering your hips onto his thick cock. You always had to take it carefully, he filled and stretched you completely. It took you a minute to slowly descend so that your hips were flush. He let out a rumbling roar when you were fully seated. 

His eyes on you were glittering in the firelight as he took you in. 

“My mate,” he rumbled, “You’re so beautiful. Prettier than a sky full of stars.” 

His words propelled you forward and you bounced on his stiff shaft, pushing yourself higher and higher, towards your end. He cupped your breasts, kneading them and plucking your nipples until your head was thrown back, muttering curses to the silent mountain. 

It was good there was no one around to hear all of the loud, lusty noises you were making. As your pace got erratic, so close to cumming, Hugo took over. His hands gripped your hips, the tips of his claws pricking your skin as he thrust up into you. He took you hard, the sound of your ass slapping his thighs echoed around you. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he growled and you couldn’t deny him, parting your folds with your much smaller fingers and hazily circling your clit. 

Your other hand clutched your bouncing breast, teasing the nipple. All the while Hugo’s hungry gaze ate you up. The way he looked at you, full of sensual longing made you feel like a goddess. You knew he adored every part of you. Every bit of cellulite and every little scar his eyes met with a ferocious greed. 

Not able to hold back any longer, you erupted, hot pleasure washing over your body in thick ripples. He snapped his cock into you once, twice, then on the third time you felt a wave of searing cum fill you as he roared his release. You fell forward, spent, your nose buried in his neck. He stroked your back gently, not ready to pull out of you yet. He pulled the sleeping bag up around you so your skin, damp from sweat, wouldn't make you cold. 

“I love you little honey cake,” he hummed, his voice thick and low. 

“I love you,” you breathed into his neck. 

You let him cuddle and stroke you until you drifted off to sleep with him still inside of you.

[shadowdaddies]

can i request the dark eeader x feysand where they find out about her? but they’re not mad or anything just very surprised. maybe they walk in on her grabbing the whole court by the balls and see how much fear she puts in them and how much she really controlls👀

hi hiii love! this took a minute to get to a much requested part 2 to The Real Nightmare but here it is 💜 this part is much fluffier

The Real Nightmare - Pt. II

poly!Feysand x dark!Reader

Striding into the council chambers, you smirked at Keir’s palpable trepidation. “You reek of fear,” you drawled, a dark chuckle leaving your lips as you tracked his shaky hands folded together on the table. 

Keir swallowed audibly, voice cracking as he tried to keep it steady. “I never know what to expect from you.” 

Your abdominals ached from the bellowing laugh that escaped you at the ridiculous statement. With a wicked smile, your eyes glittered as you twisted the tip of your dagger against the obsidian table, sickening pleasure filling you at the male’s horrified expression. “You should know exactly what to expect from me, dear little lord. From the moment you dared to glance in my direction at Thanatos’s hearing - surely, you were expecting this.”

Keir’s eyes widened as he recalled the moment. He had almost exposed you in front of your mates. Cocking your head, lips spread in a condescending smile that bared your teeth. You stalked closer to where the male sat, the grating sound of your dagger scraping along the table as you moved. Leaning down, your warmth breath tickled Keir’s ear as you pushed your blade against the skin of his throat. “I’m going to enjoy-“

The heavy doors to the chambers swung open, and you slowly craned your neck to look, already knowing who was standing their from their familiar scents. Feyre looked taken aback, slightly wide-eyes in a way that revealed her surprise only to someone who knew her as well as you did. Rhysand, however, was emanating dark power, his fury rolling off of him in waves as violet eyes danced between you and Keir.

“Keir,” Rhys greeted curtly before turning his attention to you. “I hate to interrupt this... entertaining display, but I am in need of my mate at the moment. Keir, you may stay where you are,” Rhys directed towards the pale lord, clearly in command rather than an invitation. 

Jerking his head towards the door, Rhys gave you the silent command to follow him and Feyre out into the hall. Without any warning, Rhys gripped your wrist, winnowing the three of you to a dark, stone room. Dim faelights flickered, the room devoid of furniture as you were forced to stand your ground against their questioning eyes.

Studying your stance - arms crossed, chin high in defiance - Rhys finally sighed in relent. “What were you doing in there with Keir?”

Pausing for a moment, you glanced between Rhys and Feyre as you gauged their expressions - whether it would be worth the effort to lie, or had you been caught already? “I... I thought that Keir knew more about Thanatos than he let on in Court. I wanted to ask him about it, and the situation became unusually tense,” you declared, holding your head high so as not to betray any hint of nerves you felt. 

When a feline smirk crossed Rhysand’s lips, you knew that you had been caught. With a hum, his eyes roved your body, as though he could see everything past your mental shields. “Unusually tense?” He questioned, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as he spared an amused look at Feyre, who looked at you with nothing but sympathy.

“What an interesting choice of words. When Azriel was questioning Thanatos about his daughter, he learned some interesting information.” You swallowed, nostrils slightly flaring as you struggled to keep your heart rate even. “Which prompted me... to ask others in the court about, what did you call it? ‘Unusual’ tensions?”

His fingers thrummed the desk behind him as his and Feyre’s eyes glazed. They knew how you hated it when they communicated mind-to-mind in front of you, but when Rhys’s eyes refocused on you, he seemed to have calmed. 

Feyre stepped forward, her delicate hands taking hold of your as she spoke in a sweet voice. “We are just confused. I thought that you were afraid of the Hewn City... we’ve been worried about you.” A small laugh escaped her, lips curling as she tried to hide her amusement. “It seems, however, that you do not need our coddling, if what we have heard is true.”

Your eyes flicked to Rhys, observing the bemused expression on his face before you sighed. You tried to look away in shame, only for Feyre to tuck a finger under your chin, gently turning you to look her in the eyes. Melting under her gaze, you gained the courage and comfort to confess. 

“I... I was scared of the Court of Nightmares, at first. I didn’t mean to lie to you, but I could only take so much of how those low-lifes treated you and the others in the court.” You looked to Rhys, holding back your tears as you continued. “I’ve always felt like I didn’t contribute to the Inner Circle, but taking this role - helping make the decisions that I knew were hard for the both of you - I finally felt like I was doing something. I know it’s nothing compared to what you both do for the court, but it made me feel like I had a place.”

Feyre gasped, tears escaping her as Rhys bowed his head in shame. Golden brown hair brushed your cheeks as Feyre leaned her forehead against yours. “You contribute more than enough, just by being you. We love you, regardless of how you want to act in the Court of Nightmares. You are our mate. They bend to you, not the other way around.”

Rhys came up next to Feyre, gently pulling her to the side so that he could look at you as well, his warm hand tracing your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “We love you, no matter how shy - or frightening - you might be to others. I support whatever role you want to play in this court, because it comes second to you. You matter more to us than all of Prythian. I just ask that you be honest.” 

You nodded, leaning into his comforting touch as you squeezed Feyre’s hand in yours. “I only didn’t want to overstep, but I would do anything to protect you and this court.” Plush lips curved into a soft smile as Feyre leaned in, kissing your lips softly and assuredly. 

“I think we can make that work,” she giggled, turning towards Rhys, the High Lord’s gears already turning in his mind as he planned your new role in the court.

From then on, you stood proudly between your mates in court, an open threat to any who dared challenge them.

[ofallthingsnasty]

tags: toxic dom/sub dynamics, fat (and insecure about it) reader, face-fucking, a little bit disgusting because it's a punishment mini disclaimer: i'm still not up to date with one piece but this is is pre-canon. this started out fluffier in my head but it's crocodile so hey, haha. just a little pwp. pairing: sir crocodile/f!reader word count: 1.9k

“Darling.” His voice floats to you through the half-closed door of your walk-in closet, where you’re currently hiding - eyes on your reflection, fingers pinching and prodding at seemingly too-snug fabric.

You know that tone, the barely concealed sigh. Shit.

“It’s your size, is it not?” Is it? You aren’t quite sure, yourself. You got into it just fine, the tight fabric easing over your thighs, your ass and then your stomach way better than expected (there have been garments that surrendered before they even got over your hips, that wouldn’t zip over your soft back)  - but when you gave yourself a once-over, your face fell at the sight of your stomach in velvet, very clearly there, very clearly on display. It fits in theory, you think, but it looks beyond unflattering, makes you feel uneasy, as though you’re already being judged by strangers who are bound to stare should you wear this outside of your home. The soft clink of metal on wood pulls you out of your thoughts.

The door moves behind you and through the mirror, you can see Crocodile slowly ducking into the room, cigar smoke lazily following him.

He looks tired, eyes half-lidded and hair just a smidge out of place - he's had a long day but the sticky, heavy weight of your insecurity doesn't care, keeps your thoughts hot and oh- you cross your hands in front of your body, suddenly anxious to be seen by him. (It’s silly, so silly, and you know it, because he has seen way more than this.) “So it does fit.”

His face is hard to read - some part of you half-expected him to pull a grimace at the way the garment seems to exaggerate your belly, although he’s never done that to you. 

“Don’t you think that there is too much on display like that?”, you ask and your brows furrow in ugly self-doubt, turning around to look at him. Expensive or not, the fabric seems to cling to your hip dips in such a way it makes you want to crawl into one of his fur coats and never emerge again, to be hidden away forever. His steely eyes flick down for a split second, one puff of smoke the only indication that he has registered your words. His shoulders sink with a long exhale.

“You know, I’m starting to think that you’re just being an ungrateful little brat.” Out of everything that could have left his mouth, this is not what you expected. Your head snaps back to your stunned eyes in the floor-length mirror. Something akin to panic makes your heart thrum, not wanting to appear like you’re trampling his expensive gifts with your bare feet. “No, I-” Another heavy sigh interrupts you. And like a thoroughly trained dog, it makes you shut your mouth. 

“You get nothing but the best this town, this country, has to offer and yet you complain about every single piece of clothing I pick out for you.” You shrink into yourself, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. He’s right and you know it. You have rejected, tossed aside any dress, any blouse, any pair of pants he had brought to you in the last few weeks. Not out of malice, never out of malice - but out of frustration with yourself. “It’s not like that, really-”

“Then what is it? Your silly little insecurities again?”, he says, so nonchalantly that it almost makes you groan. “How tiresome.”

He closes his eyes and his forehead twitches as his frontalis muscle strains. You're in trouble now. “Strip.”

His tone doesn’t allow any backtalk - even your wide eyes don’t soften his face, although he can clearly see them through the glass of the mirror. “I’m sorry”, you wobble over your lower lip. “It’s just-” A wave of his hand is enough to stop you, a lone strand of hair that has fallen loose moving in sync with the shake of his head. 

“Where are your manners?”

Oh. So that's how he wants to play. You’re both mortified and glad, because it means that he isn’t going to storm out of your bedroom and hide away in his office. This is an open, an opportunity to make things better. Just do as he says, just be good for him.

“I’m sorry, Sir”, you eke out while you reach for the closest zipper of the dress. “I don’t care.”

He stares and stares as you peel off the layers of clothing, right until you're naked, a pile of neatly folded fabric right by your feet, still with your back to him. Weird as it sounds, you feel better - freer, without any area of your body highlighted by tight fabric or harsh shadows. 

Still, you have a hard time holding his gaze - too afraid to catch his ire, for this to be nothing but a ploy to humiliate you. He steps closer until you can feel the heat of his body on the skin of your back, until the smell of tobacco grows so thick you feel it settle itself into sinuses. Strong fingers dig into the fat of your cheeks, press so harshly into it that they must be able to feel the curve of your teeth as they push your mouth forward. It’s not a loving touch. You stare at your reflection, looking as stupid as you feel right now.

“I work all day, all night to provide for you, to keep you fed and happy. And then, when I try to indulge you, you pick apart any gift I bring to you.”

He lets the words settle in for a moment and holds your eyes through the glass.

 “Do you know how that makes me feel?”

You can guess. You probably know. But you don't want to say it out loud, guilt still heavy in your stomach.

“No, Sir”, you slur against his grip.

He raises a thin brow at your audacity. That little bit of disobedience is going to cost you later, no doubt.

“Like shit”, he spits out and lets his hand fall away, dragging your head to the side with it.

“Do you know what I'm going to do now?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You don’t. But you don’t expect him to be gentle, not with the way his brows are still tightly knit together.

He clicks his tongue. “Turn around. On your knees.”

You do as he says, hands wringing around each other just over your lap, a nervous gesture. His gaze weighs heavy as he just takes his time to appraise you - soft form, rolls and stretchmarks, dimples and all - and it makes you even more uneasy. “Are you having fun playing stupid today? Do I have to spell it out for you? ”, he says around his cigar. You shake your head, almost furiously so. Even though you feel like a broken record with the way you’re responding, it’s simply part of this, part of your role, your place beneath him. “No, Sir.” You reach up to undo his pants, nervous fingers busying themselves with freeing him just enough for you to take him into your mouth. He’s still soft as you take him into your hands. You can smell the long day at work on him - he isn’t usually like this, he usually joins you once he’s clean, but this isn’t necessarily about pleasure - not yours, anyway. You sit and wait for his permission to start. He grants it with nothing more than a lazy nod and soft exhale.

It’s easy to work him until he gets hard, you’ve done it many times before - but when you finally wrap your tongue around his cock you can’t help but wrinkle your nose. He tastes sharp and salty, and your base instinct tells you to spit him out again. So you hesitate. A mistake.

Your tiny act of defiance is quelled by him simply pushing himself down your throat and it makes you gag, both out of reflex and disgust. The sound is wet and blubbery, more animal than human. The tips of your ears grow hot in humiliation. He doesn’t need to warn you a second time. You start to move on your own again as soon as his hand lets you, trying to counteract the taste of him with extra saliva - you’re just glad he allows you to grab him to stabilize yourself, which saves you at least a little bit of a tired neck. He lords above you, chewing on his cigar, icy eyes unreadable as he simply stares at you as you work your face hot for him, gag and drool and still hold his gaze like he expects you to. Not a single noise leaves him and with every second your brow creases more and more, feeling more guilty and small and insignificant every time you taste him on the tip of your tongue. Minutes pass like this, the room silent except for the loud effort of your tongue.

“Not enough, not enough”, he mumbles from up above, slightly out of breath. “Hold still-”

His hand suddenly clutches the back of your head  and he pushes himself down your throat again, until your nose is pressed against his pubes and your face framed by his open fly. The only thing you can do is let a spit-bubble -  equal parts mucus and saliva - pop in your face. Your mouth makes an ungodly sound, the soft muscles of your oropharynx jumping at the intrusion, unwillingly massaging his cock. Tears shoot into your waterline and you look up, eyes big and forehead grooved with strain. You feel like you’re about to puke on him, that’s how deep he is. Valiantly fighting the urge, your epiglottis flutters when he pulls out and starts fucking your face in earnest, holding you in place. He’s rough - you’ve earned it, you figure, for being so cold, so uncaring - and you try to relax as best as you can, just holding your mouth open.

Concentrate. From one breath to the next. Don’t get distracted by the miserable, wet noises you’re making right now. It sure would be easier if he didn’t suddenly start talking.

“I should have you walk around in the nude for a little while, see how you'll like your clothes then.” Oh god, you think and gurgle in protest. Knowing him, he’d make good on this promise. “Don’t like that, do you?”, he asks, entirely rhetorical. If you were to nod now, with his cock down your throat, you know you’d spew on his expensive leather shoes. His eyes flash with something and he ruts your mouth so hard you get dizzy. “That’s right.”

“You take what I give you. At the very least, you'll take this”, he grunts out and crushes you against his stomach, suddenly emptying himself into you. It’s hot - and burns the tender flesh of your throat that he irritated with brutal friction. You can feel that familiar itch at the back of your nose, the sharp feeling of his load working its way up. You can vaguely taste him - salty and terribly unappetizing, smoker that he is - but he stays right where he is, his grip iron and his eyes closed as he enjoys the last traces of his quick orgasm. You can feel him twitch in you, you think. He plucks you off his dick himself - you’re pushed away by his fingers on your forehead, and you lose all of your tension, torso lulling forward. Your ears are ringing and you can’t stop the wad of cum and spit and something that seeps out of the corner of your mouth, landing on the ground with a disgusting splat. He doesn’t care. Neither do you.

A deep inhale from above signals that he’s satisfied with your performance - you look up to find him pushing that little strand of hair back that has cut itself loose, eyes considerably warmer than before.

 “Now let’s get something that is more to your taste, darling.”

[teyamsatan]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ ɪx - ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

pairing: neteyam x omatikaya!reader

➽ a/n: this turned out a lot fluffier than intended, but i think i'm smutted-out and i'm one prompt away from starting to make these angsty hahahahahah. anyway, i hope you enjoy xx love u besties, smooches 🤍

➽ words: >700 words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them.

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

The loud booming melodies of the Omaticaya flutes and drums were etching like a beautiful pattern into the air surrounding you, filling you with happiness and euphoric bliss as you swayed gracefully on Neteyam’s lap. You loved nights like these, full of music and celebration, full of conversation and laughter, full with all of the things you felt you lost when the Sky People returned. You felt lightheaded, like you were mindlessly floating through the clouds above, and you now believed your mother about all the times she’s warned you about excessive consumption of the heady concoction she called “liquid courage”. The name was apt, too apt, making you do things you normally wouldn’t have even considered, like getting close and personal with the man you’ve desired and dreamt about for as long as you were old enough to…well, notice people in that way. Neteyam was beautiful and strong, courageous and empathetic, smart and sensible. He was a family man, the best new generation warrior in the village, known among numerous Pandoran clans for all the qualities that he possessed, qualities that seemed never-ending and made him, on one hand, too good to be true, and on the other, incredibly intimidating to talk to. 

But not tonight. Tonight, you talked and the alcohol made you calm enough to be able to look into his eyes, it made you brave enough to respond to his quick-witted conversational remarks, it made you open enough to let your natural charm and comicality shine through, which you were grateful for. All of a sudden, he wasn’t NETEYAM anymore, big, scary, capital-lettered Neteyam, he was just… Neteyam, the boy you’ve known all your life, that’s watched you grow up, that gave you your first handmade arrow and taught you how to shoot it. It got so cozy, so quickly, that you somehow found yourself nestled in his lap, humming peacefully alongside the singers providing the entertainment for the evening. 

There was a downside to the fermented juice that made your head all funny, though, and you were feeling it now, intense and overwhelming and impossible to ignore - there was heat in your womb, fiery and intoxicating, manifesting itself in the oddest of ways, in ways that made something that started off innocent and ended up in this, thoughts that told you that the way he was bouncing his leg to the beat of the drum felt good, too good, so good you needed to ride this feeling, see it through, allow it to wash over you and through you. You were happy the atmosphere was so electric and so loud, drowning the inadvertent moan you let out when his muscular, taut, azure thigh hit a particular spot that made you throb in ache, the emptiness in you begging to be filled, calling for him like a siren to a lost sailor. 

Beads of sweat, facilitated by a racing heartbeat and rushed inhales were gathering on your forehead as he continued the rhythmic, saccadic movement, almost as if he could tell what it did to you, as if he wanted you to feel this way, for him, because of him. You wondered fleetingly if it looked weird to any oblivious onlooker, if the way you started swaying your hips on his thighs to get some of the relief you desperately craved was normal in these circumstances - either way, people were too busy with their own celebration to focus too heavily on yours, and the best thing about alcohol, as it turns out, you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

Your mind cleared momentarily with the breath hitched in your throat as his mouth found your ear, the smirk in his tone obvious even to your turned back, his voice velvet smooth and enticing, whispered and taunting. 

“You’re dripping all over my thigh, paskalin. Let go for me, let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

Your mother warned you about excessive consumption of the stuff she called “liquid courage”. She, however, was remised in warning you about something much more dangerous, much more additive - a beautiful overachieving blue boy with a dirty mouth and a desire to please, who’s had a crush on you since the moment he carved that arrow for you when you were young.

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon

[brotherblaze]

quicksand —gojo satoru + geto suguru

summary: Five months after exiling yourself from jujutsu society and fleeing Japan, Gojō and Getō finally track you down. And they’re not going to let you slip through their fingers for a second time.

word count: ~3,5k

warnings: n/a

The evening breeze is cool.

You’re sitting on the grassy area, just in front of the small strip of sand on the shore, legs outstretched in front of you, heels digging into the sand. There are cows grazing a stone’s throw away from you, fenced in and kept up by the city council. The newspaper said they’re here annually, every summer from April to late September. Waves lap at the shore.

The hair on the back of your neck rises on its ends. Familiar cursed energy wraps around you like a vice. You don’t look back to meet their eyes, instead you look at the cows. There are a few calves amongst the herd, fluffier than the fully grown cows.

Footsteps approach and a warm body stops right behind you. Warmth emits from him like he’s a furnace and his cursed energy is all too familiar, almost suffocating, and oh, the irony of forgetting how formidable a person the Gojō Satoru is.

“Get up,” he says. His voice is stern. Cold, even. What a contrast. He’s like a siren, luring you in with body heat to chill you to the bone with his words. You ignore him at first, and instead, take a long breath in, hold it for a few moments, then exhale. It does little to soothe the buzzing in your veins and stop the thoughts racing through your head. Too many to keep count of — all of them centered around them. There’s a headache blooming, too.

Slowly, you unfold your legs and stand, dusting the sand off your pants. You turn to him, keeping one foot rooted on the corner of the yellow picnic blanket to keep it from flying off with a gust of wind. You raise your eyes to Gojō, then over his shoulder to where Getō stands, just a few strides away. The bitter taste of shame crawls up your esophagus as your eyes meet for a moment and you quickly avert yours to stare at the Jujutsu High button on Gojō’s uniform. Uniform. Straight from a mission, then. But it’s hard to tell; they have an uncanny ability to evade the blows of the opponent, never looking disheveled — no, not uncanny, a testament to their prowess, of their ranks as Special Grades. The créme de la créme of the jujutsu world.

“Well?” Gojō’s head is cocked to the side ever so slightly, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes obscured by bandages. Still, the feeling of being watched overwhelms you. You level your gaze with his and attempt not to get spooked by the intensity of his gaze and yet you’re unsuccessful. He definitely notices the subtle flinch of your shoulders. So, you raise your eyes to the treeline behind both of them. He calls out your name and you ignore the instinct to look, to give him the satisfaction of yet another flinch.

“I was a danger to everyone around me. So, I ran.” Cool wind from the sea caresses the back of your neck. You grind your foot deeper into the sand as the edges of the picnic blanket curl up. “It doesn't concern you, by the way, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“It does concern us when you disappear for months!” Gojō argues, swinging his hand to the side.

“How’d you find me, anyway?”

“You took my credit card,” he says, “three, actually.”

You swear under your breath. That fucking donut shop in town, right. Great donuts, no way to pay in cash.

“So you had to run over here? I’m fine, I was fine, everything was fine. You should’ve just moved on with your lives.”

“I think we have a right to know what’s going on, no?” Getō speaks up. Your eyes meet again but this time it’s harder to look away. In fact, you can’t force yourself to avert your eyes. “We tried to do right by Amanai and we’ll extend the same courtesy to you.”

Unlike Gojō, Getō’s voice is soft. It curls around you invitingly, like it wants you to spill all the secrets you keep close to your heart.

“No,” you say. The word is so bitter in your mouth you almost want to drink down handfuls of salty ocean water to taste anything, anything other than that. You ignore the intensity of Gojō’s gaze, ignore the twinge in your body that’s pulling you back towards them but that ache somewhere deep in your bones, the one that wants you to step closer to chase the warmth of human intimacy you’ve deprived yourself of for the past five months — that crawls up your spine and you almost take a step closer. “Just… leave.”

Gojō grabs the collar of your jacket and yanks you up to face him. You hiss a ‘no’, one hand clawing at his bare wrist, toes barely scraping the ground to kick up a clump of grass and dirt. You expect not to reach him, only Infinity, yet you do, and sink your nails into his flesh. He doesn’t even flinch. This is Gojō Satoru, the very peak of everything, he doesn’t skirt around the subject and he doesn’t accept any efforts at skirting around the subject.

“What do I have to do to make you trust us—”

His right hand collides with your left, already reaching for his throat, and fire licks up the length of your forearm. The distinct sound of metal snapping under immense pressure bounces against your eardrums. The next moment, the glint of the evening sun off metal shards, and the next, a piercing pain in your left cheek. Your knees give in.

Three of your fingers are lying on the pasture grass, glowing blue liquid seeping out of each one.

He seems to realize when you do because his grip on you goes slack and your knees collide with the ground. Your vision is blurring with tears as you reach out to gather the pieces of metal that were your fingers only moments ago and stuff them into your jacket pocket because they were organic once. They can be slotted back, right? They’ll be fine, right?

You reach around yourself for the yellow picnic blanket, shake it free of the stray grains of sand, and sloppily wrap it around your left hand. The bright blue liquid begins to seep through the layers almost immediately.

When you stand, you pointedly ignore both Getō and Gojō, sidestep them both without even glancing at them, and begin the trek back to civilization down the forest trail that leads to the daycare at the edge of the woods. Their footsteps, so silent you almost miss them, follow. They don’t speak, either, as if that will make you forget about their presence and the suffocating force of their jujutsu. Your headache is now fully present and making itself known, wrapping around your brain like barbed wire.

The forest trail melts away abruptly into a stone-paved road. It runs along the perimeter of the daycare and diverges in two up ahead: on the left, the daycare itself and its adjacent indoor swimming pool, on the right, more woods and the parking lot.

You continue ignoring your shadows and climb into the passenger seat of your car. Something vaguely human-shaped is sitting in the driver’s seat, its body littered with eyes. It just stares at you as you pull the car door closed.

YOUR DIVINE MAJESTY…

“What now?” You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut to clear your vision.

APOLOGIES FOR MY INTRUSION, BUT WOULD IT NOT BE BEST TO HAVE THEM ON HAND? It tightens its grip on the steering wheel for a moment as if it's forming a nervous habit. Maybe. You’re not sure if they can even feel human emotions.

You glance at the side mirror. They’re still standing there, a few feet from the car. They don’t have any intention to move, either, you think.

THEIR DIVINE MAJESTY NEED NOT WASTE TIME OR ENERGY ON COOKING AND CLEANING. THEY CAN FOCUS ON REVERSING THE BARRIER.

“What barrie—”

You bury your face into your free hand with a loud swear. The headache pulses behind your eyes and your vision blurs with tears. Fuck. You push the car door open and slide out—

“You!” A few long strides are all it takes to reach Gojō and you rear your fist back for a swing at his blurry face. Something catches it and you yank yourself out of Getō’s hold, yank yourself away from both of them, and take two steps back. Gravel crunches under your feet. “I told you to leave, but no, you’re Gojō Satoru and you know better than everyone, right?”

“How is any of this my fault?”

“I asked you to leave! If you’d just left, we could’ve all left and gone our separate ways but no, of course not!” You turn on your heel and stomp back to the car, pulling the back door open. “Shut up and get in the car.”

You don’t wait for their answer and climb into the front seat.

They’re willing to hear you out, you’ll give them that. The curse in the driver’s seat growls from its throat when Gojō and Getō sit and buckle in.

“I need a driver, not a dog,” you remind it. It spits a swear under its breath and puts the car into drive. It jostles as it drives over the speedbump at the entrance of the parking lot and you lay your left hand onto your knee.

Blue bleeds through the picnic blanket and stains your pants and fuck, does this mystery liquid even come out of clothes? Can you even throw it into the washing machine or will it carry the disease onto the washing machine? You groan, imagining a washing machine with a sonic cannon mounted on it. What if this thing is corrosive instead, and by the time you arrive home to wash it out, it’s eaten through both fabric and skin, maybe even muscle, or bone? Will it spread there, too? It shouldn’t, it should be non-viral by now, but maybe its virality only applies if it’s hopping host organisms and won’t spread in its’ first host even if it is viral. And fuck if you have to quarantine yourself in Limbo again—

“Hey.”

A hand lands on the junction between your shoulder and neck, digging into it with just enough force to feel relaxing. Getō presses down on the muscle knot and you place your free hand in front of your mouth to stifle the groan that wants to escape. You lean your head to the left, temple resting against the seat headrest to give Getō’s hand more room to work. Human contact is one hell of a drug.

“You’re panicking.”

You make a noncommittal sound in the back of your throat.

“Breathe.”

“We’re trapped here.” The hand that’s moved on to pull the knot out of your shoulder abruptly stops its administrations. “I read the Book of the Damned, I set a boundary spell. It triggered when you grabbed me.” You turn your head slightly to find Gojō in the corner of your eye. “And I have no idea how to undo it.”

“How’d you put it up?” Gojō asks. His voice is even, but it’s missing the edge it had earlier. More than anything, he sounds tired. You shake your head slowly.

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Satoru,” Getō says.

“What does the barrier do?” Gojō ignores Getō’s warning and leans forward in his seat. He’s fully in your field of vision now, all-encompassing. There’s something about him that draws the eye.

“Loser dies, winner gets out.” You shrug your shoulders. “I panicked and the Book gave me a spell; ‘s how it works.”

“Stop reading that cursed thing,” Gojō says, falling back into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. You blink once, twice, then turn straight in your seat, too, and pull away from Getō’s warm hand.

The rest of the drive is silent. Street lights are flickering on the farther you drive. Stores are long closed by now, neon, and lit brand signs hanging on the front of the passing buildings. Dusk paints the sky in a soft lavender. June is nice here.

Eventually, the curse behind the wheel parks the car in the half-finished garage adjacent to a small blue house. Silence lingers in the car as it’s shut off, and the key is deposited in your open palm. The drenched rag that was once a yellow picnic blanket squelches in your lap as you adjust your hand and fire licks up your left arm. You stifle the sound of pain that wants to escape, and turn to the curse. It stares at you with the array of eyes littered throughout its entire body.

“Get lost.”

The figure blinks at you with its many eyes and then slowly, like a sandcastle destroyed by the waves, it melts away.

You climb out of the car, digging into your jacket pocket for the house key and spare a moment to curse under your breath. If the barrier really is impenetrable, you’re all stuck here. They will probably refuse a hotel or whatever to keep an eye on you. That means two more copies of the key, more food, more cooking and cleaning, and more reasons for your shitty neighbors to spy on you. All that on top of trying to piece your fingers back onto your hand — a very, very not human hand — maybe you’ll get lucky and your body will reject the repairs and kill you of lead poisoning or something. You stare at the now-dripping ball of fabric. Is there even lead in this?

Pain twinges again when you forget and try to grab the handle with that hand. You pull away with a hiss but the door cracks open nonetheless and you finish the job with the nudge of your foot. They’re so close you can feel the heat of their breaths on the back of your neck and you hurry inside, teeth gritting together to keep yourself from making a stupid comment that will earn you their hovering for the rest of eternity. The door creaks when Gojō pulls it shut behind him and you wince at the sound. You toe your sneakers off and wander into the house. The flowers strung along every interior wall of the house bloom when you approach. They cast just the right amount of illumination without melting your brain into soup.

Gojō and Getō are still lingering in the open hallway, taking in the interior of the house. It’s more spacious than it looks on the outside. There are two doors to their right, one up ahead, right next to the brick oven, and an open kitchen and a living room to their left. The glass coffee table you seat yourself behind is well within their line of sight.

The fingers clink when they hit the glass table. You slowly unwrap the blue-soaked picnic blanket and place it on the farthest end of the coffee table. It leaves a dribble of blue liquid on the glass.

There is movement in the corner of your eye. You ignore it to stare dumbly at the fingers. You place your metal hand on the glass and attempt to align the fingers to their respective stumps. The movement sloshes the blue dribble around and smears it along the glass surface. Can glass be corroded? It would be a pain in the ass to have another glass table delivered.

Getō gathers your hair and ties it back. You fight to keep a sigh from leaving your lips and instead, swallow around the lump in your throat. His touch is soft and doesn’t tug on any strands and you tilt your face down the moment he’s done, ignoring the lurch in your heart when his warm hands leave your skin. A few strands of hair fall in front of your eyes and you huff. The hair dangles back and forth as if it’s mocking you and you narrow your eyes at it.

“You got a headband somewhere?”

“Shelf next to the bathroom sink.” You jerk your chin forward. “Straight across from the front door.”

You watch him until he disappears behind the brick oven and turn back to the table. Your heart shoots into your throat when Gojō’s face appears in front of yours and you realize he’s crouched down on the other side of the table. He moves quietly, you remind yourself. Be aware of your surroundings, you remind yourself.

Gojō picks up one of the fingers lined up on the glass and slowly turns it between his own. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, his attention solely on the metal digit in his hand.

There are hands on your head and you jump again. Getō makes a soothing hush as he fits the headband over your head and then pulls it up over your bangs. He brushes a few stray baby hairs back with his fingers but they spring up again almost immediately.

“Thanks,” you say stiffly and reach to pluck your finger from Gojō.

“What happened?” He asks and you glance up at him just as he’s pulling the bandages over his head. His hair falls down over his eyes. Beautiful eyes — terrifying eyes. You think you might get lost in the depth behind them if you don’t look away immediately. So, you do, and clear your throat.

“Some piece of shit curse user infected me with some sort of transmutation virus; anything organic becomes animate technology.” You wipe away more of the pooling blue liquid, and line the fingers up again. It seems off somehow. You swap the middle and ring fingers. Still off; it’s hard to tell which finger belongs where and you grit your teeth together and swallow the taste of tears in your mouth.

Gojō leans in and carefully swaps the pointer and ring finger. You want to argue, tell him that you know your own body better than he does but this thing buried into your flesh is new and confusing. Inhuman. Maybe his Six Eyes allows him more knowledge than you will ever have.

In the corner of your eye, Getō moves to the space between you and Gojō, and sits down on the rug, too.

This might be the most people this house has seen since you moved in. Something about it feels right, something about it tears a gaping hole into your heart.

The headache pulses behind your eyes again and you squeeze them shut. When you open them, the world is swimming again. You force down the discomfort of Gojō and Getō’s silhouettes fraying at the edges and return your attention to your hand. Where there once was muscle, hidden by layers and layers of blood vessels and skin, there is a layer of softly illuminated cables hidden under a layer of thin metal with grooves and dents that adjusts itself as you move your arm. You take a breath in and wait for your vision to focus again before you pick up a finger and press it against its corresponding stump.

The cables underneath the metal plating mold together with a low hiss. blue liquid dribbles onto the glass tabletop. You repeat the action once, then once more.

Slowly, you crook one finger, then the other, and the third one. It’s not quite the same as your still-human hand, but it’s a feeling of sorts. It even emits warmth. The luminescent cables bend under the movement.

Gojō lets his impulsive thoughts win and reaches out to press a finger against the soft tissue with his finger.

“Do you go around shoving your dick into people’s gunshot wounds, too?” You slap his hand softly and he pulls back.

“How far does it reach?” Getō asks. You purse your lips and shrug your jacket off, and fold it onto your lap. The metal runs all the way up to about mid-bicep, where it burrows under the scarred skin.

Getō’s hand jerks on his thigh, as if he wants to reach out to you. Instead, he balls his hand into a fist around the fabric of his pants until his knuckles turn white. You don’t want to look up to face him, so you pointedly ignore his eyes as you shimmy closer and raise your arm towards him. There’s a moment of hesitation from his end before his fingers uncurl and ghost over your skin. His touch is gentle, like he’s terrified you’ll shatter if he exerts the smallest amount of pressure.

“Did it hurt?” He asks, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the scar tissue.

“Worse than the sorcerer killer.”

His fingers trace the metal plates of your arm, over the exposed cables in the crook of your elbow, all the way down to your hand and the newly re-attached fingers.

“Satoru, have you seen anything like this before?”

Gojō leans in and takes your left hand in his. He turns it one way and then the other, silent all the while. You glance at Getō who shrugs his shoulder minutely.

“Never,” Gojō says finally. He turns your palm to face him and laces his fingers between yours. He gives your hand a squeeze. “But we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

part two.

[musicoftheheart]

“Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

thank you! there was no ship specified, so i thought id write a wolfstar fic for a bit of change <3

word count: 545

Monday mornings always sucked. Anyone who disagreed was a psychopath.

Enter Sirius Black, who somehow thrived on hell morning. From the smell wafting in from the kitchen matched with the cold spot of the bed to his right, Remus guessed Sirius was already up, showered, and making breakfast for them both. Honestly, aside from waking up alone, it wasn’t too bad; Remus couldn’t remember the last time he’d made his own breakfast, other than Sirius’ birthday last month.

The pair of them had moved in together a little over a year ago, after leaving Hogwarts and being thrust into the real world. Sirius had started, then promptly quit, auror training, then switched professions to become a trophy boyfriend when he realised he did not, in fact, want to be an auror as much as he thought. Remus thought it was because Sirius had expected to go through it with James, who also dropped out to pursue quidditch professionally, and without his best mate with him, training just wasn’t as fun.

Remus, with the support of Professor McGonagall, had decided to further his education to become a professor. He’d been unsure at first, considering his furry little problem, but Minnie had insisted that when he was ready, he would be more than welcome back at Hogwarts.

First, though, he had to actually finish his teaching course.

Dragging himself out of bed, Remus quickly showered and dressed, but when it came to drying off his hair, he couldn’t find the hairdryer anywhere. Sure, he could just use a spell, but he and Sirius both preferred the muggle way; it made their hair much softer and fluffier than a spell would.

”Padfoot?” Remus called out, rummaging through their bedroom drawers. “Have you seen the— oh.”

There, underneath a pair of Sirius’ boxers, sat a black velvet box. Gingerly, Remus picked it up, one finger stroking lightly over the top.

”Oh, fuck.”

He turned to the doorway, where Sirius — wide eyed and panicked — hovered between looking like he might run away, or run and snatch the box from Remus’ hands.

”Moony…” he breathed — panted, really — eyes flicking between Remus and the box. “You weren’t meant to find that.”

Without warning, Remus burst out laughing. “The underwear drawer, Pads! Really?”

Sirius blushed a beautiful shade of pink, but pouted. “My underwear drawer! You never go in there!”

Remus kept laughing. “Oh my god, Sirius.”

”Stop! Here, look. Give it here, then.” Sirius stepped closer, but Remus backed up, holding the box safely out of his boyfriend’s grasp.

”Don’t you dare,” Remus warned lowly. “You are not about to propose to me in our bedroom on a random Monday morning.”

Sirius let out a huff of laughter. “So, what? You know now — there’s no point in waiting unless you don’t want to marry me.”

Quick to reassure Sirius’ obvious uncertainty, Remus said, “I do want to, but I want it properly.” Lifting Sirius’ boxers back up, he tucked the velvet box underneath them and shut the drawer again. “There. Like I never knew. Now, where did you leave the hairdryer?”

And if, a few weeks later on Christmas morning when Sirius bent down on one knee, Remus acted a little too surprised — well, that was their little secret as to why.

[mint-yooxgi]

Forever - Yandere!Kitsune!San

Yandere AU & Gumiho AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: San X Implied Chubby!Reader

Words: 1,873

Warnings: Possessive thoughts, some smutty thoughts, and minor violent thoughts. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Oof, so I finally got around to writing this one and I'm honestly really happy with how it turned out!! It's a lot fluffier than I thought it would be, but Sannie is just a very excited boy in this imo. Anyways, as always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Eighth of The Feral Drabbles

The full moon is bright tonight. The leaves of the forest do nothing to hinder its glow, the light filtering through the branches and dancing across your skin. Yet, you are what truly captivates me.

Your hands are so soft, held delicately in my own. We fit perfectly together, as if you were made for me. A fact of which I know to be unquestionably true, for I am now certain that I have been made for you.

In all of my long years on this earth, I have found no other like you. It is you that has captivated me ever since the moment that we met, and I don’t think I will ever stop loving you. You have claimed my heart in a way I never thought possible, and now, all I want to do is consume you in the same ways that you have consumed me.

It’s nothing malicious, I promise. I could never hurt you. I would rather cut off my own tails than so much as bring you any ounce of pain. Besides, I wouldn’t be holding true to the promises I just made you this evening, now, would I?

There’s more than one reason why I asked you to meet me tonight. The moon was only one of them. I wanted it to set the scene - to be the unmistakable backdrop to the start of our forever together.

I had to have you. I love you. I need you, and I think it only fair that I tell you this.

You’ve always known what I am. You’ve known from the very first moment that we met. I honestly don’t think I could have hid it from you even if I tried. You’re very perceptive that way. A fact of which only made me fall for you harder.

You never feared me. In fact, you welcomed what I am with open arms. I can still remember your curiosities that came spilling out of your mouth when we first met, and even now, I don’t think I will ever grow tired of them.

I could never grow tired of you.

I have guarded this mountain for as long as I can remember, and now, it shall be ours. This will be our path that songs are written about; our love that legends get told of. Nothing, no one, will ever change that. I’ll ensure of it, even if it’s the last thing I ever do.

Gently, leaves fall all around us. Their vibrant colours of red, orange, and yellow only serve to make this moment all the more special. After all, this time of year is important for my kind. It’s when we choose our life mates, if we ever find someone worthy to be called that.

I most certainly have.

I found you.

Courting you hasn’t been easy. I am, unfortunately, bound to this mountain, so I could never go and visit you like I constantly wanted. I always had to wait for you to come see me. Being away from you is like suffering from a severe drought without being able to ever quench my thirst no matter how much water I drink. Without you in my life, I am empty; I am lost.

I’m pretty sure I made a fool of myself more often than not whenever you finally came to see me, but waiting for you to show up each time drove me to the very brink of insanity. So, really, you can’t blame me for all of the times I tripped over myself as soon as I sensed you cross the boarders of my land. Besides, seeing you smile - hearing you laugh - and all because of me made me- makes me happy beyond belief.

I knew I had to have you, to make you mine. I can’t live without you.

You- you complete me.

Every time I saw your face I would immediately become overjoyed. I could barely keep my heart from racing, just as it does now as I lead you back to our home.

Our home.

It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I won’t lie to you, My Precious, I have desperately been waiting for the day where you finally come to live with me. I have been fantasizing about it for too long. I’ve always wanted to curl up next to you in bed, pulling you in closer as I wrap you in my tender embrace. I want to cook for you, and watch your face light up like it always does when I bring you special treats meant only for you. I want to hold you while we gaze at the stars, of which could never compare to your beauty.

More than all of that, I want to love you unconditionally. I want to be the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thing you know before you sleep. I want to kiss you breathless, and wrap you up in my tails when you’re cold. 

Fuck- speaking of my tails, I want to hold you close as we make love, wrapping one or two around your waist as we cling onto each other desperately. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you, and I hope you can say the same for me.

I’m not blind, I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know I can make you shy. Heck, just the other day you started stuttering when I was showering you in praise! You looked so cute trying to hide your face behind your hands. Really, all I wanted to do was take you into my arms and kiss you, but you weren’t mine yet.

If I’m going to court you, then I’m going to do it properly.

And I did.

Now, I don’t have to worry about holding myself back! I can hold your hand whenever I want. I can shower you in all of my affections like you’ve always deserved! I can kiss you, and hug you, and hold you close like I’ve always dreamed. More than all of that though, I can reassure you of my never ending love for you until the end of time. Those doubts and insecurities will have no place in your mind any longer. Not while I’m around to quell them.

Of course, I will always make sure to do everything with your consent! I’m not a monster. At least, not to you.

I can’t promise I’ll be able to stay as calm as I usually am with you if anyone were to try and take you away from me. Anyone that dares to hurt you, cheat you, steal your heart from me, or anything of that sort will know the true wrath of the mountain spirit that guards that which is most precious to him.

In case you’re wondering, that’s you. You are the most precious thing to me in this world. That’s why you’re My Precious!

Oh, how I cannot wait to fall asleep beside you tonight! I’ll do my best to control myself, but you seriously have no idea what you do to me. Simply being this close with you, and knowing you fancy me, too, is making my head spin. Already, my thoughts are consumed with absolutely ravishing you when we get home, and completing every mating ritual I know of to solidify that bond between us.

Maybe I should stop holding your hand…

No.

Impossible.

I don’t think I could tear my touch away from yours, even if I tried. You’re mine now, and I’m yours. Feeling your fingers intertwined with mine only solidifies that.

Though, it’s certainly not helping my wandering thoughts…

This is what it will feel like holding onto your hand as I make love to you. This is what your warmth will feel like radiating against my own as our bodies intertwine in the most intimate of ways.

It only makes me even more desperate for that which has still yet to come…

I want to serve you, My Precious, and I want to make sure I do it right. Too many nights have been spent living in my fantasies of all that I want to do to you - all that I want to do with you. Nights exactly like this.

Oh, I know it’s still quite early in our relationship - we only just agreed to live together - but I can’t help it! I have spent countless hours thinking about all of the different ways I will claim you, and everything in between.

If I’m being honest, I desperately want to do so beneath the light of the full moon on my sacred grounds near the summit of my mountain. It’s a place only I can get to, and now that you’re with me, only you are allowed to set foot upon such a sacred part of my territory. I can just picture how your skin will glow, just as it is now, beneath the uninterrupted radiance of the moon. 

Your back will arch upon my alter as I lose myself between your thighs. Lips, tongue, fingers, cock: all of me belongs to you. I live to serve you, and I can think of no better place to do so than on my most holiest of spaces.

I worship you, and I will spend the rest of our lives proving just that.

Oh, please, Precious, won’t you let me get lost in you? All I want is to feel your body pressing against mine. I want to feel your thighs trembling around my head as I give you yet another earth shattering orgasm. I need to feel your juices dripping down my chin as an offering to the ecstasy I’ve provided for you. I want to feel you pull me closer, your nails scratching into the skin of my back as your legs squeeze around my waist. I so desperately want to feel you brush a delicate hand over my tails- hell- all over my body.

I know from the way you stare at me that you want this, too.

You’re not subtle in the least, Precious. I’ve seen you admiring me when you think I’m not looking.

Do you also think about what it would feel like for my arms to wrap themselves around you as I roll my hips so sensually into yours? Do you long to run your fingers through my hair, only to grip it tight to pull me in closer to you? I bet you’ve longed to know what I’m capable of, if I’m truly capable of pleasing you as your lover should, just as I have, haven’t you?

Don’t worry, Precious, even if it takes time, I promise to learn every little detail about what makes your body sing. I promise to please you in every way I know how: physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I want to see your soul come alight with me, for you have already begun to make my own shine.

I promise you’ll never have to worry about anything again.

Everything that I am belongs to you. For now, though, let’s take it one day at a time.

For now, let’s start with tonight.

The start of our forever.

[a-little-unsteddie]

Admiring the Ocean

I promise this is fluffier than the last thing I posted. Kinda. It gets there, in the end. Enjoy!

———

Eddie was never what anyone would consider a ‘quiet kid’. He did everything so loudly — so himself — and without reservation. It’s one of the things that Wayne insisted he loved most about him. He didn’t hold back, ever, and Wayne thought that kind of being, that kind of loving, was beautiful.

Unfortunately, the world would not agree with Wayne Munson, because Eddie was only eight when he first started getting into Dungeons and Dragons. Someone at school had lent him a guidebook, and he had taken it home to read. Occasionally, when he read something particularly intriguing, he would turn to his dad and repeat exactly what he learned. At first, he got patient smiles and nods. Then his dad would roll his eyes before turning to listen. Eventually, he would audibly scoff as Eddie required his attention. This would lead to his dad eventually growling out, “For god’s sake boy, shut the fuck up before I make you.”

That would be the first time that Eddie learned that sometimes he was too loud.

It wouldn’t be the last time.

Eddie was ten when he came home to tell his dad about his crush. He was ten when he learned that he should be quiet about that part of himself. He was ten when he was almost killed for loving a boy. He was ten when he left to live with his Uncle Wayne. He was ten when he decided he wouldn’t talk anymore. He was too loud.

It didn’t last, however. It lasted about as long as his uncle found out he decided to stop talking. It lasted maybe two hours. And then his uncle was telling him that there was nothing wrong with him. That the way he loved was magnificent, so completely and irrevocably perfect. It would take longer for Eddie to believe it. To embrace it.

Even then, though. Eddie decided he would love boys quietly. From a distance. He knew it was dangerous for him to love openly. So he didn’t. He made every other part of himself so loud it drowned out anything else. No one noticed the quiet yearning Eddie felt. He hid it from everyone.

Well.

He tried to hide it from everyone.

But Wayne must have known, must have been told, must have somehow seen, because he took Eddie close one day and whispered into his ear gentle reassurances.

“I know. I know, it’s okay. It’s okay to love boys, y’hear me?” Wayne had gruffly spoken, firm but quiet. “I know it’s scary, but it is okay. You are allowed to love boys. I love you. You are mine, y’hear me, boy? My son. And you can love whoever you want.”

Eddie still hid it. He just hid it with Wayne, letting his uncle hear about whoever he liked. He couldn’t help it, really. But other than that, he was quiet. He never showed signs in public. He was still loud, but he used it as a cover. He used it as a shield. Threw himself into being so wholly and unequivocally himself so that he could watch, yearn, admire from afar. Used his speeches at lunch to give himself a chance to look at whatever pretty boy had captured his attention.

Eddie loved pretty boys.

He did so quietly, observing from afar, content to love them from his mind, doing nothing to show for it besides the occasional longing look. He never expected any of them to love him back, how could he? Loving them was never about getting loved in return — no one expected a sunset to watch them back. He was happy doing what he was doing.

And no boy was as pretty as Steve Harrington.

Loving Steve Harrington wasn’t something that Eddie had expected. It had happened suddenly, without a warning. Eddie had been unaware of the fact in one moment, one breath, and in the next one, Eddie knew he would love Steve Harrington until he died, probably. He also knew he would do so silently. The one thing about himself he would ever do quietly. He watched as Steve healed and became more himself, admiring the way that he had been building muscle strength. He watched the gentle happiness return to Steve, how it radiated from inside of him and brightened the entire room. He was breathtaking. Still, Eddie loved without expectation. Without planning to tell anyone. Other than Wayne. Wayne heard it all.

Heard about the way Eddie is certain he could create constellations if he concentrated hard enough on the moles and freckles dotted across his skin. He heard of the way Steve’s laugh brings a smile to anyone who’s around to hear, the noise so gentle and fond it’s impossible to ignore. The way that Eddie is convinced that Steve was art, a sculpture carved from stone, appearing soft and forgiving, but actually sharper than he lets on.

Except.

Eddie got comfortable. When Eddie got comfortable, his self preservation goes down, apparently. Eddie and Steve were hanging out, and Steve was looking at Eddie curiously, searching for something. Eddie wasn’t scared of what he was looking for — at first. Then, the longer Steve looked at him, eyes growing ever fonder, Eddie realized what Steve was looking for. Maybe not what he was looking for, exactly, but what Steve had found. Eddie was terrified of whatever it could be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, looking at Eddie in soft confusion. Not accusatory, just curious. Worried, maybe. It soothed Eddie enough to just start talking.

“I learned from a young age that sometimes I love things too loudly,” Eddie started, unsure where he was going until the words were spilling out, “But I still loved so much. Everything. Dungeons and dragons, art, theatre, math on a good day. I just didn’t know how to be quiet about anything I admired. And well, some people didn’t like that, so they tried to shut me up.” Here, Eddie paused for a second as he contemplated something. “I guess, in a way, they won. Because I stopped loving boys out loud, but god, do I love them. Especially pretty ones, like you. But I learned that just because I can’t be loud about it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. So I did it from a distance. Never straying too close. It’s a bit like loving the stars, y’know. Or how a sailor loves the sea,” he paused, smiling softly, “in the way photographers love a sunset. With my entire being and no expectations to be admired, to be loved, back. You don’t look at the ocean and expect it to look back at you.” He ended his ramble, trailing off and feeling his cheeks heating up. He said a bit mire than he meant to. Well, he supposed, he was never really meant to love quietly.

Eddie opened his eyes when a hand touched his cheek, not realizing he closed them. His eyes met Steve’s, who was looking back at him so softly, so lovingly, that Eddie was struck with the absurd thought that this is what it must feel like to be admired, to be loved by the ocean in return.