#your words warm my heart and give me fuel for drawing

[gigabyte-flare]

The Ferocious Beast

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: After an intense night with your wolf Thiren partner, your unsuspecting daughter notices a peculiar mark on your skin. Lycaon wastes no time mischievously adding fuel to the fire.

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: dubcon, unprotected p in v, pinning, biting, mating press, knotting, breeding kink, creampie, pregnancy mention

A/N: This came to be thanks to the horny thoughts of myself and @vampiricgf and my equally horny thoughts of Lycaon being a dad. I dedicate this to all my Lycaon besties in the little community we made on here! Line break divider by cafekitsune

You had no idea what had gotten into him. You had come home from work to find Lycaon making dinner, same as any other evening; your six year old daughter having come home a couple hours prior from school. She was sitting at the kitchen table drawing another picture of her Mommy and Daddy with her beloved crayons. Your heart warmed when you saw her tiny little ears flick forward at your arrival, wasting no time to jump up from her chair to give you a hug and welcome you home. Meanwhile, Lycaon simply looked over at you, a smirk crossing his lips before returning his attention to making dinner. He was strangely quiet for the rest of the evening until he put your daughter to bed.

You didn't even have time to react, immediately upon entering the bedroom, Lycaon had shut and locked the bedroom door and pinned you face first into your shared bed. Your pants were an absolute goner, having been torn off you and discarded before burying his face into your folds, inhaling your scent deeply.

"It took everything in me not ravish you as soon as you walked through the front door…" Lycaon had said with a breathy growl before gliding his tongue from your throbbing clit to your leaking hole.

Your body had shuddered, your fingers gripping into the sheets as your knees dug into the mattress, completely at Lycaon's mercy as he fucked you with this tongue. It wasn't until this very moment with your torso being pressed into the mattress by one of Lycaon's massive hands on your back as his cock rams into you that you realize that he is in his rut. His other hand gripping your hip like a vice, feeling his claws dig into your skin as you feel your cunt begin to stretch around his knot with each of his powerful thrusts.

Abruptly, he pulls out. You begin to whine in protest as drool spills from the corner of your mouth when he flips you over onto your back, his hands spreading your legs open to settle his hips against yours. His throbbing member has no trouble slipping back inside and he takes your legs and drapes them onto his shoulders, practically folding you in half as he resumes his grueling pace inside you. Grasping both your wrists, he pins your hands above your head as he lets out a guttural growl, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Let me give you my knot, my little dove…" he moans into you, his thrusts becoming slower but more powerful.

That nickname sends chills straight to your cunt, feeling your walls squeeze around his cock as his knot threatens to seal the two of you together.

A couple of tears involuntarily stream down the sides of your face as you nuzzle your face against his; finally, you give him a subtle nod before whispering, "go ahead, Lycaon…"

With a snap of his hips, you feel his knot pop inside you, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix with each thrust now. His instincts taking hold, his cock aggressively rabbits into you, his claws digging into your wrists as he practically fucks you into the mattress. He lets out another growl as his thrusts become more erratic until finally he pushes himself as deep inside you as he possibly can, his powerful jaw latching onto the crook of you neck as he comes. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you come undone with him, moaning his name as your legs quiver on his shoulders as he pumps you full of his seed.

Once he comes down from his high, Lycaon's entire body weight collapses on top of you after moving your legs off his shoulders, feeling his tongue lap up where he had sunk his teeth into your neck as his arms wrap around your body. You drape your arms around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze as you kiss the side of his muzzle. Meanwhile your legs gently wrap around his waist, knowing full well his knot is going to keep the two of you sealed together for a majority of the night. It doesn't take long for exhaustion to consume you both and you drift into a dreamless sleep.

The smell of breakfast and coffee drags you from the realm of sleep, your eyes fluttering open only to wince at the sun pouring in from the windows, the gentle late summer breeze caressing your senses. You let out a loud yawn as you sit up in bed; Lycaon is unsurprisingly already up. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, your legs still a little wobbly from the previous night's escapade. Also unsurprisingly, you find Lycaon had already cleaned you up; how he didn't wake you is beyond you.

Putting on one of Lycaon's button up shirts and a pair of pajama shorts, you slowly make your way out into the kitchen, where you find your daughter and Lycaon already eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Upon seeing you come in, Lycaon immediately stands up.

"Good morning, my love," he says as he opens the oven, taking out a plate that he had been keeping warm for you, "I made you some pancakes with bacon. I do hope you enjoy them."

He sets the plate down just as you take a seat. You look up at him, smiling warmly at him as he walks back over to his seat to finish eating breakfast.

"Good morning, Mommy!" your daughter cheerfully greets you before biting a forkful of pancakes, a big smile spreading across her lips, "Daddy always makes the best pancakes!"

"He sure does, sweetie," you reply softly before taking a bite, closing your eyes to savor the flavor; fluffy and cooked just right.

"What's that on your neck?" your daughter suddenly asks.

Your eyes snap open, your right hand reaching over and feeling where Lycaon's teeth hand sunk into your neck the night before. You don't doubt that there's bruising, too.

Before you can even think of formulating some kind of response, Lycaon replies to your daughter's query as he takes a sip from his coffee mug, "your mother was attacked by a ferocious beast last night."

You look over at Lycaon just as he lowers his mug, the most devious smirk crossing his lips as he gives you a knowing look in his exposed eye. Your heart palpitating in your chest, you kick him under the table, which is immediately followed by a sharp pain going up your leg when your toes make contact with the metal of one of his prosthetic legs.

"Sh-- Ow!" you hiss silently as you reach down to massage your toes.

"What was that?!" your daughter once again asks.

"That would be the ferocious beast eating your mother's toes." Lycaon replies nonchalantly, that smirk still on his face as he closes his eye while taking another sip from his coffee.

"Oh no, not Mommy's toes!"

"Lycaon!" you say as you give him a playful shove to his shoulder.

You weren't sure if it was instinct or fate that a few weeks later, you decide to pick up a pregnancy test at the store after work. You can't say you were entirely surprised when the result came up positive.

[whimsicalpolitical]

An encounter // Matty Healy x Reader

in which you just got broken up with but a man lets you forget everything for a night

content warning: smut, 18+ mdni, fingering, p in v, oral (m and f receiving), praise, drunk sex?, grinding

The pulsating beat of the club's music reverberates through your chest as you sway unsteadily on the dance floor, your movements fueled by a mix of alcohol and heartbreak.

Your girls had dragged you out, insisting that a night out was the perfect remedy for a broken heart. And now, under the flashing lights, you are beginning to think they might be right.

Lost in the music you throw your head back, letting the rhythm take over. The world blurry around you, a kaleidoscope of faces and colors. You feel free, if only for a moment, free from the memory of his words, the sting of the breakup still fresh in your mind.

“Here, have another shot,” your friend yelled, handing you a shot glass. You gladly take it.

You bring the shot to your lips and tilt it back, the tequila sliding down your throat. It doesn’t even burn anymore; you are so far gone that the alcohol is just another warm rush in your bloodstream, blending seamlessly with the intoxication already coursing through you.

“Get it girl,” your friend says, her hands on your hips, guiding you, and you throw your head back, letting the laughter spill out, carefree and wild. For the first time in what felt like forever, you aren’t thinking about him or the way he had left. You are just here, in the moment, with your best friends, reveling in the liberation that comes with letting go.

You keep dancing, bodies moving together.

Suddenly one of your other friends lean in close, her voice barely cutting through the din, “hey,” she says, nudging you with her elbow. “There’s a guy over there totally eye-fucking you.”

You stop mid-laugh, your breath catching as you follow her gaze. Across the dance floor, leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, was a guy. His eyes are locked on you, dark and intense, a smirk playing on his lips. The air seems to crackle between you, and the heat of his gaze sends a shiver down my spine.

Next to him are two other guys, one with a blonde buzz cut and the other one with a bun.

“She finally noticed you after you staring like a perv for half an hour,” George nudges him but Matty gives him a glare.

“She’s fucking gorgeous, there’s no way I’m gonna let her go.”

“Go for it then.”

Matty empties the glass in his hands before he hands it to George, “don’t count on seeing me tonight.”

“Good luck man,” they call after him but he’s already on his way through the crowd.

You feel your cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and thrill. The alcohol gives you the courage you might not otherwise have. “Oh my god, should I talk to him?”

“Absolutely,” your friend says, giving you a little shove, “have you seen him? He’s fucking hot.”

You agree with her, his tousled curls, which fall effortlessly across his forehead are damp with sweat from the heat of the dance floor. His dark locks are wild and unruly, adding to his magnetic allure.

Around his neck, a silver necklace catches the light with every movement, the chain glinting and drawing attention to the hollow of his throat. The pendant rests just above his chest, a small but striking detail that adds to his effortlessly cool demeanor.

You watch as he licks his lips, the glistening trail left by his tongue making your breath hitch. The way his mouth moves, so sensual and deliberate, makes you ache with a sudden, urgent need.

You imagine the cool metal of his necklace brushing against your body, leaving a delicate imprint as he presses closer. The thought of his fingers grazing your collarbone, the chain caught between you, sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Your friends smirk to each other when he reaches you, not waiting for you to speak.

“Having a good night?” He asks searching for your eyes which are currently directed at the floor.

“Could be better,” you say, hinting at something more and you know he gets it because when you look up there’s a glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his face.

“Want me to buy you another drink?” You shake your head at him.

“Want to know your name first before you buy me a drink,” you explain.

He nods and holds out his hand for you to take it which you do. “I’m Matty.”

The way he says his name sounds more like Ma-e, doesn’t matter because it sounds hot coming from his mouth. His hand is warm but not sweaty and you can’t help but imagine how it would feel in other places.

“Matty,” you say, wanting to know how his name sounds coming from your own lips. He smiles and nods his head once more before asking for your name.

“Gorgeous name,” he compliments and you can practically feel the blush creeping up your neck. It’s a good thing the club is filled with neon pink light.

“How does that drink sound now?” You definitely shouldn’t drink any more but when you’re already this drunk you don’t care if someone offers you more.

Should you be doing this? Having fun with a man when you just got your heart broken? Probably not but you’re just going to fuck that, fuck him.

“Perfect,” you say, “sounds perfect.”

He takes your hand in his and leads you towards the bar. When you turn around one last time your friends are smiling and winking at you, which makes you roll your eyes at them.

His touch is electrifying, his hand still holding yours. You can feel the anticipation building inside you, mixing with the alcohol in your veins, making your head spin the best way possible.

You lean against the bar when Matty turns to the bartender to order two drinks, his voice is smooth and low. You take a moment to look at him again, his dark curls fall into his eyes, the mischievous curve of his lips, the intensity of his gaze when he looks back at you.

The drinks arrive and hands you yours, clicking his glass against yours. “Hopefully to a better night,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours.

You echo his phrase, taking a sip. The drink is strong and it burns slightly as it goes down but you welcome the sensation. Its stronger then anything else you drank tonight which is why the drink grounds you.

Before you can speak up your friend shakes you, “gonna- gonna go home with a guy now,” she slurs, “oh hi!” She says when she sees Matty, “oh wow, he’s not him, good for you girl, fuck him.”

She’s off leaving you completely embarrassed with a Matty that grins at you. “He sounds like a dickhead.”

“You don’t know him,” you have no idea why you try to offend him.

“Don’t have to,“ he pours the drink down his throat waiting for you to do the same but you’re just sipping lightly.

“Hm,” you hum, “he is a dickhead, I don’t want to talk about him tonight though.”

“Wasn’t planing on doing so,” he steps closer, his arm disappearing behind you to set down his glass. Your breath hitches when he stands in between your legs, “would prefer talking about you anyway.”

You try to take a sip of the drink but some guy bumps against you and the liquid is flowing down your mouth.

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he says, pushing him through the crowd, “wanker.”

Matty takes the drink from your hands and sets it down next to his to make you focus on him. His thumb brushes against your chin, wiping your wet mouth before taking his thumb into his mouth.

Your voices catches in your throat, trying to wipe your neck with your arm, distracting you from the fact how close he is. You can smell the mix of his cologne, cigarettes and alcohol on him and it’s intoxicating.

“Think you missed a spot,” you whisper, pointing your finger to your mouth. You’re feeling bold but you’re loving it, you’re going with the flow and how can you resist when a hot guy is in front of you.

“Is that right?” His eyes flick down to your lips, licking his own before inching closer. “Let me.” He whispers before crashing his lips to yours.

His hands abandon your face, finding their way to wrap around your waist, bringing you to your toes and flushed against his chest. Your own react on instinct and weave around his neck, and your fingers find refuge in his black curls.

The tip of his tongue grazes your bottom lip, as he asks for access. The contact alone ignites you, and you can’t help the soft moan that lodges in the back of your throat, a flutter traveling below your stomach. Matty’s hands squeeze your hips in response to the sound and he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He’s a good kisser, it’s not too wet and his body on yours is driving you insane. You want more, you don’t want this kiss to ever end but at the same time you want him to kiss you in different places.

As fast as the kiss started it’s over, Matty’s pulling away, hands still on your hips. “My place is 10 minutes from here, we can keep doing this there.”

“Let’s go,” you say, dragging him towards the exit impatiently. He chuckles to himself, acting like he’s not as desperate as you.

“Slow down there, love,” the cool air hits your face and you shiver, the warmth of the club slowly washing off of you. “Need a fag first.”

You stop and sit down on a big stone, too dizzy to stand. You’re fucking wasted and all you want to do is jump Matty’s bones right here.

He looks at you, your pupils dilated, hair kind of disheveled and your cheeks flushed. Could be the alcohol but you know he’s the reason.

“Want one?” He asks but you shake your head, you’re not a smoker. You simply think it tastes disgusting but you don’t mind when other people smoke.

“C’mon, I can smoke it on our way.”

He takes out a cigarette and lights it with a practiced ease that makes your breath hitch. The way he cups the flame, his fingers steady, the quick flick of the lighter, and the first drag he takes—it’s all effortlessly hot. You watch as he exhales the smoke, his lips forming a perfect 'O' as he blows it into the night air.

"God, you look so good doing that," you murmur, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

He smirks, the cigarette dangling from his lips. "Do I now?"

You can't wait any longer. The desire is a fierce, living thing inside you. "No, wait," you say suddenly, standing up and closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. Before he can react, you grab the cigarette from his fingers and toss it aside, your lips crashing into his.

He makes a sound of surprise, but it quickly turns into a groan as he kisses you back, his hands sliding up to tangle in your hair. The kiss is hungry, desperate, and you can taste the faint bitterness of tobacco on his tongue, mixing with the lingering sweetness of the alcohol.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over your back, down to your hips, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. You can feel the heat of his body, the hard press of him against you, and it makes your head spin with want.

He whispers your name against your lips, his voice rough with desire. "Let's get out of here."

"Yes," you breathe, barely able to think straight. "Yes, let's go."

With a final, searing kiss, he grabs your hand, and you both hurry down the street, the promise of what’s to come fueling every step. The night air is cool against your flushed skin, but the fire burning between you keeps you warm. You can barely keep up with your own need, the anticipation building with every moment.

When you finally reach his place, he fumbles with the keys, your hands all over each other, stealing kisses even as he tries to unlock the door. As soon as it swings open, you're inside, the door slamming shut behind you.

"Matty," you whisper, and he's on you again, lips crashing into yours, hands pulling you closer. This time, there's nothing to stop you, nothing but the heat and the wild, electric desire between you.

The both of you stumble into the living room, not letting go of each other, too invested in the kiss. You end up on his lap.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you grind against his lap, whispering against his ear.

“You’re flattering me too much,” he groans, “you’re the gorgeous one here.”

You need the friction his lap is merely giving you, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders, grinding down.

He pulls you down for another devastating kiss. You moan into his mouth and grind your hips down. You start rocking back and forth, rubbing your clit deliciously across his hard cock. He pulls his mouth away and hisses lowly in pleasure.

His hands rub up your back, then down to your hips, pulling you down to grind harder against him. He licks and bites at the swell of your breasts on display from your low cut sweater. You tug on his hair, pushing him closer to your tits, grinding down again.

“Fucks sake,” he grunts, “condoms in the bedroom,” he says, without having any intention of lifting you off of his lap. His mouth is on your neck, sucking and kissing down to your collarbone.

You again love your hips down to his and this time his head falls back, pulling you off of him. You whine at the loss of friction.

“Sorry, love, any further and this night would’ve been over,” he stands up, lifting you up, your legs wrapping around his body. “And we don’t want that, right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, trailing kisses down his neck, sucking at one spot until there’s a hickey. You moan at the piece of art you left there.

“Like that?” He asks, “leaving a mark on me.”

You know you finally reached the bedroom when your back hits soft cotton. Matty stays at the edge of the bed pulling your pants down.

He throws them across the room and starts trailing kisses up your legs, he hums against your skin when he’s at your inner thigh, in front of your cunt, dripping cunt.

He can smell you and he can see it, the wet patch on your panties. He’s teasing you with kisses over the cotton and your hands go in his hair, trying to tug him closer.

“Don’t worry, m’ gonna make you feel good,” he tugs your panties down and sticks them into his pocket with a smirk. “Keeping those, need to remember you somehow.”

You giggle which is replaced my a whine when he bites your inner thigh. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you.”

He gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.

“You look fucking sexy,” he dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, familiarizing himself with your taste before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.

He comes up for a quick second, “and you taste as sweet as you look.”

You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He understands your sounds, understands their tells, he soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt. 

“Matty,” you moan, “please,” his fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.

You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Matty begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.

“F-fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders. 

You look down at Matty’s lower half, which is rutting into the bed, but only one time before stopping, not letting himself cum.

He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.

You find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Matty’s tongue in a matter of minutes.

As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.

His name rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.

He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound.  You cover your face with your hands and you try to close your legs but Matty first swats you hand away and then he moves up, his body between your legs. “Don’t act modest now.”

“Fuck,” you sigh in contentment, still feeling great because of your orgasm. It was a long time since the last time you had sex and came during it, you’re very sure this is not the last time he’s going to make you finish.

“Can I suck your dick?” You whisper against his lips before moving them against his, tasting yourself on him which makes you groan.

“Have at it,” he says, rolling off of you. He gets rid of his pants on his own, throwing them on top of yours. You straddle his thigh then, gazing at his bulge which is pulsing in his boxers.

“Eyes are up here, love,” he teases, knowing exactly where your mind is.

You start to squeeze him over his boxers, watching him as he lets his head fall back in pleasure. He is rock hard and he feels incredibly hot in your hands.

You bring your hand up to your mouth spitting in it before dipping below the waistband to stroke his shaft up and down.

Your spit and his pre-cum helps you to stroke him smoothly. Your want gets too much then and you tell him to lift his hips to get rid off his boxers.

He’s still wearing his shirt and so are you, it feels weird so you pull your own shirt over your head, leaving you in just your bra on top of him.

“Get yours off,” you plead and you don’t have to ask twice because he’s throwing it over his head, his curls falling against his face. You look at his chest, his arms, his v-line, the tattoos on his skin a new factor to get you wet.

You can’t wait so you put the tip in your mouth, moving your tongue around it. He lets out a little moan. “Keep doing that, fuck.”

You look up at him, he's already looking at you. And you proceed to slowly put all of it in your mouth while maintaining eye contact. His tip touches your throat, and you have to fight a gag. You still have a full fist grabbing the rest that didn't fit your mouth. He moans again at your little show. You close your eyes and start moving your head up and down. Matty moans louder this time, thrusting up inside your mouth.

“What fucking twat would leave a girl like you hm? Proper loss there.”

You whine around his cock, his words going straight to your chore and you can’t help but grind on his thigh once.

He feels your body move and his eyes shoot down to you again, “little minx, need to grind your pussy on me, get some relieve cause sucking my cock turns you on.”

His hips lift up again, his cock going deeper then you think it could go and you let out a moan again, swirling your tongue around the head.

“Get off, christ, need to be inside you.” Your head is moved away by his hand, leaving you with a teasing put on your face.

His thumb finds your bottom lip, refusing to see you pout because you want to suck him off. “I’m real mean, can suck my cock another time yeah?”

You’d love that. God. He’s a stranger but you can’t help but imagine the next time you can do this. He’s pretty, hot, totally your type. The British accent, the tattoos, it’s the type to leave you writhing.

He’s leaning to his side, pulling out a condom out of his drawer. You snatch it from his grip and open it with your teeth, rolling it down his dick.

“Matty.”

“Yes, darling?”

You lean closer, whispering into his ear. “Fuck me.”

He finds his way on top of you again, his hands going around your body to unclasp your bra. “Haven’t had a chance to enjoy these properly.”

His tongue latches onto one of your nipples while his fingers rub against the other one, not wanting to neglect you in any way. Your back arches off the mattress, into his body.

“Your tits are amazing, you know,” he quickly switches nipples before coming up to your face again.

“If I do anything that you don’t fuck with, tell me,” you nod and wrap your legs around him to try to put his cock in you, obviously failing. “Words, love.”

“Yes, Matty, just please fuck-.”

You whimper as you feel his hard length run through your glistening folds, his hips jutting against the backs of your thighs. 

“Is that right, need me so fucking bad?”

You nod, crying out when his cock finally pressed through the tight threshold of your cunt. "Fuck, yes Matty.”

"Already forgotten about that little twat?" He asks, fully sheathing himself in you.

Your back arches off the bed and you groan. Fingernails scratching at Matty’s forearms.

He pulls back and slams into you. "Asked you a question.”

"Yes,” You cry out. His cock reaches into the very depths of you, the tip hitting in just the right place to make you scream. "I have.”

“Perfect,” His fingers adjust themselves as his grip slips and then he's pounding into you at such a brutal pace. Back and forth, in and out, he is fucking you.

Your walls clamp around him, the drag of his cock stimulates you more and you clench harder.

Skin on skin, the noises that they make are obscene.

The squelch of him entering you has your face burning, not in embarrassment but desire. His gruff growls and fucked out moans accompany those other sounds and all they do is make you even more horny.

“That’s it,” Matty fucks into you with reckless abandon, his head in the crook of your neck, biting down on your shoulder.

The way he fucks you is savage. Hips snapping at a speed you couldn't imagine, his fingers squeeze your skin so hard you are sure you will have brushes in the shape of his hands all over you.

The knot pulls tighter once more and your body begins to lock up in anticipation. Your eyes flutter before rolling to the back of your head. Your hands reach for his, interlocking your fingers, hoping he will keep you down on Earth.

As your orgasm hits once more, you wail. A long, monotone cry bursts from your lungs, whole unattractive but who cares when you feel so so so good?

"Sound so pretty- fuck- all for me,” Matty gasps. He's trying to hold off but it's all just too much. A shiver runs up his spine and his balls pull taut. He's lost his rhythm, hips now bucking unevenly and with desperation.

Before you become overstimulated, Matty also comes shortly after, only a few more pumps, and he spills himself into the condom.

His body crashes down on top of you, the both of you breathing heavily into each other.

“You feeling alright?” He asks, his brown eyes gazing into yours. The alcohol slowly starts to wind down, sickness starting to set in.

“Yeah fuck- fucking dizzy and I don’t want to push your ego but you’re a god- fuck me.” You groan and whine when he pulls out of you, slipping the condom off of him.

You pull the blanket over your body, one leg draped over it as you watch him move to the bathroom to throw the condom away and to pick up a towel.

“You don’t have to do this, I can piss off you know,” you say, desperately hoping that he wants to keep you with him.

“Don’t be daft, m’ not letting you go, if that’s alright with you.”

Of course you nod and giggle, letting him clean you up before letting him pull you flush up against his body.

“You’re a gorgeous girl,” he whispers, brushing hair off of your face, “meant every word I said.”

“Thank you,” you close your eyes, “Matty I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, love,” he kisses your cheek, “we’re both knackered, let’s just sleep.”

You agree with a soft hum and his arms closed around your waist to pull you in. You intertwine your fingers in one hand, the other on his chest, feeling his now steady heartbeat. Might become your favorite rhythm.

[mrsdesade]

I love Ophera! Tell us more about her, please 🙏

Sure of course, your giving so much love to my girl! 💖 I'm always happy to talk about her and giving you more OCs content! Instead of a simple info dump I got the occasion of this question to recreate a live TV interview with her!

------

Ophera interview;

Pairing: no one, just Ophera stuff (mentioning of her relationship with Homelander and some other characters) TW: nope Timeline: late season 1 Words count: 1,6k

“Welcome back to The Daily Show. I'm Cameron Coleman. And tonight, we have a very special guest. She's one of the most powerful, most enigmatic figures in the whole Vought. She's a superhero, a musician, and a global icon. Please join me in welcoming the incredible Ophera!”

The studio audience erupted in applause as a stunning woman with obsidian black hair and piercing red eyes stepped onto the stage. Ophera, the third member of The Seven.

Cameron's voice, smooth and polished, echoed through the studio, introducing Ophera to the world once more. But this was no ordinary interview. Behind the dazzling facade of the superhero, there was a woman haunted by secrets. As the cameras rolled, a different story was about to unfold. A story that would delve deeper than the carefully crafted public image.

“It’s an honor to have you here. You’ve become a symbol of hope for millions.''

"I just try to do my part."

"And do it you do, spectacularly. The world needs heroes like you, Ophera. But let's peel back the layers a little. Behind the invincible superhero, there's a woman. A woman who's faced unimaginable challenges. Today we are here to ask you some questions, your audience wants to know more and more!"

''Whenever you want, shoot, I'm ready.''

''Let me ask you first, something related to your musical career.''

Where do you draw your inspiration for your music? Is there a particular artist or genre that has influenced you?

"Inspiration is everywhere. A city at night, a broken heart, the taste of iron - it’s all fuel for my music. I've always been drawn to the raw energy of rock, but I'm not afraid to experiment. Oh, I deeply admire Michael Jackson's works and carreer.''

Do you have any pre-show rituals or superstitions?

"Superstitions? That's for amateurs. I prefer a good warm-up and a shot of espresso. If that counts as a ritual, then I'm guilty as charged."

What are your favorite things to do when you're not saving the world or performing on stage?

"When I’m not fighting crimes or performing a stage, you can find me on my motorcycle, lost in thought. Or perhaps in a dimly lit bar, enjoying a drink with my friends. Hey Lara! She wanted to be greeted on live TV!''

What's the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to you on stage?

"Let's just say that once, during a live concert, my metal manipulation went a bit... rogue. Imagine a guitar flying into the audience. It was a show, alright."

''Working for Vought must be such an experience, right?''

How do you view your relationships with some other members of The Seven?

"The Seven…It's a peculiar little family, isn't it? Maeve, a warrior, a seasoned pro. We have a mutual respect, born from years of shared experiences. Starlight, well, she's a breath of fresh air. Her idealism is infectious, even if she can be a bit naive sometimes. Also there's The Deep… let's just say he's a fish out of water. But hey, who am I to judge? We're all just playing our part in this grand spectacle, aren't we?"

What’s the most challenging mission you’ve faced as a member of The Seven?

"Every day is a challenge. From rescuing kittens from trees to stopping world domination, it's a rollercoaster. But if I had to pick one, let's just say it involved a really, really high skyscraper at deep night. Alone. Without flying assistance."

How do you balance the demands of being a superhero with the pressures of maintaining a public image?

"It's a delicate dance, that's for sure. You have to be able to switch gears in a heartbeat. One moment you're saving the world, the next you're on a red carpet. It’s like being an actor, except with superpowers and way less wardrobe malfunctions."

There have been rumors about the darker side of The Seven. What do you think about the growing anti-superhero sentiment?

"Rumors are like shadows, Cameron. They linger in the dark, feeding off fear and ignorance. The Seven are a symbol. Some people prefer to focus on the shadows rather than the light. It's a choice they make."

What is the most challenging aspect of controlling such immense power?

"The most challenging aspect? Resisting the urge to use it on people who deserve it. Power is a double-edged sword, Cameron. It can be used to create or destroy. The trick is knowing which is which."

How do you feel about the limitations of your powers, if any?

"Limitations? No no, I prefer to think of them as challenges. They keep things interesting. Besides, who wants to be invincible? Where's the fun in that?"

Do you believe that the ends justify the means, or do you adhere to a strict moral code?

"Morality is subjective. What's right for one person might be wrong for another. I believe in consequences, however. Every action has a ripple effect."

''Let's get straight to the point, your relationship with Homelander.''

Can you tell us more about how you and Homelander first met? It seems like a match made in heaven.

"A match made in hell maybe! Well, my beloved Homelander. A force of nature. We collided, quite literally, during a mission. It was chaos, destruction, and an undeniable spark. Classic superhero love story, don't you think?"

How does it feel to be considered one of the most powerful couples in the world?

"It's a curious thing, fame. It magnifies everything, including the mundane. Homelander and I are partners, in life and in work. The world sees us as a power couple, but our relationship is far more complex than that."

Girls wants to know. What's the most romantic thing Homelander has ever done for you?

"Homelander? Romantic? That's a new one. Let's just say he knows how to create a good quality moment after dinner."

Fans often look up to your relationship. What advice would you give to couples who aspire to have a love like yours?

"Communication, trust, honestly, and a really good therapist. Just kidding about the last one. Kind of. Or simply: don't date superheroes. It’s messy."

''Your family, quite a delicate topic.''

Could you tell us a bit about your brother, Illuminatio? What was he like?

"He was my rock, my partner in crime. We were inseparable. He had this infectious laugh that could brighten anyone's day. Such a showman...I honestly miss him everyday."

How do you keep Illuminatio's memory alive? Is there anything you do to honor him?

"I try to live a life that would make him proud. And I talk about him all the time. He loved being in the spotlight, he always looked for his place in the world of entertainment. I will do my best to never let his legacy disappear.''

What kind of legacy do you hope to leave behind? Is it more important to be remembered as a hero or as a person?

"A legacy, huh? I'd rather be remembered as a catalyst for change. Someone who challenged the status quo, pushed boundaries, and inspired others to be their best selves. Hero? Person? Why choose? I am both. And I'm proud of it. But if I had to pick, I'd say it's more important to be remembered as a person. Because heroes come and go, but people are forever."

''People wants to know something more about your private life!''

You've been in the public eye for years. How do you manage to maintain a sense of privacy in such a demanding role?

"It's all about finding those quiet moments. A good movie, a glass of wine, and maybe a locked door. Sometimes, even superheroes need a little 'me time'."

Your style is always on point. Who are your fashion inspirations?

"Anyone who's not afraid to take a risk. A bit of edge, much glamour, and a good sparkling dress. Even If sometimes you've to sacrifice your comfort. Except for shoes, oh love, you can't save the world in uncomfortable shoes."

Aside from your superpowers and musical abilities, are there any other hidden talents you possess?

"I'm told I have a talent for driving people absolutely insane! Is that the kind of talent you had in mind?"

Last question! Are you truly happy with your life?

"Happy? Well, It's a complex emotion. I'm content, fulfilled, and occasionally amused. But happiness is a fleeting thing, isn't it? Like a shooting star. Better to focus on making the most of every moment."

The studio audience is on its feet, applauding. Ophera sits on the couch, a relaxed posture contrasting sharply with the intensity of some of the questions. A little smile playing on her red lips. Cameron, visibly impressed, stands up and walks over to Ophera. He extends a hand for a firm handshake.

“There you have it, folks. A glimpse into the life of Ophera. From her humble beginnings to her status as a superhero, she's truly an inspiration. But as she's shown us tonight, even superheroes have their vulnerabilities and their doubts. Ophera, thank you so much for joining us. It's been a pleasure!”

''Thanks to you Cameron for having me, it was fun, let's do it again sometimes! And thanks to all of you who support us every day, you guys, are the real heroes.''

Ophera returns the handshake, her grip strong and confident. The audience erupts in another round of applause. She stands up, her tall figure commanding attention. She walks to the edge of the stage, taking a deep breath. With a wink at the camera, she blows a kiss to the audience. The lights dim as she steps off the stage, leaving the audience buzzing with excitement.

-----------

Thanks again for the request, honestly one of my favourites to write, hope you enjoyed! Kisses <3

[servantofclio]

Dragon Age fic: The Tyranny of Morning Meetings (Dorian/Inquisitor)

Yet another fic getting cleaned up and posted to AO3, and I thought I'd post it again here as well. Had to come up with a title for something that was originally just a prompt-fic.

Dorian was not only awake for this blasted morning strategy meeting, he was actually early. This was a mark of something, though he hadn’t made up his mind what. Newfound responsibility? Dedication to the cause? Simply the fact that he’d fallen asleep over his books early the night before, rather than reading by magelight into the still hours of the night?

Whatever the cause, the entire experience felt profoundly novel, as if Dorian had gone and become a new man, one who embraced the chill of the morning air, so long as it also brought sunshine and singing birds and all that rot.

… ah, perhaps he hadn’t entirely become a new man after all.

He was, however, early enough to catch the Inquisitor heading toward the council room, alone. Dorian’s heart quickened along with his steps as he made to intercept him. It was a rare opportunity for a private word or two, at this early hour, with people only starting to stir and most of those awake still at breakfast.

A week ago, even, Dorian might have held back, mindful of watchful eyes and chattering tongues. That was before the Inquisitor had made clear what he thought of such talk, thoroughly discomfiting the disapproving Revered Mother. Before they’d taken their game of flirtation a step further and lent truth to those scurrilous rumors. Before Dorian had made so bold as to kiss the man, at last. The Inquisitor. Trevelyan. Simon, since Dorian had utterly failed at keeping his distance, no matter how good his intentions had been.

“Good morning,” Dorian sang out now, once he was drawing close enough for conversation.

Simon stopped short and turned toward Dorian, a smile already breaking over his face. “Good morning, yourself. I’m surprised to see you about so early.”

“I’m perfectly capable of rising early,” Dorian said haughtily.

“Far be it from me to suggest otherwise. You’re generally a quarter-hour late to morning meetings, that’s all.”

Dorian couldn’t deny the truth of that. “I’m merely signaling my disapproval. Morning meetings are detestable. Can’t you use your Inquisitorial authority to move all strategy sessions to a civilized time like afternoon?” He waved his hand around at thegreat hall vaguely, encompassing the idea of authority.

Simon snorted. “And ruin Josephine’s detailed daily schedule? I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, Cullen and Cassandra would have conniptions.” He started off toward the council room, Dorian falling into step beside him.

“I knew that habit of early rising you’d developed was a bad one,” Dorian said.

They passed through the door into the corridor, and Simon paused. “Why, Dorian, you’re not attempting to use that undue influence over me, are you?”

“And what if I were?” Dorian countered. That playful tone of voice had a deeper undercurrent, one that he’d quite happily allow to carry him away.

“You might have to give me a better reason,” Simon said, his voice low.

For once Dorian found himself without an immediate rejoinder. They stood, side by side, Simon’s eyes warm and serious in spite of his smile, and Dorian’s imagination was quite carried away, indeed, fueled by the memory of that kiss. He was no blushing youth, to let one kiss make him weak in the knees, and yet it had, unleashing the storm of fantasizing he’d barely been keeping in check over the last few months. “I’m certain I can come up with a better way to spend amorning,” he retorted, a beat too late.

“Mmm.” Simon smiled, sly and full of promise. “I’m sure you can.”

He looked altogether too pleased with himself, as they started down the hall again. He’d hardly even done anything, and yet Dorian was entirely off-balance, not at all the way he preferred things. Striking out in search of advantage, he said, “I had a dream about you, last night.”

Simon’s steps faltered as he shot Dorian a quick, startled glance. “Did you now?”

“A good one,” Dorian added, satisfied with the response. Let him not be the only one whose imagination was running out of control.

“Do tell,” Simon breathed, turning again to face Dorian.

“I would,” Dorian said — in fact he only half-remembered the dream, but what he did remember was promisingly filthy. “—but there’s this morning meeting, I hear.”

The dawning, wide-eyed outrage on Simon’s face gave Dorian all the satisfaction hecould have wished for. This was nearly worth waking early for. He smirked back, counting himself victorious.

“You’re an appalling person,” Simon informed him.

“I’m well aware,” Dorian said. “And yet you associate with me anyway —”

“So I do,” Simon said, and stepped in to kiss Dorian before Dorian could say another word.

The kiss was swift and soft, rather on the chaste side, and yet Dorian’s first flash of thought was alarm, as Cassandra or Cullen or Josephine or anyone might come trooping into the corridor at any moment. As if he’d sensed the thought, Simon broke it off quickly, leaving Dorian with only the barest taste.

No, that wouldn’t do at all. Dorian leaned in before Simon had retreated more than half a step, for a proper kiss. His heart pounded, listening with half an ear for any sign of footsteps approaching the door, but he made it a kiss worth having anyway: deeper, lingering, a little thrill running down the back of his neck.

He pulled back as soon as he perceived voices growing louder. He took an entire step back, in fact, and they both stood still, eyes fixed on each other, for the space of a heartbeat or two. Dorian felt entirely out of clever words, and more than a little out of breath.

Then the door swung open, admitting an entire cohort of Inquisitorial advisers, half of them already debating what they were intended to be discussing for the next hour. “There you are, Inquisitor,” Cullen called out, and Dorian took another step back. He fell in with the tide of people as it caught up with them, and pretended not to notice Leliana’s inquisitive gaze.

[sofiaispunk]

dbf!Joel Miller x Reader - Part 6

warnings: smut, 18+, slowburn, love triangle, infidelity, unprotected piv, not proof read

Joel wasted no time, practically dragging you towards his truck. Your lips crashed together in a passionate kiss once again, fueled by all the desire you two had been holding back for way too long. You couldn't resist Joel, giving in to the magnetic pull between you.

You stumbled towards the truck giggling, your bodies pressed close, and Joel opened the door for you. You hopped in eagerly, anticipation coursing through your veins. As the engine roared to life, Joel glanced at you with a naughty grin.

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice tinged with excitement.

Joel chuckled, his eyes filled with a playful sparkle. "Just trust me."

As you drove, you found yourself unable to resist the magnetic pull drawing you closer to Joel. Your fingers grazed his arm gently, the need for his touch irresistible. You leaned towards him, your bodies craving the closeness that only each other could provide.

Deciding to take a detour from the bustling city, Joel pulled over to a hilltop spot that offered a breathtaking view. You stepped out of the truck, the night air crackled with an electric charge. Joel reached into the back of the truck and pulled out a cozy blanket.

He layed the blanket out for you to lay on and you didn’t waste any time and rushed over to him and hastily lifting his dark blue T-shirt. “Eager much, huh?” Joel playfully teased as he helped both of you undress. With a nod of agreement, you pulled him closer, indulging in yet another passionate kiss.  Joel gently laid you down on the blanket, his touch tender and careful, the night breeze caressed you bare skin, leaving a refreshing chill in its wake.

He laid close beside you, his body intimately pressed against yours. Warmth emanated from him, enveloping you in a cocoon of desire. His finger traced a tantalizing path along your sternum, sending shivers down your spine. His lips hovered inches away from yours, teasingly brushing against your skin, his warm breath mingling with yours.

"You're so perfect, my angel," he whispered, his voice dripping with adoration and longing. The sound of his words made your heart race, your pulse quicken with anticipation.

His fingertips continued their delicate dance, tracing patterns of pleasure across your skin. Every touch sent electric currents of desire through your body, igniting a fire that consumed your senses. The world around you faded into insignificance as you became lost in the intoxicating closeness of his presence.

“Just touch me already,Joel,” you whined, arching impatiently against his hand. Then seconds later you felt his middle finger pushing your underwear aside and sliding gently down your folds. You threw your head back. “Yes, please don't stop. I’ve been wanting this for so long.” He parted you with two fingers and found your clit, rubbing it in small circles. You cried out against his lips, and were lost in the sensation. Him being finally near you, touching you, skin to skin, it was all too much, almost too good to be true. Time and space had no meaning anymore. There was only him.

Joel settled himself between your legs and you cradled his hips with your thighs. Your leg flexed against his back, urging him closer, hands cupping his head to hold him still as you rocked into him. “I want you inside me, Joel.” You panted against his lips.

He gently bit your top lip, sucked it, as he lined up his length on your slick entrance. Your anticipation reached unimaginable heights as he finally slid inside of you, with a low grunt. “Fuck, baby. You are perfect. You are made for me.” he grunted while tugging gently at your nipple, rolling it between his teeth.  As his thrusts gain a steady tempo, you brought your hands to his pecs, his nipples, down his soft tummy, clamping your legs around his waist, driving him further into you.

“Mine.” He whispered in your ear, as you both reached your heights, body and soul mixing together. It was nothing short of magical. 

Your head found its way back to Joel's chest, your fingers softly tracing patterns on his bare chest. With the city spread out below you, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the world lift off your shoulders. In Joel's arms, everything seemed right, as if you had found your rightful place and you wished this moment would never end.

-

But the moment did end, so you found yourself here, staring out the window, bored out of your mind. It's been 10 days since your date with Tommy. 10 days since the magical night with Joel. After your time on the hill, he drove you home in silence, and you were silent too, too scared to ruin the moment. What if he regretted it? But just as you were about to get out of his truck, he grabbed your wrist and whispered, "You're mine, remember that," planting a gentle kiss on your lips, leaving no space for doubts. 

But that was a whole 10 days ago, and now all those doubts have resurfaced, growing stronger with each passing day. The memories of that incredible night with Joel are etched into your mind, keeping you company during those lonely nights. It does sting that Joel seems to have ghosted you, leaving you hanging.The truth is, you miss him. Just talking to him would be enough. 

Tommy, on the other hand, has been keeping up with constant texting, checking in on how you're doing, reminding you to stay hydrated, and even suggesting going to see that horror movie in the cinema together. You appreciate the attention and genuinely like Tommy. In another life, he could have been your crush, but in this life he just didn't quite compare to Joel.

Speaking of the devil, you caught sight of him and Sarah making their way to the front door. In a matter of seconds, you heard a knock and hurried downstairs, shouting, "I got it!" to your parents. With a cheerful smile, Sarah greeted you at the door, and you enveloped her in a warm hug. "Hey," she said. Joel, on the other hand, seemed a bit hesitant, avoiding direct eye contact. "We were wondering if you could take Sarah to her eh… soccer practice," he finally spoke, his tone almost shy, his gaze fixed on his daughter.

"Of course," you replied, masking your own uncertainty with a friendly smile. "I'd be happy to take Sarah to her soccer practice." Turning to Sarah, you added, "Ready to go, champ?"

Sarah beamed at you, nodding eagerly. "Yes, please!"

Joel's expression remained composed, though you could detect a trace of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice polite but lacking the warmth you were used to. "I really appreciate it."

With a reassuring nod, you assured him, "No problem, Joel. Sarah's in good hands. We'll have a great time."

-

You and Sarah settled into the car, and you noticed her exuding extra cheerfulness. It reminded you of the conversation you had with her 10 days ago, outside her house, when she was so sad about her parents' constant fighting. "So, how are things, Sarah?" you asked, treading carefully, not wanting to trigger any negative emotions but still genuinely concerned. "Good! Things are better," Sarah replied with a wide grin. "Oh, I'm really happy for you," you continued, genuinely pleased. "Yes, my mom and dad are back together, and they're not fighting anymore. Can you believe it? They're all lovey-dovey again."

Well, that was unexpected. Your heart sank, and if someone had been paying attention to your face, they would have seen every emotion written all over it. Heartbreak was evident, mixed with a tangle of sadness, anger, confusion, and a sense of feeling used. It was overwhelming, and you struggled to sort through all these conflicting emotions.

As you sat there in the car, trying to process everything, Sarah's cheerful chatter became a distant background noise. Your mind was consumed with thoughts of Joel and the night you shared together. How could he have acted so distant, as if it meant nothing? You replayed his words in your head, "You are mine, don't forget that," and wondered if they held any weight or if they were merely empty promises.

The truth was, you had allowed yourself to believe that there was something special between you and Joel. You had let your guard down, allowed yourself to hope for something more. But now, faced with the reality that he had used you, your heart ached with disappointment.

"Therapy? What?" you asked, trying to comprehend Sarah's words. It was the only snippet of the conversation that caught your attention amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

Sarah nodded,. "Yeah, my mom and dad are going to therapy now. It's like a session where they talk about their problems and try to work things out. They couldn't bring me to soccer practice because of it. It's called couples therapy, I think. Mom was really mad at dad the other night because he just drove off after their fight." 

Your heart skipped a beat as Sarah mentioned the night you had met outside her house. 

"Did you… eh… see him drive away?" you blurted out, hoping for some clarity.

Sarah shook her head, her expression apologetic. "No, I didn't. I fell asleep shortly after we talked. It was getting late, and I didn't want to make things worse for my parents."

Relief flooded your senses.

"But let's talk about you," Sarah teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "You seem smitten with someone."

"Nooo, noo, I swear there's no one," you quickly responded, feeling flustered and caught off guard. Your mind was already in a whirlwind, trying to process Joel and Irene's reunion, and now this conversation with Sarah. It was all too much to handle, and your words stumbled out in a jumbled mess.

Sarah burst into laughter, finding your reaction amusing. "Relax, what's gotten into you? I meant Tommy, jeez!" She paused to compose herself before continuing, "He came to us the other day, right before your little date, and he was bragging about taking you out. Dad wasn't too thrilled about it, kept telling him to cancel the date because he's convinced Tommy will break your heart and isn't good enough for you."

You let out a sigh of relief, realizing the misunderstanding. The tension in your shoulders eased as you processed Sarah's words. It seemed that Joel had been protective of you, even though he was distant. The thought warmed your heart a little.

"But hey," Sarah motioned toward your buzzing phone, indicating an incoming call from Tommy, "seems like he hasn't broken your heart yet." You shrugged nonchalantly and ignored the call, dismissing it for the time being. "Yeah, it looks like he hasn't. I'll call him back later or something."

You dropped Sarah off at her soccer practice and quickly sent a message to Joel, your fingers tapping on the screen with anticipation. 

Hey Joel, just dropped off Sarah. Do you want me to pick her up later as well?

You stared at your phone, waiting anxiously for his response. The three dots appeared, teasing you with the promise of a reply, only to vanish without a message. It was a simple question, so why was he taking so long to answer? Your heart sank as his response finally appeared.

No.

Just one word, but it felt like a cold gust of wind, chilling you to the core. There were no thank-yous, no hellos, no pleasantries. Just a straightforward rejection. Your heart broke even more at the starkness of his response. Maybe he had no time during his oh-so-important therapy sessions. What was he even trying to work on in there? His wife had been having an affair for over a year, and he had fucked you dumb less than two weeks ago. What was left to work on?

Perhaps you were being unfair and cruel in your judgment, but at this point, you didn't care. The truth was, he had used you, and now he was playing house again with his wife, attempting to fix their shattered marriage. The realization stung, bitterness seeping into your thoughts.

Fueled by a mix of anger and pain, you swiftly dialed his number and pressed the call button. The familiar voice on the other end greeted you, "Hello?"

"Hey, Tommy, it's me. Sorry I missed your call earlier. I was driving Sarah to soccer practice," you explained, trying to regain some composure.

"Yeah, no worries. I was just wondering if you're hungry. There's this new pizza place that just opened up, and I thought we could check it out," Tommy suggested, his tone light and casual.

You paused for a moment, considering his offer. Then an idea popped into your head. "Actually, why don't you just come over? My parents are out for the day, and we can order pizza and watch a movie at my place."

Tommy's enthusiasm was evident in his response, "You got it, sweetheart. I'll be at your place in 20."

-

35 minutes later, a knock on the door signaled Tommy's arrival. You had chosen to wear grey sweat shorts and a white cropped baby t-shirt, opting for a comfortable and casual look since you were just lounging at home. You couldn't help but feel cute in your chosen attire. 

Opening the door, you were met with Tommy's mischievous smile. Determined to establish some clarity, you blurted out before he could utter his usual ‘hey sweetheart,‘ "We're friends, right?" Tommy appeared taken aback, a look of confusion crossing his face. "Yeah, of course we are, sweetheart. Why do you ask?" he replied, closing the door behind him and stepping closer to you. 

Gathering your thoughts, you continued, "Well, friends sometimes do things together that may seem more than just friends, but it doesn't necessarily mean anything.”

“Like friends with benefits?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement in it, trying to grasp your point. You simply nodded, the doubt starting to creep in. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Well, scratch that—it definitely was a bad idea.

Without a word, he wasted no time and pulled you close, his hands gripping your ass tightly. He began planting kisses on your neck, his lips hungrily seeking yours. In his eagerness, he clumsily attempted to lift you up, but it resulted in a moment of imbalance, almost causing you to lose your footing. You quickly steadied yourself by grabbing onto the nearby couch. "Where's your room?" he asked, his voice breathless and filled with desire. Without hesitation, you pointed upstairs, leading him up the stairs and into your bedroom. Time seemed to blur as you hastily discarded your clothes, leaving no room for romance or even a moment to comprehend what in the hell you were doing.

Tommy, slightly shorter than Joel, had a muscular build and broad shoulders, although not quite as broad as Joel's. It pained you to compare the two in such an intimate situation, scolding yourself for letting thoughts of Joel invade your mind. Deep down, you knew that Tommy could never replace Joel or heal the void he left behind. He was just a temporary distraction, and it felt unfair to both Tommy and yourself. No matter how charming or attentive he may be, he was just a distraction from the lingering ache in your heart. The guilt of using him as a mere substitute clawed at your conscience

Tommy, sensing the tension, asked somewhat timidly, "Do you... want to lay in bed?" You realized how awkward the situation must have been for him. Standing there, both of you naked in front of the bed , and you staring aimlessly at the wall. Clearing your throat, you nodded and replied, "Yeah, let's get comfortable." you finally responded, pushing aside the conflicting emotions and attempting to focus on the present.

You climbed onto the bed, the sheets feeling cool against your skin. Tommy joined you, and for a brief moment, you tried to quiet the inner turmoil within you.

He leisurely explored your body with his kisses, starting from your shoulder and trailing down to your breasts and tummy. "Just relax, sweetheart. I'm here to take care of you, just like friends do. No need to overthink this," he assured you. You nodded, attempting to let go of any doubts and focus solely on the sensations his lips elicited. His hands moved across your thighs, kneading the flesh gently, while his mouth found your clit.

As his tongue entered your entrance, a sense of unease washed over you. Something didn't feel right. You squirmed uncomfortably, finding his sloppy kisses on your pussy too wet, too ticklish for your liking. Every touch heightened your awareness of your own body, and it became clear that this encounter wasn't bringing you the desired pleasure. 

His tongue strokes felt mechanical, lacking the intimate touch you craved. Your body tensed with each stroke, unsure if it was your own perception or something off with the connection. Yet, Tommy persisted in his rhythm, licking you fervently. His hand traveled up, pinching your nipple a little too firmly, causing you to let out a small cry of discomfort. Determined to push aside any doubts, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to let go of intrusive thoughts, hoping to fully immerse yourself in the moment. You forced your mind to relax, focusing solely on the sensations created by Tommy's tongue.

And then, just like that, it was his tongue on you. You were back to that special night on the hill, lying on the blanket under a starry sky. The familiar scent of pinecone perfume replaced the citrusy fragrance of Tommy. You could feel his large, calloused hands exploring your body, his deep brown eyes captivating your gaze. Soft curls with specks of gray intertwined with your fingers, and his plush lips expertly met your folds. His angled nose brushed against your aching clit, and the softness of his mustache tickling your skin.

For a brief moment, the boundaries between reality and memory blurred. The weight of longing for Joel overwhelmed you, and you moaned and screamed as your orgasm consumed you.

“JOOELLL.”

[kaseyskat]

woah marcanne

~~

"I like you," Anne blurts.

It comes out of nowhere- except not really, because it's been on Anne's mind for ages now, the way she can't even sit in Marcy's presence anymore without her chest fluttering, how she wants to hold her, to draw her in and never let her go. But Anne's always been pretty well versed in burying her feelings, so the words that slip out of her mouth right at the end of one of Marcy's rambles surprise her.

They clearly surprise Marcy as well. In fact, she gapes at her, cheeks flushing a pretty red, eyes wide and wondrous. Anne has gotten lost in those eyes before, and it takes every impulse not to do the same now with how deep they go, how starry they become at such a simple confession.

She's pretty, always has been. Anne adores her.

"I... what?" Marcy says, and she smiles all prettily, the expression clearly forced. "I mean, I like you too, Anna Banana, you're my best friend-"

"-no, Marbles, I really like you." Anne leans in, and she takes both of Marcy's hands in her own; if she's gonna confess feelings now, might as well confess them all the way. "Like, like like you. Like, butterflies in my stomach like you."

"Oh," Marcy whispers, understanding dawning in her eyes. "You... me?"

"Of course I like you, who wouldn't?" Anne grins, squeezing Marcy's hands. "I mean, you're smart, you're funny without trying to be, you get excited over the smallest of things and your eyes just light up when you do, you're sweet and kind and fun and you always give everything your full effort even if you don't like it, and you try so hard all the time and that's enough for me, you know? I like you."

Anne pauses, takes a deep breath. The fluttery feeling in her chest is slowly melting away; it was probably just the anxiety. "You don't have to feel the same, don't worry, I just... I couldn't keep looking at you and keeping the feelings to myself, it's a little silly-"

"-don't say that!" Marcy says fervently, and when Anne looks up at her face, her eyes are watery but full of adoration bright as the sun, her bottom lip trembling. "This... you'll never know how much this means to me, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Anne questions.

"You mean so much to me," Marcy continues, and she's crying now, a silent cry that doesn't particularly seem sad, just... emotional. "This is exactly what I've always wanted, and it's so perfect and so you, I can't believe it's actually happening."

"It's just me, Marmar," Anne snorts, but Marcy's shaking her head desperately.

"I love you," Marcy says, and each word is just as emotionally charged as Anne's, her desperation fueling the way she clings to Anne's hands. "I always have. I love you because you're silly, and fun, and you always find a way to uplift the people around you, and you're inspiring and brave and I've wanted to be you my entire life, because you're Anne, you've always been my favorite person, and... gosh, I'm really rambling, aren't I?"

"You're cute when you ramble," Anne says, even as her heart pounds and pounds at the words, at how much Marcy adores her in return. "Sometimes I try so hard to listen to you but you're so pretty I just end up staring."

"I do the same thing," Marcy admits, and she giggles, tugging one hand free so she can wipe at her eyes. "So... if you like me and I like you too..."

"...guess that means we're girlfriends now, right?" Anne offers, and she takes another deep breath, steeling herself. "Hey Marmar, can I kiss you?"

"You'd be my first," Marcy says shyly, but she flutters her lashes up at Anne with a smile, and she nods. "Please kiss me."

So Anne gives into her impulses, just like she had before. She's never kissed anyone, but she's watched plenty of romance animes, and it's easy to lean in, press one hand against Marcy's cheek and the other on her chest, tilt her head, and kiss her.

It isn't what she's expecting. Marcy's warm, and she kisses back passionately, her own hands snaking into Anne's hair and wrapping around her neck. She tastes like the cherries they'd been snacking on beforehand, and Anne savors it as she clumsily kisses her, savors every moment.

The kiss ends when she feels a stinging pain, and she leans back a little with a grimace. "I think you bit my lip," she grumbles, but it's hard to keep a straight face here, and she's snorting as the absurdity of it all hits her.

"Sorry, sorry, I got... I got carried away," Marcy giggles, and she's laughing and laughing as Anne pouts at her. Laughing and laughing and she doesn't stop, so Anne leans in and kisses her again to shut her up, and Marcy gasps into it, and she doesn't bite her that time, and it's just as magical as Anne had hoped her first set of kisses would be.

Maybe this sharing her feelings shit isn't bad, she thinks, as she finally, finally, gets what she wants most in the world. At long last, she's happy.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can I get E, F, I, and W for the slenderman fluff alphabet, please? Your take on my favorite pasta cryptid of all time is so nice and interesting. Adds a certain depth I don't typically see.

Fluff Alphabet w/ Slenderman but it's these letters!

side thing but guys go listen to redoin by jerryterry its so fucking good im listening to it on loop while im writing this and its making my vibrate

E (EMOTION)-

stone cold exterior, warm squishy interior. still hung up on the "slenderman longs for companionship just like everyone else but rarely gets that need met due to his nature and way of existence"

in other words he can be a passionate sap in regards to you, behind closed doors. he can wrapped up easily in things, so sometimes his passion can be mischaracterized as rage or annoyance but rest assured he's not angry with your existence

right in the middle of the "heart on the sleeve" and "cold and distant" thing, he feels he needs to keep up his image of powerful monster but he doesn't let you think at any moment that you're not important to him

F (FAMILY)-

i don't think he would want kids, and thats assuming he even can. in my au he was created by zalgo with the sole purpose to cause problems for people, i dont think zalgo was thinking about whether or not slenderman can reproduce when he making him

of course adoption is always an option, and who knows, maybe if you guys find some stray kid in the woods he might just take them in

this is where my take on slenderman strays a lot from the original since i personally think slenderman just. kicks kids out of the woods (which leads to them talking about him, which leads to slenderman being a known cryptid in universe) but thats mostly just me not wanting to dwell on child death + giving the dude some level of morals that at least somewhat align with the self loathing that comes with his "i dont want to eat people but i have to in order to survive" thing

but hey i think thats because i love those comics where people draw predator and prey animals where both sides are sympathetic

love shit like that

slenderman is only one part of this huge web that we call nature, simply existing because that's just how things are

whips and nae naes

I (INJURY)-

rest assured that he will tear the world apart should someone or something ever send harm your way. god forbid you are mortally wounded or even killed

he knows some basic first aid stuff thanks to watching people for so so so long, but he's a kriller not a healer, he doesnt know what to do if youre losing a bunch of that red liquid that fuels your insides

oddly calm about it, though, though with the way he holds you you can feel his rage seething under his skin

he himself /can/ get injured but its rarely something to fret about unless its like, from some real powerful person or some human who knows how to take down a specific man eating forest demon; i've actually never really thought about what conditions would need to be met to outright krill slenderman but

yeah

when he's the one hurt he insists you not to worry, it's going to take a LOT to keep him down

if you're injured and its something he can treat he will make sure you take it easy but hes not going to baby you about it

W (WARRIOR)-

okay so im writing this segment first because i can write a whole essay and really i dont know if theres going to be anything stopping me from doing just that. curse you jerryterry, the bops are so good. anyways onto the topic; a lot of my interpretation of slenderman is admittedly based around the early fandom characterization of him + a very specific fic that will remain nameless (though im more than happy to spill the link in dms, said fic also has some influence over my entire au/hc thing but thats not todays topic)

despite what many may think, i feel like, at least with my hyper specific take on slenderman, i feel like he wouldnt want you to fight along side him or be a proxy. only time i can see him date a proxy or fellow kriller is if you were already one prior to the relationship. in my au, slenderman resents his own existence for being what he is, and if he could he WOULD choose to be something else; however he cant rewrite the laws of this universe or fight against his biological functions

like i can go on an entire tangent, but my au is still so scrambled around that im not entirely sure where to start or how im going to make it make sense, but i feel like he would much rather keep you by him and safe (and even then i feel like thats pushing it, sure hes more than capable of protecting you but what if something stronger than him comes and fucks shit up? not all the creepypasta characters are buddy buddy)

but perhaps i will write a collection of loosely connected one shots one day detailing the world building and dynamics

i make no promises

[songbirdtales]

Small Talk (OC Tav)

Author's note:

Hey folks! I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to add this little scene into something bigger so it's just a little bite sized jawn based on one of the little conversations the NPCs have when you're running around in early game. I'm just a little too obsessed with my own OCs sorry lol

“Any special someones waiting at home?” Astarion knew when he was barking up the wrong tree, which is why despite looking straight at Shadowheart, he wasn’t really using her as a gauge. If anything her exasperation fueled his real target. He caught their face in his peripheral vision, a soft grin that consciously hid the tiefling fangs underneath. Their hesitation told him enough.

The young elf was more than a little flustered as the party trekked through the bog. “And what about you?” She deflected in the way a young woman with no interest in men desperately shoves off their attention.

“The only woman waiting on word from me would be my mother.” Gale said in an attempt to defuse the tension. The words had drawn Tav’s attention.

“Could be a good thing? A boy your age could use some adventure.” They couldn’t help but tease. 

“And what of our bard? Surely there’s at least one waiting to hear from you.” Gale could take a joke, his smile warm and cheerful despite their circumstances.

Tav’s blue fire eyes stayed on the road ahead as the 4 slowed to a stroll to conceive their strength. “Well,” They tilted their head side to side. The group swelled with excitement as they egged Tav on, all curious to draw out the tale. “I used to travel with a Paladin of Lathander. We’d split ways just a few moon before all this… I don’t know if he even knows I’m missing, but I know once he finds out he’ll be worried. Can’t help himself like that.”

“A fearsome ally,” Gale mused. “Could be worth having such a warrior on our side.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “We don’t need another follower of a conflicting god at camp.” She’d feel less strongly about this when it came to Halsin, but a paladin of Lathander was to Shadowheart like recruiting another Githyanki.

“A paladin?” Astarion almost sounded disgusted. “Sounds annoying. I can see why you left.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Tav said with a shake of their head. “We could have kept having adventures, living on the edge of what we should have been and what we wanted, but sooner or later something was going to give.” They seemed lost in the thought of this mystery man. “He’s so… true. Like a fairy tale. Someone like that is too precious to the world for me to ruin.” Tav shrugged. “So he’ll remain my untouchable champion and I will be alone on stage singing his praise.”

“That’s…” Shadowheart’s awe quickly shifted to annoyance. “So twistedly tragic. And you… think that’s romantic?”

Tav flashed Shadowheart a fanged smile, only pulling them to view for a purpose. “A little madness is part of the trade, love.” One eye closed as Tav winked at Shadowheart. Her reaction was much different to Tav. Despite Astarion’s elegance, there was something feminine about Tav that he just didn’t have. Their androgyny tripped Shadowheart up. A man would never make her melt, but Tav wasn’t a man, or perhaps was more than just a man.  

They all fell just a little more under Tav’s charm, Astarion could even feel the tug of their charisma on his opinion of them. His eyes narrowed as he watched them focus on Shadowheart now, fully committed to flirting with her until her face was bright red. She could only give half hearted refusals to their words as the ground she tried to stand crumbled from under her with the wash of Tav’s gaze. 

This kind of power, the charm to talk their way out of anything… A lot of things were adding up. Astarion had been decided right then and there that he’d seduce Tav, make them his shield from the others. And if he was lucky, maybe even his weapon against Cazidor.

[midnight-pomegranates]

II.

“Where would you like me to start?” Caulin asked. His voice sounded hoarse and tired. He sat hunched in the chair, bound by tighter chains and unable to move more than a few inches without pulling them into a vice around his body.

Ephrianne Lemault steepled her thin fingers. She was a hawkish-looking woman, with graying hair and golden eyes that watched every move he made with a predator’s gaze. She was dressed in the usual white frock many of Old Sharlayan’s Scholars wore, though a gold-trimmed sash cut across her small breasts denoting her a member of the Forum. Brushing a fallen strand of hair behind her large pointed ear, she said, “At the beginning, if you please.”

“Do you want me to start with when I was born? How well my childhood went, living in the Brume, a son of a simple weaver?” 

“Unless your birth or childhood involve this alleged nightkin in question,” Ephrianne said, “I suggest you start with how you received your assignment to investigate the woman, Prei Valentyne.” 

Caulin’s body seized at the very sound of that name. The foul language of the Void poisoned his throat. With a snarl, he fought the urge to try and stand once more, to attack and claw his way loose, but the chains held him and he could do nothing but speak words he didn’t truly understand.

Ephrianne’s eyes widened and then narrowed in observation. She studied him as a painter might study a figure he wishes to paint; or as an alchemist observing the chemical reactions of an experiment set to warm on a burner. Still, in his blood-fueled vision, Caulin could see the bob of her throat as she gulped. He could hear the rapid beating of her heart, the sharp, short breaths as she tried not to scream again.

“Do not speak that name. Do not call upon the darkness,” he growled. His voice had gone low, guttural. There was part of him that wanted nothing more than to fall into the intoxicating living-death that had wormed its way into his very aether. He would bleed the world dry if Prei commanded it. He would lay open his chest, give her his beating heart just so he could see her taste of his flesh. But there was a spark of life-giving aether yet in him, tethering him to his body, and it filled his head with the voice of Helene. His beloved, sweet Helene who gave herself to him so he might continue.

Caulin drew in a deep, ragged breath, trying to calm his mind and the dark parasite growing within. He pictured Helene’s face, round and beautiful with rich brown eyes and hair the color of the sun in Spring. She stood at a balcony wrapped in furs smiling at him as snow drifted down around her. “Caulin,” she called to him. “Caulin, come into the light.”

“Helene, take me with you.”

“Caulin...”

“Mr. Desperue.” His gaolor’s voice cut through the haze, sending the vision of Helene back into the darkness. “Mr. Desperue, I say, are you alright?”

Caulin opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. He shuddered, weeping, and wanted to hide his face in shame but found his hands were still bound to his lap. He was still in this cluttered, rotting cell with a member of the Forum who, he knew, was only drawing out the inevitable. He would die, by whose hand, he could only guess. But his nights were numbered and he would either find mercy in the Twelve, or he would be eaten by the thing inside of him.

Through a curtain of damp hair, Caulin watched as Ephrianne fought the urge to call for the guard. It was a wonder she hadn’t already. He was nothing of the man he once was, or would ever be again. He was a killer, an abomination tainted by the Void, and he could see the fear, the judgment, in her gaze.

With hand trembling, Ephrianne began to write in the book, before asking, “What is it that drives you to react like…” Her voice quavered, betraying her as she struggled to find the words.

 “A madman?”

She cleared her throat. “I am not educated in healing or the mysteries of the mind to properly prescribe such affliction, but yes. To put it plainly: as a madman.”

Another shudder ran through his body. “She is a monster,” Caulin whispered. His chest felt tight, his throat desert dry. “She feeds and dines on living flesh, and is bound to something far worse.”

“In what way, Mr. Desperue?” asked the Scholar. Curiosity played over her sharp features, but doubt creased her brow.

“I need water, wine,” he replied with a cough. “I need a drink and then I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but please: allow me to have something to cool my throat before I begin.”

Ephrianne Lemault sighed in obvious annoyance. She stood and moved to the door to rouse the guard, then returned to the seat as another jug of water and glasses were fetched.

They were delivered a short time later, giving Ephrianne the chance to pour herself a glass first before she poured one for Caulin. “Thank you,” she said to the guard who set about tightening Caulin’s bindings. “No, don’t do that. I’ve no wish to hold the cup for him. Loosen his chains just enough that he can lift his glass and drink.”

“Ma’am? If he tries to attack you again-?”

“He won’t,” she said, pointedly, her gaze bearing down on Caulin. “And if he does then we shall be done with this interview and I’ll report to the Forum that Mr. Desperue suffered an attack of the heart, dying in the process.”

The guard seemed to catch her meaning and he snickered. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be out in the hall if you have a need.”

Ephrianne took up the quill once more. “Now then, Mr. Desperue, please begin at the beginning, when you were given the assignment to investigate-” She paused at the sharp hiss Caulin made. “-this nightkin of Ishgard.”

[ Previous Entry ] [ Table of Contents ] [ Next Entry ]

[jamieedlund]

Okay but I love ur Aaravos art so much like it's so so dear to me I just spent 30 minutes showing all your art to my friend and giving them the link to your page so they can see it all here and reblog and stuff. It's literally so lovely, your artwork of Aaravos is 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 (also love him and Callum and how you write them it's perfect)

As someone who has been very very alone in my journey of loving these two, I thought long and hard about answering this because words cannot express how grateful and happy I am. I am so, so so thankful for your support (ง •_•)ง(ง •_•)ง(ง •_•)ง

I've always been bad at replying to kindness because I don't want to sound either arrogant or too humble dusakjlafh but I have a profound appreciation for the ones who not only enjoyed my work but also took the time to share and talk about it with others (which believe you me that in of itself is not an easy thing for a lot of people, including me...) It is so, so dear to my heart and it motivates me to continue sharing the things I love. I think I have a very personal and specific take on their relationship as well as who they are as individuals that fuel my love for them. So when that love resonates with someone, it's extremely heart-warming (❤´艸｀❤)

(I've been meaning to answer this ask for a while now because I wanna draw something nice for you but ended up debating between 6 different concepts so again, apologies for my delay, I cannot thank you enough (ಥ _ ಥ) You can see them under the cut if you're curious~ They all remained super scribbly sketches though because I am an idiot.)

They ain't evil tho they're absolutely neutral. A small pet peeve I have is when people going "woah THATS EVIL CALLUM!!!" when they look at my art like pls no this boy is the walking definition of chaotic neutral I cannot--- sorry for the rant wheezes. Hope you enjoyed that at least---

[harsh-epilogue]

(Happy Saturday~ enjoy this blurb~)

Kratos sat on his throne, the weight of his responsibilities heavy upon his shoulders. The council meeting had been long and arduous, filled with endless debates and political maneuvering. As the King of Olympus, it was his duty to ensure the prosperity and safety of his kingdom, but sometimes the burden seemed too much to bear.

He glanced across the room, his eyes landing on the figure of Heimdall. The beautiful concubine stood at the edge of the council chamber, his striking features illuminated by the soft glow of the candles. Even in the midst of the chaos, Heimdall's presence brought a sense of tranquility to Kratos's mind.

'Come,' Kratos commanded, his voice low and husky. Heimdall's heart skipped a beat as he made his way towards the King, his steps graceful and measured.

'How may I serve you today, my King?' Heimdall asked, his voice a sweet melody that filled the air.

Kratos reached out, his calloused fingers gently brushing against Heimdall's cheek. 'I need release,' he confessed, his voice filled with both desire and vulnerability. 'The weight of this kingdom is suffocating me.'

Heimdall bowed and took Kratos' hand, pressing a gentle kiss against his palm. 'Your wish is my command, my King,' he whispered, his voice laced with adoration. 'I am here to give you comfort and pleasure.'

Without another word, Kratos took Heimdall's hand, leading him through the grand halls of the palace and into his private chambers. The room was bathed in candlelight, casting a warm glow over the opulent surroundings.

They stood before the grand four-poster bed which was draped in luxurious silk. Kratos turned to face Heimdall, his desire evident in his eyes. 'Undress for me,' he commanded, his deep voice sending shivers to the concubine's spine. With a single gesture, Heimdall let his robe fall, revealing his flawless physique. His body was a work of art, a testament to his commitment to please his King.

'Come here,' Kratos urged,

patting on his lap. Heimdall obeyed, stepping closer until their bodies were mere inches apart. Kratos pulled Heimdall into his lap, feeling the weight of their connection settle against him. He wrapped his arms around Heimdall's waist, drawing him closer until their bodies were pressed together, heartbeat to heartbeat.

The room seemed to fade away as their lips met, a gentle collision that grew more urgent with each passing second. Their tongues danced, exploring the depths of their mouths, as desire surged through their veins. The king's hands roamed freely over Heimdall's body, tracing every dip and curve with a reverence that spoke of devotion.

Heimdall moaned softly, the sound vibrating against Kratos' lips, and tilted his head back, giving the king access to his neck. Kratos eagerly trailed a path of hot kisses along Heimdall's smooth skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Each touch, each breath, fueled the flames of their passion, until they were consumed by a hunger that only intensified with every passing moment.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 💖💕!!!!!!!! AMAZING, SPECTACULAR, BREATHTAKING!!!!!!

[mishamalda]

ever thine, ever mine

length: 4299 words

pairing: edaltena (altena x eda)

read here on ao3

The world spins around her. Her legs are weak against the revelation that hangs in the air like a withering rose, and though her knees threaten to give out she forces herself to remain standing. She is, after all, in the presence of her liege. She must not show this weakness. Her eyes do not see any of her surroundings: there is only Altena, Altena, the only truth she’s ever known, Altena who looks at her expecting a reply.

Those arresting dark eyes cut into the slits between her ribs, agony more profound than any spear wound she has suffered. “Eda?”

How beautifully her name forms on the lips she cannot claim. “I— I think,” she manages through a cracked, bleeding throat, “I think that you should do it. He will take care of…” Of you, she’s meant to say, but this prince with no face will not lay down his life in an instant for her queen. He will not do what she— no, she cannot think that way. He is a prince, and Altena is the queen, and Eda is nothing but a guard-captain. He will take better care of Altena than Eda ever could. “Of Thracia,” she finally finishes.

“...Thracia,” Altena says, her brows drawing together. She stands, a warrior’s graceful movement, and Eda knows it is a dismissal. “I thank you for your counsel, Captain.”

The title stings. So does the way Eda’s heart pulses and heats her skin as Altena smiles at her.

Eda breathes away the fire, her eyes closing against its fuel. “I am at your disposal, my liege.” It means something different; she doesn’t dare speak the truth of it aloud. Especially not now.

Altena looks at her through narrow, sunlit brown eyes, her lashes casting long shadows against the warm light of the late-afternoon sun. “You are not disposable,” she says quietly, the conviction in her voice fading. It cuts too close to the quick of her sadness.

She has never understood the abyssal depth of her devotion. Eda would not exchange that commitment for anything— it is the only commitment she can claim. Altena’s kind heart, however, will not waver, and that, too, Eda would not change. Instead, with affection and its hungrier counterpart fitting in her chest like spearheads, she bows a shallow deference, responding, “As you will it, your Majesty.” This, at least, will not change when Altena takes this anonymous prince as her husband. Eda will always be her vassal, even if for a fleeting moment she had thought they could be something more.

Knights do not love their lieges. They do not stand in the way of advantageous political matches.

“...I fear I must go, your Majesty, if you have no more need of me.” She invokes that title like a spell, as if it will open the distance between them again, as if it will bank the raw flame that blackens her lungs.

Altena steps away. “You… You may go, then.”

Eda turns.

Later, hunched over her desk, the moon dark and far away, she pens a letter.

Dear Dean,

I have done something monumentally stupid, but first: How are things in the south? How are you keeping? I sincerely hope you are well, because the contents of this letter are sure to make you feel worse, and if you are sick or injured I worry that the shock might kill you.

I had intended to tell you this when you came to the capital next moon, but things have suddenly worsened. To put it in simple words, I believe I am deeply, irrevocably in love with Her Majesty Queen Altena. This is enough of a problem on its own, but given the political situation and the need for heirs, she has decided to consider marriage proposals, and she came to me for counsel. I of course advised her to accept. I do not know if I can make it through the engagement festivities, only I have to, because I am the captain of her guard. My duty has no space for this infatuation.

Please. If you have any advice: I beg you, dear brother, to help me.

Yours,

Eda

Somewhere between allowing herself to weep and gaining a new bruise on her shoulder from training taken too far, she receives a reply.

Dearest little sister,

You are truly— and I do not want to make you feel even worse, but I must speak the truth— the most foolish person on the face of this world.

Why (and this is underlined three times, gouging the paper) would Her Majesty, Queen Altena I of the United Kingdom of Thracia, go to HER GUARD-CAPTAIN for marital advice? Have you thought about this at all? She was hoping for you to STOP HER, you insufferable fool! Everyone who’s ever read a romance novel knows that! Are you blind as well as stupid? Have you not seen the way she dotes on you? Did she not rely on your support during the aftermath of the war?

Eda, I would bet all of my worldly possessions that she would rather marry you. I know you will call me an optimist for that, but truly, keep my words in mind. I long for your happiness, and I know that you could find it here.

But I do not mean to be cruel to you. I know your pain. Maybe it runs in the family— falling in love with those you serve. However, unlike you, I am bold enough to believe myself worthy. Take a chance, Eda, and look at yourself the way she does for a minute.

With love,

Dean

Eda is about halfway through drafting her next letter when her brother arrives at the doorstep of her barracks, arms crossed and face shadowed. Despite his full foot of height over her, she only stares up at him, tired beyond fear.

“Come on,” he says, because of all people Dean is the only one who understands: he too is a wyvern rider, and knows that the earth and the sky are two different places, that her grounded wants and fears cannot be carried on dragonback. “Kate’s saddled. Let’s go.”

It is impossible to speak while flying. Kate carries the two of them to a secluded, frozen peak, where they sit in silence under her shielding wing.

Finally, Dean says, “I flew for two days to reach you, and this is how you treat me?”

Eda huffs.

“No, really. It’s been months since I’ve seen your face. If you’re not going to let me solve your issue— which I could do with a well-placed letter, by the way— then at least speak to me about something. Anything will do.”

She looks up. Kate’s veins tangle in her wing. She can chart the skirmishes they have been through together: a small, closed-over hole where she was shot, a ragged edge where she dug Eda out of a chaos of blades, a discoloration where they flew through the flaming trail of a Meteor spell. “You said it ran in the family— loving the one you’re sworn to.”

“It does.”

He’s quiet long enough that Eda considers snapping at him— you wanted to talk, so talk. When she looks over to deliver the rebuke, he is lost in his own head. She softens.

“I thought it might end that way,” she says. “You’ve always been— and he, for all his melancholy…”

“That’s it, isn’t it? I couldn’t resist.” He smiles. “He’s here, too, you know— to see Altena. And I had hoped, while we were here, to ask your blessing. I sent Mother a letter, and she approves, of course, but I wanted to ask you, too.”

“Ask me what?”

“I want to marry him.”

Eda laughs. To her ears, it is grating. “That sounds like a question for him, not for me.” When she sees his sincerity, she shrugs her shoulders and rolls her head to one side, loosening it the way she did before drills, an old impotent comfort. Dean will be happy. Dean will marry Arion, and she will make do as she always does, echoing his happiness, living off of it, making do with what she has. “Do it. You love him. It’s simple.”

The hypocrisy makes both of them smile. Dean doesn’t say anything, until: “Thank you.”

“Don’t. It’s nothing.”

“Do something for me, Eda,” Dean says, not looking at her. “Go to the masquerade ball. I’ll take over your duties for the night.”

There are so, so many reasons not to that she settles on the easiest. “I don’t have a gown.”

“That’s easily fixed.” Dean, she growls under her breath, glaring at him, and he only raises his hands in surrender. “Look, I’ll get you a gown. Do this one thing for me and I will never ask you for anything again.”

Lying. “Why?”

“Because,” Dean says, leaning obnoxiously close to her, “I saw the way she looked at you.”

She elbows him. He elbows her. 

“Fine,” Eda mutters at last, and from the way Dean’s face lights up, she immediately regrets it.

The night of the masquerade ball comes without ceremony.

The tradition is an old one— something about anonymity, or fidelity, of the old adage of a last night of freedom before a lifetime of marriage. Eda is supposed to be posted at the sidelines, but on Dean’s promise, she instead stands in the midst of the festivities, cloaked in a midnight-dark dress and hidden behind a black mask in the shape of a dragon. She is not meant for dancing with these scarred hands and her scale-hardened legs, tough from the years of war and everything that followed. Those who dance here are unfettered by that carcass that lingers, a constant weight, upon the backs of those who fought.

It is easy, then, to find another weighted step among the lightfooted masses. Altena wears a scarlet, silken gown that seems heavy as it pools against the ballroom floor. Her face is obscured, disguised in scarlet silk, strangely subdued despite its vibrance. She does not dance, but she walks along the abandoned perimeters of the room. Here she is anonymous— they both are— so for once Eda does not resist.

The warm light that suffuses the room does not quite reach her. Colder shadows cut her into the shape of a stranger. Still, Eda knows her; even alone and masked, she is her queen, and she could not mistake her in any scene with any disguise. The binds of duty do not break in ballroom shadows. The binds of love do not break at all. So it is no surprise how she finds her way to Altena despite the merry, spinning crowd, and in a voice not her own she says, “You are not dancing.”

She should ask, but the instinct is to tend. Altena does not startle at her presence, instead looking at her through unrecognizing eyes that grieve— that grieve?

“I cannot dance tonight,” Altena says. Her voice is painfully herself, entirely undisguised. “I face a tragedy.”

What tragedy? Your marriage? She bites back the damning question: right now, Altena means to be unknown. "It is a happy occasion," she says instead. "What troubles you?"

"I—" Altena trails off, staring at the crowd, her beautiful dark eyes glassy and filled with the dancers' ghostly reflections. "Will you dance with me?"

"Of course." My queen is barely left off of the tail. Eda's stomach soars at the lack of address.

Altena, shorter than her but only barely, holds out her hand, wrapped in a glove the color of fire. Eda takes it in her own. Silk is a lovely feeling, but she would far prefer the flesh below it. Still, warmth sinks into her own bare hand from Altena's heated skin, and it is an illicit thrill. "My hand on your waist," she murmurs into her queen's ear, "your hands on my shoulder."

Altena looks up at her. Even through the mask her eyes are defiant and bright, consuming light to transform it into beauty. "You have a warrior's hands."

"That is because I am a warrior." The music, a tender string piece laying veiled over the room like a transmuting mist, eases them into motion. For the first time, Eda leads Altena and not the other way around.

She rather likes it.

"You're quite beautiful," Altena says apropos of nothing, as brazen and fierce as ever. She's had a little to drink, and her mouth is flushed red, her cheeks rouged where they're exposed. Eda doesn't drink, but she does hunger.

"You can't see my face— how would you know?"

Altena hesitates. She bites her lower lip. Gods above, Eda had thought herself seduced by Altena's small subconscious movements, by the fact of her shoulder flowing into her wrist as she writes: is this what seduction feels like when she's trying? "You're gentle," she says softly. "You're…" her voice trails off there, catching on some forbidden word, and she ends up repeating herself; "you're gentle."

"No one's ever called me that." With no lovers, no close friends, and her rapport with Dean anything but sweet, no one has ever had the chance. Sometimes she wonders how much of herself she has given for Altena's service. 

The music keeps flowing. You could dance to it forever. Altena turns her body, masked eyes meeting masked eyes, and her hand travels halfway to Eda's chest before she halts it. "Do you want to go?" she asks.

I want what you want; I want you. "Yes," Eda replies, breathless, and she is once again under Altena's oath, following her where she goes with no questions and no desires, hearing only the plucked string of her own heart.

They are as far from the dancing as two people can get. The arch of the transformed ballroom leads into a long stretch of hallway. "You have told me nothing of who you are," Altena says, twisting her hands in each other.

Eda hesitates. "I am a soldier."

"Only a soldier?"

"I was raised in Thracia. There's not room to be anything else."

Altena is silent. Then, hopeful and tender, she says, “That will change.”

“There’s no way to know that.”

“You’re right. I don’t know it, really. Tonight I know nothing. I am nobody at all.” Altena turns to face Eda, taking her hand and turning it over, observing her scars with a scouting finger. These days, so long past the end of the war, Altena’s hands are suited more to penmanship than lancework. Eda’s, by contrast, have only grown tougher. “Your hands are lovely,” she murmurs.

“You must be a politician— using flattery to guide the conversation.”

“I assure you that politics involve no flattery. You, on the other hand, demand it.” She pauses. Oh, she is so beautiful when she smiles. Eda can hardly breathe.

“I demand it?”

“My chivalry demands it, I suppose." But her smile is as ephemeral as it is sweet, and she falls again into melancholy.

Softly, Eda murmurs: "Tell me what you grieve."

Altena looks at her with arrested unhappiness. "I cannot."

"I am a stranger. Whatever we say to each other will be forgotten."

Altena doesn't speak for a long while. They are alone with their footsteps and the expanse of the palace before them, passing tapestries and paintings, the whole history of Thracia murmuring in this building's bones. "I was in love," she says finally, "and it has ended."

Together they walk, step in step. In this surreal scene Altena is sensual and tempting, lit more lurid by the bare moonlight and passing torches than she was in the romantic ballroom. "You are no longer in love?" Eda asks.

Altena laughs briefly, unhappily. "I am still in love. The one I love… has made it clear that they do not wish to be with me."

Ah. Dean was right. All this time, Dean was right. Eda's heart spins into her tongue. "I am sorry," she says in her strange voice. She should tear off her mask and cry Altena, it's me, I love you too, I love you desperately. But she will not turn her queen to reckless action— not while promised to another, someone worthier than her. Not when so much rides on this alliance. (Only the last part is a lie. She does not care about the alliance. Her duty is to Altena— no one and nothing else.)

"I will learn to be happy, I think." Her gaze hardens, her mouth firm. And then she laughs again, except this time there is humor in it: "I'm sorry. I don't know you. This is awfully personal for someone I've just met. Though you seem… familiar, somehow."

"Maybe it was destiny."

Altena might have laughed again if she didn't look so taken by the idea. "Destiny," she repeats. And then suddenly she is turning to Eda, eyes black in the half-light, and saying, "Do you think that acting on desire is dishonorable?"

Oh, what is she supposed to say to that? "It depends on what the desire is," she answers. For example: eating an extra sweet roll at dinner is acceptable, whereas shoving your sworn liege against a wall and kissing her absolutely senseless is—

"No; forget I asked that." Altena shakes her head, and then takes Eda's hand in her own. "Tonight is my last night unbound. I will not play games with words. I want you."

She delivers the line like a knife to the gut and like any trained soldier does not stop at first blood. "I want women. I only want women. I have always known that about myself. I am about to give myself to a man for my kingdom— and just once I want to taste—"

Damn it all. Damn her duty and Altena's betrothed and Thracia itself for all she cares. Eda grasps Altena's face between her hands, breathes in her gasp of shock, and pushes her into the wall, knocking something askew. "Tell me what you want," she whispers.

Altena's hands are on her shoulders. "A kiss to start. After that— whatever you will give me."

"As you will it," Eda says, and crushes her mouth to Altena's, all the years of pent-up desire bursting into one moment like the instant your teeth cut into a ripe peach. Altena gasps and then moans. Her hands claw into Eda’s hair. It’s all wet heat, desperate, Eda sucking Altena’s lower lip into her mouth, Altena allowing her to; it’s more than she’s ever dreamed of, unbelievable because it is here, it is happening, it is impossible and entirely hers. 

“Oh,” Altena whispers when they have barely come apart. “Oh. Oh.” A breath that’s also a laugh. “Again. Please.”

Eda kisses her again. Eda could kiss her for ages to make up for all the times she has abstained— Altena on the balcony with her after the war, Altena looking down on her as she swore fealty, Altena on top of her when her lance went wide, Altena touching her arm to wake her when she fell asleep on watch. This kiss is less violent, more exploratory, a thousand small sweet kisses chained together. Altena seems to like it just as much. The corners of her mouth— the bow of her upper lip— the indent of her lower— the hot muscle of her tongue; Eda memorizes her like the grain of a haft, like the heft of a blade, knowing.

How can she ever go back to looking at Altena from a distance, having known her like this?

Eda brushes a kiss along her throat and Altena almost cries out before wresting the sound back down. “Don’t,” Eda whispers. “I want to hear you.”

She goes further, to her collarbones, marking a bruising circle; to her shoulders, gentle, knowing how much they carry; to her breasts, palming one through the gown as she kisses the swell of the other. She only stops when she realizes Altena is weeping. She pulls away, but Altena’s hand reaches to stop her, and with her mask already askew from her passions—

One heartbeat. Two. The mask clatters to the floor. After that there is only silence. 

“Eda,” Altena whispers. With trembling fingers, she loosens her own mask and pulls it off.

She is so beautiful without the mask to obscure her. Her mouth is still red from Eda’s bruising hunger. Her cheeks are still flushed. It is, somehow, the same night that it was a moment ago. “I’m sorry,” Eda murmurs, stepping back.

But Altena does not look affronted. She looks wild, cut-open with hope, incredulous. “All this time,” she breathes, catching Eda’s hand so she can’t flee— “you’ve felt the same?”

“It wasn’t proper. I’ll— I’ll resign immediately. I’m sorry.” She tries to bow out of the proximity, but Altena, too, has the hands of a lancer. Her hands clamp around Eda’s wrist like warm iron. “My queen,” she pleads. Her voice snaps.

“My knight,” answers Altena, sure as her encroaching smile. She brings her in, carefully, like Eda is a creature who will run from her, and when she is close enough to feel the wine-heat of her skin, she closes the gap between them, softly this time: no teeth, no tongues, just the simple assurance of a chaste kiss. Altena kisses her like she isn’t in a hurry. Altena kisses her like they have more time.

Eda pulls herself away.

“Don’t go,” Altena says, bringing her back in with a lean arm. She raises her hands to Eda’s face, stroking it with a tender thumb. Her hands are still scarred. With the trembling clarity of a phrase shouted across battlefields, Eda’s mind catches between her skull and her mouth: I am in love. “Why would you kiss me just to run away?”

What is she to make of this? Soldier that she is, who never disentangled intention from action, she has no way to stop herself from saying it. “Altena. My queen. I— surely you know. You must.”

“I did know, and then you lied to me about it.”

“I have never lied to you about anything.” Eda crosses her arm over her heart, her eyes lowering. The twinge of pain in Altena’s voice snaps across her back like the blade that scarred her. “I told you I could not care for you the same way a prince could. I am not the choice a queen makes for her consort.”

Altena’s arms drop. For a horrifying moment Eda fears she’s talked her out of it, but then they land on Eda’s waist and draw her closer. This time, they don’t kiss. Altena cradles her, and they stay there, pressed against the palace wall, long enough for Eda’s skin to stop screaming its need. “You are not a queen’s choice, but you are mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.” The confession is a breath into Altena’s collar.

Action to action. Lance into shield. Wing into arm. They live and have always lived mutually; that is the way of a warrior. You are nothing without your brothers in arms beside you. You are nothing without your dragon beneath you. You are nothing without your queen commanding you. So a blade is answered with a hand, and a bank is met with your squadron falling into place, and Eda’s love is answered with Altena’s. 

“Don’t cry.” Altena holds her tighter. Both of their gowns are rumpled. If anyone were to walk in— to see the guard-captain trapping the queen against a wall— would either of them ever see the end of it? “I’ll call off the engagement.”

“You can’t. For Thracia—”

“It was superfluous. We can live without it. We have always found a way.” Altena laughs wetly. “I’ll marry off Leif to some foreign dignitary.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” Altena agrees, and then turns Eda’s head to kiss her again. Her mouth tastes of salt and wine. “But for you, Eda, there’s not much else I wouldn’t do.”

How is she worth this much to her? How is she worth this much at all? I love you she should say, but it feels too small, too trite. “You’re everything to me,” she says instead. It still isn’t enough. She has spent her life proving her love: it would take a master poet to put that into words.

Altena’s mouth does something funny at the edges, like she doesn’t know whether to sob or smile. “I know,” she answers. She kisses her again— again— again, reaffirming. I love you and I want you and I will keep you. Above all else, she will keep her, when it is easier to leave her by the side. She will keep her when she should marry someone else. 

“I would have loved you anyway,” Eda says. Like a cut wrist she cannot stop speaking, every bled word cutting closer to her heart. “If you had married him, I mean— I would have loved you anyway.”

“You break my heart,” Altena whispers. She wipes at her own cheeks. 

“You’ve broken my heart every day for five years and I’ve loved you through it.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

The strangest, most wonderful thing about this strange and wonderful night: Altena will make it up to her, and they will share their legs curled up in the royal bedchamber, and they will share mornings and nights, and Eda will never again have to look at Altena and restrain herself. Altena will make it up to her, and maybe it will take years of outright affection; maybe it will take forever. It may take Altena holding her close and introducing her as my wife; it may take a kiss each morning and a whispered confession each night. 

And Eda will let her do it.

[nova2cosmos]

YOUR DRAWINGS

ARE

SO

GOOD

OMG ME?!!! LDLKDKLSD OwO

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!I am so happy by your words, 😭😭💖💖

THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

[fuckmymunson]

18+, dark content, minors DNI! | Obsessed!Remus for the soul♡

a/n: hi, my name is Omel and you're watching disney channel *draws a cock with a wand*

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Fool of you to assume it was over.

It started simply: With that disquieting feeling of being watched. Something— no, someone was skulking around every corner, every window, behind every door. Eyes glued to your back, scrutinizing every movement, every step, every word.

Things escalated; weeks later, little notes could be found in between your notebooks, inside your bag, and even one time on your desk, at potions class. Every letter was the same, same bold, black ink, no sender, and the same scent that was engraved on your brain by memory.

Chocolate and cinnamon.

“What’s wrong?” Your new boyfriend asked you, holding your hand. The note on your hand was different from the others, placed in between your Transfiguration textbook; It felt almost threatening,

«I would rather experience this love even if it wasn't meant to be, than to not experience your sweet loving at all.»

“Nothing, just an old draft of an essay.” You replied, tucking the piece of paper with the rest of the letters, inside your bag, giving him a reassuring smile.

During one of your night patrols, you felt it again.

Eyes all over you, roaming your body. Someone. Someone you knew, someone you loved. Wand in hand, the weak beam of light flickered as if it sensed your sudden fear. Quickening your pace, you breathed through your nose, determined to not let panic get a hold of you. Heart pounding wildly inside your chest, crushing your eardrums, you heard the steps behind you matching your tempo.

“Lumos Maxi—” Your words were abruptly cut off by a scarred hand clasped to your mouth. The same scent of the letter flooded your nostrils. Chocolate, cinnamon and the proximity of the figure allowed you to breath in the subtle fragance of sandalwood.

Which happened to be Remus’s favourite incense.

The frightened whine was muffled by his large hand and his tall frame caged your body against the cold, stone wall, this side of the castle was barely patrolled, you knew that, and he did too. Tears, hot and heavy rolled down your cheeks, staining his sleeve.

“Shhh–” He spoke softly, his nose brushing with yours. “Sorry to scare you, love. I know how easily startled you can be.”

His hand move away from your mouth. “What do you want from me?” You sobbed, scared. “Remus, p–please.” Cupping your face, you flinched at the touch, not letting him brush the tears off, not letting him take care of you.

“Don’t cry, love.” He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours. “Did you receive my letter?”

“Just leave me alone, please.” The desperate cry only seemed to diminish his patience. “It’s been almost a year, just let me go—.”

“Poor baby.” Remus cooed at you, with fake empathy. “Did you really think I’ll let you go that easily?”

He knew, Remus knew exactly what cards to play, to have you putty in his hands. You were weak, you were always a giver, a naive little girl. You tried to push him away, only fueling his anger, his obsession.

Fighting back was useless, and you learned it the bad way. When his scarred hand returned to your mouth, this time from behind, while the other was too busy gripping your hips hard enough to draw bruises on your delicate skin, the tears found their way to the floor, in a place between your feet. Hopeless, stupid, trapped.

"I'm sure your new boyfriend can't fuck you as I can," Remus growled in your ear, his cock buried inside you, hitting all the right spots, just like only he knew. "I'm sure he can't even make you cum."

His madness was suffocating, just like his love used to be. He kept pounding, harder, deeper. Your toes curling in the insides of your mary janes, your hips miserably buckling back, unconsciously begging for more, the slick running down your thighs betraying your thoughts. You hated every second of it, but your body seemed to love it.

Your velvety, warm walls clenched around his hard cock, earning you a breathless chuckle. "Pathetic. Look at you, at least I know this pretty cunt still loves me." Remus continued fucking you, using you, knowing that deep down, this is how you adored it.

It became too much, too painful, your abused cunt gushing around him, overworked. "Fucking milk me dry, you cheating slut." Remus whispered in your ear, before descending into a spiral of madness at the delicious sensation of his hot, sticky cum filling your insides, just like he used to do.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Brought you by: Remus's favorite tea

[universitypenguin]

Bucky Barnes is a Traditional Man

- Bucky Barnes is a traditional man in the sense that his woman comes first.

- You have more doors held open for you than you could have imagined before you began dating Bucky.

- Door to buildings, your car door (always!), he even moves one step ahead of you when you walk down the stairs in heels so he could break your fall, just in case.

- James Buchanan Barnes is quite protective of his girlfriend.

- He’s in love with you and it finally allows some of the deeper wounds from Hydra, from the war, and losing Steve to heal.

- His heart was cold and aching before he met you. Now it’s warm and soft.

- Your perspective on the world is something that attracted him to you in the first place. You’re an optimist in a jaded world and vibrant with life in a way he’s not sure he’s even capable of.

- But somehow, being with you helps bridge the gap. He can look in the mirror and not see the Winter Soldier looking back at him. Instead he sees the man from the 1940s who loved to dance and who hoped to win a boxing title.

- You gave him that man back with your care and affection, even before the two of you fell in love. And he feels such a gratitude for that his heart throbs and his eyes glass over when he thinks about it for too long.

- Bucky is a man in love and you’re happier with him than you ever thought was possible to be. Things are so good between you two; easy, light, and sweet.

- Then one night at dinner Bucky forgets his phone. He asks to borrow your to check the score of a baseball game.

- And he accidentally finds an open porn tab. Curious, he turns the screen so no one else can see and watches. His stomach twists. The appetizer from earlier suddenly isn’t sitting so well.

- Choking.

- You watch porn with men choking their women.

- He’s not judging. He’s really not. But he’d been hoping for something he could replicate for you, and this? He can’t. Not in a million years.

- He’s afraid of hurting you.

- He doesn’t say it out loud because it feels like speaking one of his worst fears into existence. He doesn’t want even the words to pass his lips and take root in your imagination.

- You can’t see him like that. Like a monster. Too many others have and there’s enough truth behind the title for him to sleep well at night, despite all his progress. But most of the time, he sleeps well. It’s because of you and he knows it. Your comforting presence allows him to relax.

- He sleeps in bed with you nowadays. He likes how firm your mattress is.

- He struggles through dinner, the video playing through the back of his mind. When you ask him what the score of the game was he can’t figure out what you’re talking about. It’s an awkward moment.

- The thing here, is that Bucky Barnes is a traditional man. His woman comes first. So he’s going to do whatever it takes to please you and he knows it.

- You always come first. Both in the bedroom and out of it. That’s one of his rules. So he’s already forming ideas about how he’s going to accommodate your kink.

- Two weeks later is your anniversary. He gets flowers, takes you to a nice restaurant and when you get home, brings up the thing.

- “I found your porn open when I borrowed your phone. I’m guessing that you like choking, doll?”

- Your cheeks turn bright red. And you stammer.

- “Hey. Don’t be embarrassed. I want to know this stuff. I need to. How can I please you if we don’t talk about it?”

- “Bucky, you don’t have to... I would never ask you...”

- He smiles. He loves that you’re protective of him in your own way. Knowing this has done a lot for his mental well-being. It makes the relationship between you two solid and strong.

- “I want to give you everything you want in bed,” Bucky says.

- “But you already do!”

- That’s true. Too many of your ex-boyfriends were quick and rough without taking the time for foreplay.

- Bucky is an expert at foreplay. He’s able to build the tension until you fall apart for him is an addiction that he feeds as often as he can. Knowing he provides for your needs like no other man before him is a point of pride for him. (Private pride, that is. Even Sam doesn’t know anything about his sex life. Some parts of 1940’s discretion is very much ingrained in him. It’s not shame. He just likes keeping intimacy... intimate.)

- Bucky is slow and sensual in bed, warm and passionate. With him sex really does feel like making love. It was on your first night together that you’d fallen for him and his patient, gentle way of touching you.

- Orgasming had been so easy when you felt worshiped and safe. And it remained that way with him. Later, these feelings heightened your desire for rough sex with your boyfriend. Because sex with Bucky was a place of security for you. He was utterly harmless towards you and in that context, rough sex would be amazing.

- But things between you two are pretty much vanilla.

- He’s always soft with you. Things can be heightened and swirling with passion, but he’s never show even a flash of aggression or force.

- The super soldier serum means he has stamina for days. He can accomplish and position you want to try, even if it involves lifting you for long periods of time. And there’s no question if he’s going to last. Also, his recovery time is so short “round two” sometimes blurs in with round one.

- But he’s careful about using his strength against you, even more so during intimate situations.

- You’re not “breakable” and he knows that. But you’re precious to him and leaving a mark that isn’t from pure passion would wreck his mental health. Permanently. He’d never forgive himself.

- You know this too, which is why you never asked him to choke you.

- “Baby doll. I want to give you your fantasy. Will you let me? Do you want that from me?”

- You do. You really, really want to be choked by him. So you quietly respond, “Yes.”

- Before he starts, you two sit on the couch and he holds you while you tell him about your fantasies. He takes off your heels while you tell him all your darkest desires. And he gives the sore arches of your feet a massage, listening intently.

- One comforting thing for Bucky is that having been a soldier, he knows how to choke someone. He’ll be able to tell if it’s too much for you. He knows how long before it would damage you. There’s some confidence forming that this will be safe and he won’t hurt you.

- It’s nice that for once his violent past is proving helpful in your relationship. He thought agreeing to choke you might rattle him a little, stirring up old emotions, but it’s soothing. He’s enjoying using what he knows to make this experience good for you.

- He lets things get rough when you go to bed. He doesn’t hold back the passion tonight. Instead, he focuses on eating you to orgasm and holding you on the edge until you pull his hair.

- “Bucky! Please!”

- Then he slides two fingers inside of you and draws fast little circles on your g-spot until you break.

- He lets up on your clit but as the orgasm fades, slides in a third finger and pounds the spot until your pussy creams on his hand and your groans are low and raw, filled with ecstasy.

- “That’s it, doll. Just like that. So pretty when you cum for me. Keep going, baby girl. I’m right here.”

- His metal arm wraps around your waist when you arch your back, holding you so he can keep toying with the spot as your hips begin to jerk away.

- When he’s finally done with your g-spot his hand is drenched. So is the sheet and your inner thighs.

- And you’re gasping for breath from the intense orgasm. When it comes on this hard you can’t really tell if it’s one long orgasm or three separate ones that came almost back to back.

- Bucky takes you in his arms, cooing sweet nothings into your ear.

- It helps you calm down when he talks in a soft soothing voice. The man should narrate meditations.

- His voice is silky and smooth for you, yet rough with repressed need. You can hear the need and it feeds your desire.

- “Please, Bucky. I need to feel you inside of me.”

- You find yourself underneath him, with your legs pushed apart and his body selling between them.

- You love feeling the weight of him on top of you.

- Then, he gently opens the petals of your sex and guides himself inside of you.

- There’s a stretch and burn as he enters you, just like there always is. Your body never quite adjusts to his girth. Each time you have to relax for him.

- He knows it’s a challenge to take him at first. He’s always careful and there’s a tube of lubricant in the side table. It’s not always needed but he’s always prepared.

- His hips begin to roll, and he sets a steady pace that pushes the tip of his cock against your spot with each thrust. At first his thrusts are shallow but as you begin to relax around him he goes deeper. His body moves forward to cover you and he starts fucking you hard.

- Each snap of his hips has you keening. Your body is so sensitive from your earlier orgasms. He keeps up the pace steady and constant until you’re begging. Then he reaches out with his metal hand and covers your throat. At this point, your channel clenches around him, almost in orgasm.

- “You wanted my metal hand baby, didn’t you?”

- Yeah. You had. The idea had fueled your fantasies night after night.

- The cool press of metal into your throat makes you moan and tremble.

- Bucky feels the shiver and worry flashes through his eyes. “This okay, doll?”

- “Yes, harder, please!”

- He can feel your body responding and it encourages him to press down, finally choking you the way you’d dreamed of.

- You orgasm almost instantly as he chokes you through your climax.

- Bucky lets go when your fluttering muscles start to ease. Suddenly he’s driving into you hard. He drops his hand from your neck, needing both to balance his weight as he seeks his own pleasure.

- The wild, rough movement is harder than the two of you have ever gone before.

- Because he’s always been afraid of hurting you with his enhanced strength until he was too far gone to think.

- When his orgasm hits, his sight goes white and he jerks against you, pumping his seed into you. Then he collapses.

- You hold him tight, savoring the press of his body and the feeling of his release inside of you.

- “You okay, doll? I wasn’t too rough?”

- “It was perfect.”

- Your hand strokes through his hair as you lay together in the same position for several minutes. Heartbeats pounding, your minds still struggling to return to equilibrium.

- Bucky recovers first. Damn that super soldier serum. It’s not fair that you’re still limp and dazed.

- He slips out of you and rolls over, bringing you with him. Your head finds its cradle in his shoulder and your eyes drift shut.

- Recovery isn’t going to happen for you tonight. You’re just going straight to sleep. You’ve earned it.

- Bucky shifts you onto your side. He gets up and you hear water running in the bathroom before a cool cloth touches between your legs, cleaning you.

- You murmur a thanks, half asleep.

- He comes back to cuddle you into his arms, adjusting the pillows around you before he lays down.

- When you throw a leg over his hip, he draws you closer so that you’re lying almost on top of him.

- “You make such a good pillow of someone with so many hard muscles.”

- Bucky chuckles and kisses the top of your head.

- “I’m glad. Go to sleep, doll. I love you.”

- “I love you too, James.”

[dourpeep]

I've had this short-n-sweet thing drafted for weeks now! I only just polished it up as a little thank you treat to all of my lovely followers as well as congrats to the fantastic @witch-hazels-musings for 5.5k!! Your work continues to inspire me!

(if you haven't already check out her stuff please please please!)

Nights Like These

Summary: A brief moment during your nightly activities when the lights are low, passion is high, and Diluc comes to realize exactly what he wants.

Contains: ((NSFW 18+)) Diluc x gn!reader, romantic, established relationship/dating, confessions, fluff, soft moment

He was addicted.

The feel of you beneath him, trembling and sensitive and crying out his name with every agonizingly slow thrust of his hips. He makes a point to grind against you each time your bodies meet, and each time he’s met with the tight, wet warmth of you squeezing around him. The sensation is sweeter than the deep purple within his cup.

Focusing on filling you slow and deep, pressing inch by inch, Diluc’s eyes burn into yours.

“Mine.”

The growl of his voice sent a shiver down your spine and further coiled that feeling deep in your abdomen. You squeeze around him and he howls.

Lips press to heated skin and skim over its clammy surface, pausing to gently nip and bite. It is painfully obvious where his passions lay—underneath him and begging for more. He only craves you. Can only feel the way your body slides against his in this moment—you, you, you.

Another needy cry draws from your lungs and Diluc can’t help but grind his hips so his cock hits that delicious spot over and over in hopes to hear you sing. You clutch at his wrists, at the sheets in desperation, with your legs wrapped snug around his waist. Now, you're certainly nearing your nth orgasm with how you plead.

Pride bubbles at the sight.

The fact that he was the only one allowed to see you fall apart this way only fuels his yearning, but he forces himself to slow his movements while he continues to drink in the sight of you.

You’re all flushed cheeks and half-moon eyes unfocused as you call to him, your lips ruddied and swollen from kisses—truly a sight to behold. And only more so with the way he could feel that familiar warmth bloom in his chest.

If only you could see what he sees.

If only you could be what he sees each and every day. Mornings of messy hair and sweet, sleepy kisses. Bumping elbows in the kitchen while you cook something together. Late nights curled up in bed. What it’d be like to fall asleep in your arms or to the sound of your voice…

A kiss at the door before you both set off for the day.

“Diluc…”

It clicks.

There’s a moment, when you’re both so lost in each other and you’re still coming down from the high of your peak, that he stills. His mind races, but with you before him, it's quieted with a swiftness only you bring. Your bottom lip sticks out in a pout.

A chuckle rumbles at the confusion mixing with desire in your eyes. So he leans in and kisses you, the hand supporting your head slipping from your soft hair to trail down along your neck.

His touch makes the fire burn brighter within you, on your neck and down the inside of your arm to where you clutch at the bed sheets.

Larger hand enveloping yours, he gently guides it to press flat over his heart.

It beats strong beneath his warm, warm skin.

As you feel it fluttering under your fingertips, he looks into your eyes with tenderness unmatched. His gaze alone makes your own heart skip a beat. The gentle squeeze he gives your hand brings you back to the moment.

“If you ever find yourself questioning my love for you,” Diluc takes a deep breath, chest expanding. “Know in this moment, right now, all that I am belongs entirely to you.”

Fiery red cascades down over his shoulders to brush at your cheeks when he shifts, reminding you of the way he’s still buried deep, and your heart nearly bursts at the way he cups your cheek. Slow, soft, he speaks.

“For every moment that I’ve lived has been a shadow to the light that you’ve brought to my life.”

You lean into his touch, eyes wide and heart clinging to every word. He takes a moment to ingrain the way you look beneath him with your hair haloed around your features. Your lips are parted, rosy and perfect for kissing. So he leans in closer.

“I want it to be known, and I swear it to you—to all of Mond, Teyvat, and the archons who protect the land.”

Lips brush against yours, breath mingling. The words he speaks next seem to make all else fade away, and all that you see is him—

“Say that you’ll be mine for eternity.”