#⚘; — my writing ✧♡

[eternalbuckley]

OUTER BANKS PORN LINKS.

characters: rafe, jj, sarah

warnings: 18+ only. minors dni. the following links are twitter links to porn videos, not fics. please keep that in mind. the videos contain fem / afab people.

a/n: since some of you wanted that i make a list of my current favourite porn videos… here are a few with some scenarios involved 🤓 enjoy babes!!

links are under the cut!

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know! reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated and welcomed!

navigation | masterlists

RAFE CAMERON

› bestfriend!rafe fucking you from behind.

› roommate!rafe fingering you in his bed.

› enemie!rafe choking you while he pounds into you.

› rafe using a knife to scrape off wax from your body. [wax play & knife kink warning]

› riding rafes dick and him breeding you.

› rafe eating you out while you sit on his face.

JJ MAYBANK

› enemie!jj breeding you.

› jj fingering you.

› jj licking your nipples.

› enemie!jj fucking you from behind while you‘re handcuffed.

› giving bestfriend!jj a handjob.

› jj pounding into you while you‘re on top.

SARAH CAMERON

› secretgirlfriend!sarah eating you out after a stressful day.

› fucking sarah with a strap on.

› eating sarah out after a party.

› dom!sarah not letting you cum.

› rubbing bestfriend!sarahs clit.

› using a vibrator on sub!sarah. [a small whip is used a few times for spanking as well]

#⚘; — my writing ✧♡ #rafe cameron #jj maybank #sarah cameron #outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #jj maybank smut #sarah cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader #sarah cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #sarah cameron x fem!reader #obx #obx x reader #obx smut #rafe cameron x you #jj maybank x you #sarah cameron x you #p!links #rafe cameron x female reader #jj maybank x female reader #sarah cameron x female reader

[chiliyue-archived]

OH WHAHAHAS I GOTCHU!! i have my "auroras inbox pass," now every time you wake up (assuming we have different timezones) you will see my descent into insanity as me and my friends attempt to bring a feast to school 💪💪

- boxing fyodor anon

u have been granted a power & I am shaking in my boots

me & also me

#⚘ besitos ♡ #boxing fyodor anon #i need 2 remember to tag my stuff right but i forgor #chapter 109 is really messing with my brain chemicals #at the very least it has given me motivation to write during these dire times of suffering and asagiri

[joshym]

Muse

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), a smidge of sir kink, some spanking, a lot of fluff because i can't help myself, Jake draws a naked portrait of you (let me know if i've missed anything)

a/n: special thanks to this lovely anon for this brilliant idea. this was way too much fun to write.

this was inspired heavily by that scene from the Titanic. (you know the one.)

as always, thank you to my favorite editor/motivator, @jakeyt.

i hope you enjoy. ♡

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

His frustration is palpable, evident in the nearly incessant huffing emanating from behind the closed door of his studio.

It's moments like these that leave you feeling utterly helpless. There’s nothing you can do, no inspiration you can provide that will pull him from his artist’s block.  

He's been holed up in there for hours, since the early dawn, lost in the depths of his imagination, sketching away. You know better than to intrude; he's never been keen on sharing his work until it's finished.

In fact, he's never once allowed you a glimpse into his creative process. "It's the strange doodlings of a mind overrun with ideas. It's not to be seen until it's in its final form," he's reminded you countless times when your curiosity gets the better of you.

Still yet, you're consumed by the desire to witness his beautiful mind in action, crafting masterpieces in real-time, each stroke flowing from his soul through his tireless hand on his Somerset velvet sheets.

But, like any artist, he’s his own worst critic. He’s never truly satisfied with anything he creates, though you are left utterly speechless after each piece he finishes. His mind is a beautifully profound chasm of endless wonder, manifested through his artistry.

You hate when he has these moments of doubt, these instances when he questions whether he’s truly capable of such greatness. 

And you especially despise days like today, when he spends the better part of it feeling as though he has a mental brick wall in the way of his ingenuity, hindering his hand from bringing to life what his mind so desperately longs to conceive. 

Commissioned pieces, like his project today, always hold the most weight for him— from the need to earn a living, to his persistent worry that his art might not meet the expectations of the client. 

It’s not that he doesn’t love doing them, or that he’ll ever stop taking them; quite the contrary, they’re his favorite pieces to work on. They provide him with an added pressure that elicits some of his best work. 

But, reaching that point can be rather strenuous for him. It can at times take days, weeks before he discovers the creative impulsion he needs. 

And right now, he’s in that very rut, awaiting the surge of inspiration that will reignite his dulled spirit.

There truly is nothing you can do when he’s lost like this, and any effort you’ve attempted in the past has always proved useless. 

The one thing you can do, however, is prepare him some dinner.

He’s hardly left his studio today, and you know he’s not eaten much, if anything at all. Perhaps a morsel of sustenance will ignite the dormant embers of his mind. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

After a quiet tap to the door, he invites you in with a serene voice. 

He looks tired, but lovely as ever. The golden hour has officially set in the sky, and the opened curtains on the windows have allowed for a warm hue to encompass his studio, enveloping him in its delicate lume.

“That smells absolutely divine,” he remarks as you enter his studio, his plate and yours delicately balanced in your hands. 

“I figured a little homemade pasta would do you some good,” you tell him while you pad across the floor to his work station.

With a sly disposition and a playful glint in your eye, you aim to steal a glance of his day-long project, but alas, you’ve been caught. Your sweet Jake misses nothing.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, flipping the page over as he takes your hand, planting a tender kiss over your knuckles. "You know the rules."

“I know, I know.” Your response holds a bit of remorse. You know better, but can’t begin to help the relentless desire to see his mind at work. 

Setting his dinner on the desk he’s working from, you move yourself across the small office to the green chaise lounge that sits across from him, silently seeking his permission with your gentle glances. The smile in his eyes tells you that he’s more than happy to be graced with your company for the time being. 

After taking a bite of the spinach tortellini you prepared, he unbuttons his white striped shirt, removing it from his shoulders and stretching his arms high above his head as though he’s ridding himself of the weight of his frustrations.

You can’t help your glare, watching him do something so normal yet so intriguing all at once. 

His skin is velvety smooth, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, his chestnut wavy locks sitting atop his broad shoulders. You’re in awe each time you look at him; the sheer magnitude of his beauty never fails to steal your breath away.

And his necklace, his most cherished piece of jewelry that he wears each and every day. The precious coin, a relic salvaged from a centuries-old shipwreck that hangs against his chest.

The way it sits on his bare skin is nothing short of elating, sexy. It’s a wonderful addition to his already captivating aura. 

He’s flawless. Everything about him.

Once he catches your gaze, he responds with a sly wink, eliciting a blush that paints your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

Then, a thought begins to swirl around your mind for a brief moment. One that you’re shocked you’ve not conjured until now. 

The vision of the pendant against his bare skin sets your own imagination alight. 

“I’ve got an idea,” you propose, your voice soft and sultry, trying to pique his interest even just a little, something that may help the rusted wheels of his mind turn at full capacity once again.

While his focus remains on his work, his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and you catch the hint of a grin daring to curl in the corners of his mouth.

“And what might that be, my dear?” he asks with an unknowing, devilish smirk. 

As you get up, he hastily flips the page back over to hide his work from you once again.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you move behind him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “I won’t peek.”

You glide your fingers along his skin, feeling the subtle rise of each goosebump in the wake of your gentle touch.

He hums inquisitively as you delicately take hold of the clasp of his necklace in between your index and thumb, undoing it in one fluid motion before slowly slipping it from around his neck. 

“Be right back,” you say as you head towards the door. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, a myriad of questions splayed across his features.

With light steps, you make your way down the wooden floors of the hall towards your shared bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door is your sapphire hued satin robe, adorned with a delicate lace detailing along the hem—the one Jake has always fawned over. 

The satin drapes coolly against your skin as you slip it on, wearing nothing underneath, save for the weight of Jake’s necklace resting against your chest that you hide beneath the fabric. 

You run your fingers through your hair, adding a subtle tousled look, before applying a light blush to your lips and cheeks to impart a bit of natural color to your complexion.

And with that, you're poised and ready.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

As you turn the corner to face his studio, you see a very weary version of your Jake. His head sits in the palms of his hands, his leg bounces up and down at a rapid rate—a clear sign of the mental battle he’s waging. 

This is as good a time as any for your little idea, and you’re hoping that it’ll be the very thing he needs to find some much needed initiative to keep going. 

“Hi, baby,” you venture, leaning your body alluringly against the frame of the door. 

As he looks up, a familiar twinkle dances in his eyes—a sight you've longed for all day long. It's a glimmer that tells you he's rather fond of the vision before him.

“And what exactly is your idea?” he inquires softly, slowly standing from his chair. But you stop him, motioning for him to stay just where he is as you saunter towards the chaise you were seated on just moments ago. 

“My idea,” you begin, making a very slow, deliberate attempt to untie the sash holding your robe together at the waist. “...is for you to draw me.” 

As if your thought has affected him physically, his posture immediately straightens, and his once tired eyes hold a renewed sense of life as they watch you intently. 

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.” 

Your robe suddenly falls to the floor, revealing your fully nude figure that was hidden beneath. 

“Oh…” he utters, his tongue wetting his lower lip before tucking it between his teeth. “You can’t do this to me, baby. I can’t look at you like this an–”

“Consider it a commission,” you interrupt, tracing your fingers lightly up and down the skin of your torso. “And when you’re finished, if it’s to my liking, you’ll receive a full payment.”

With a raised eyebrow, his gaze sweeps up and down your form, while his index finger lightly grazes his chin.

“You’re quickly becoming my favorite client,” he quips, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from his forehead, tousling the front of his hair in the process. “Consider it done, ma’am,” he continues with a confirming nod of his head. 

You lay yourself down on the forest green velvet cushions, positioning yourself sensually across the chaise. Your body is turned slightly to the side, your leg gracefully crossed over the other, an elegant display of your curved silhouette. 

The warm glow that is so beautifully cast upon Jake, is now cast upon you, the aura laying over your nude body like a golden blanket of light. 

“Is this okay?” you ask him, draping your arm over the back of the chaise, making sure the coin sits meticulously atop your chest before your other arm falls to rest against your body. 

He simply grins while nodding his head, his eyes drinking you in, a mix of surprise and desire evident within his expression.

“Yeah, that um…that’ll do just fine,” he tells you, the slight crack in his voice eliciting a smile from you, a break in his professional facade. 

With a deep breath, he takes his prized Faber Castell 9000, carefully sharpening the tip just a bit before putting it against a blank sheet. 

And then, as the true artist you know him to be, he begins without a hint of hesitancy. The gentle sound of the lead scratching away at the paper fills the quiet room— a sound you’ve come to cherish, a sound that signifies his craft is steadily blossoming to life.

He seems charmingly nervous, his hand gently brushing against his nose every so often between a series of strokes from his pencil, clearing his throat more than usual. His eyes flint to you, then back to the paper, then back to you, a succession of his adoration and determination, ensuring that the likeness captured in his art closely mirrors your essence. 

You try to keep your face composed, a seductive allure about your features. But as you watch him, immersed in his passion, the way he’s studying you so intently, it becomes nearly impossible to suppress the beginnings of a smile upon your lips. 

But despite your efforts, he takes note of the curve adorning your flushed lips, mirroring it with his own. “Relax your face for me, beautiful.” The soft rasp in his tone is enough to send a blush throughout your whole body. 

Breathing in your nose and exhaling through parted lips, you’re able to reclaim your composure enough to steady your expression. 

Every moment you share with him is a brushstroke of beauty, but something about this one stands out. The intimacy of it all, how he must diligently study every inch of your form to convey your image through his art, the intensity behind his focused gaze…your heart is racing in your chest, despite your relaxed demeanor. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

With the sun almost hidden behind the early moon, he completes the final stroke.

He lays his pencil down, gently blowing on the paper to remove any stray lead before he picks it up, examining it closely while he walks it over to you. 

As he holds it out before you, allowing you to at last see his craft come to life, you’re left entirely awestruck. 

“Oh, Jake.” The sight before you leaves you nearly breathless. It exceeds every expectation, beyond the boundaries of your imagination. It’s a portrayal of you, but not just that— it’s how he sees you.

It’s the first time you’re witnessing yourself through his eyes, and in that, you feel a profound sense of beauty within yourself that you’ve never known. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, a slight tremor present in his voice. 

“It’s…incredible, Jake.” 

Propping yourself up a bit, you carefully take the drawing from his hands, poring over his vast attention to the detail in your face, your body. 

Specifically your breasts, how perfectly he depicted their round curve above your rib cage, encapsulating the fullness and allure of them. 

You’re entranced by the way he drew the contour of your hips, how he captured the dip in them that you’ve always looked at with disdain, yet in his portrayal, you’re able to see the beauty in what you’ve considered a flaw.

He encapsulated everything, even the faint freckle beneath the curve of your left breast, and the mole under your belly button. He managed to immortalize all the intricate nuances that you typically overlook.

“Is this what I really look like?”

“Yes, but,” he takes the drawing from you, placing it on the mahogany table beside the chaise lounge. He helps you lay back down, gently caressing your face that he’s just conveyed through his artistry as he props himself above you. “The essence of your beauty defies any depiction.”

Then, his lips envelope yours in a kiss so fervent, so ardent, as though he’s waited hours to finally have you within his grasp. 

His hand moves with a swift grace to your breast, fingers toying with your perked bud. This erotic moment with him has you already so flustered, so sensitive to every touch of his hands. 

He breaks his lips from yours, only to land them down the column of your heaving chest.

“You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to look at you like this, to look at these,” he mumbles against the tingling skin, hands kneading the flesh of your breasts. “And fight the urge to come place my lips on every inch of this beautiful fucking body.”

And just as he said, he bestows tender yet hungry kisses down the length of your torso, maneuvering his body down the chaise lounge until he kneels before you. He nestles his face perfectly between your thighs, his warm breath tantalizing your wet center from his dangerously close proximity. 

“I certainly hope you don’t let all of your clients pay you like this,” you mutter, breathless and yearning for his mouth. 

“Only the ones that tickle my fancy,” he says, his words adorned with a playful wink before he delves into you. 

He laps away at your pulsing cunt, like he’s been starved for your taste this entire evening. The lewd, lascivious sounds he’s emitting from between your legs only serve to heighten your need for him, causing your back to instinctively arch away from the plush cushions. 

And when his lips envelop your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around it inside his warm mouth, your body trembles and shudders. A rush of warmth encompasses you, starting from the depths of your core, the pit of your stomach, spreading to every inch of your being. 

You surrender to the intoxicating bliss, your breath catching in your throat while your heart pounds in a crescendoing rhythm.  

He guides you through it, gently holding your hips in place while the movement of his tongue slows in perfect time as with the ebb of your climax.

“Oh, that was so beautiful, my love.” He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh before he stands, removing the belt from his patchwork jeans. “Turn over for me, baby.”

“Yes, sir,” you quietly utter as you obey his demand, knowing good and damn well what that specific name does to him. 

Just as he commanded, you turn your body over to your stomach, placing your elbows against the arm of the chaise, your back arched as much as you can so that your ass is sticking up just right for him.

“Love when my sweet girl calls me that,” he purrs before his belt hits the floor, his jeans and underwear quickly in tow and freeing his impossibly hard cock. 

“So, what’s the verdict, my love?” You feel the cushion sink in behind you as he settles himself between your legs, his right hand caressing your hip while the other teases your soaked cunt with the tip of his cock, leaking with precum. “Was my work to your liking?”

You giggle breathlessly, poking your ass out even further as an offering to him for his hard work. “Yes, I believe you’ve earned your reward.” 

He steadily begins nudging his cock into you, going slow at first, allowing you to fully adjust to him. 

Inch by thick inch, he fills you completely to the hilt, your breath catching in heavy gasps that are robbed from your lungs as he buries himself deeply within you. 

Your nails claw at the velvet armrest as his thrusts quicken in their pace, your upper body nearly going limp as you’re no longer able to easily hold yourself up.  

His hands hold a firm grip at your lower waist, pulling you into his cock rhythmically, yet becoming more and more disordered as he’s beginning to lose himself to the pleasure. 

You cry out a slew of obscenities mixed with his name, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.

Without question he complies, landing an open palm against your ass cheek. “So good for me baby,” he hums, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he drives into you just the way you need. “So fucking good for me.” 

With one more vigorous thrust of his hips, you feel that familiar rush throughout your whole body as your cunt throbs and pulses incessantly around his cock.

“Fuck, I feel you, baby. Pretty little cunt squeezing me so tight.” You feel the twitching of his cock inside of you, an indication that he's on the very brink of his own release. 

“Cum inside me, sir. Please…need you to fill me.” Your voice is faltered, your body still reeling from your second climax. 

“Jesus,” he groans, moaning exasperatedly as your words have him spilling within you, filling you with his warmth just as you requested. 

He stays buried inside of you as he catches his breath, feeling his release slowly trickling down your thighs as you struggle to fill your own lungs. 

You have to fight the urge to protest when he begins pulling himself away from you, not yet ready for the empty feeling he leaves you with. 

You practically collapse against the cushion, your body exhausted in the most enthralling way, the kind of exhaustion that only immense amounts of pleasure can bring forth. 

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, kneeling himself before you as he softly caresses your flushed cheek. 

You kiss the pad of his thumb as it crosses over your mouth, summoning the strength to lift yourself up enough to steal one from his lips. “I hope it worked,” you say, gently cupping his face in your hand. 

“You hope what worked, my love?” He asks, leaning into your soft touch. 

“I was hoping this would help inspire you.” You reach for the drawing, savoring its beauty once more. “I was hoping I could help inspire you, pull you out of your moment of doubt.” 

“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.” 

His tender smile warms your very soul as he leans in for a deeper kiss, imbued with all the love you could ever want for.

“You’re my perfect muse,” he utters against your lips, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

a/n: suffice to say, this inspired the hell out of me when i've lacked inspiration/motivation lately. thank you, anon.

if you have any juicy ideas, feel free to send them my way. ♡

love you guys.

taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!)

@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @highway-tuna @way-to-go-lad @reesetrippingthelight @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicstardust-gvf @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardust-jake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick @citylight-delight @electricgoldtendercare @musicspeaks @hollyco @gvfpal @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @hernameis-heaven @mackalah @gvfmarge

Masterlist

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fluff #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fanfic #gvf fics #gvf smut #greta van smut #jake kiszka #greta van fleet

[theragethatisdesire]

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

-

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone. 

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it. 

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum. 

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him. 

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash. 

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears. 

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger fanfiction #aot #aot fanfic #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager x you #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #that's all for now folks!!!! #more to come in part 2<3

[lunarw0rks]

nsfw dom valeria 🙏🙏🙏, anything that comes to mind honestly, u can use y/n if u want, this is terrible i’m sorry i’ve never done this before n i’m high so i’m struggling 🗣️🗣️

Summary: Valeria uses you as a way to relieve her frustrations.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), established relationship, p^rn with little plot, oral sex, fingering, AFAB!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: this is my first time writing for Valeria (＃＞＜) also I don't speak Spanish, so I apologize for grammatical errors

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ VALERIA MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Following Orders

It was the perfect evening; rose-scented candles illuminating only your faces, silky curtains covering every inch of the high walls, and the quiet chatter of Las Almas high society as they dined. This environment was something out of your element, like you were watching yourself from above, all while you stuck out so easily. Despite wearing the fanciest, most premium clothing she’d bought you, you were like a deer in the headlights.

She’d sent a bottle over, as a distraction while she handled her business. The “nicest bottle they have” according to her. It was a nice bottle, if only you’d gotten to savor it in silence.

“Estarás muerto por la mañana si no sigues las órdenes.” Valeria coos into the phone as if she wasn’t threatening the life on the other line. Her legs are crossed, while her unoccupied hand is tapping on the table.

Another gargle from the other line and she’s hung up, finishing off her glass of wine in one gulp. She’s looking at you through hooded lids, still seething with anger—glaring as if you were the henchmen disobeying her moments ago.

“It’s not easy being king, hm?” She sneers, noticing the awkward shifting in your seat, and the tight grip you have on the neck of your wine glass.

The phone thrown atop the tablecloth chimes again, forcing her to check it. Her jaw tightens at whatever bad news has popped up, and next, she’s wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin, and to her feet.

“We’re going home. Now.” Her snarl reaches deep, causing you to set aside the plate you barely picked at.

She doesn’t bother to pay the tab, nor leave a tip for the server. She’s gripping the flesh of your forearm and practically dragging you across the pavement. The valet has come to a stop under the carport as soon as the both of you exited as if waiting for her hand and foot on her.

She opens the side door closest and slams it as soon as you’re inside. She climbs into the other, and gives the driver two taps—then he’s kicked the engine, dodging traffic, and approaching her main compound in record time.

—

The large oak doors have come to a slam, and the control panel is in her hands. Her electric blinds are slowly whirring downward until all of the windows in the foyer have been covered. In replacement of the porch light no longer coming through, she’s slowly turning on the pendant chandelier above the dining space.

You’re standing in the middle of the foyer, still clenching your wallet tightly. She’s been silent since she told the guards to split, and now she’s standing across from you, casing you with her hard-eyed gaze. She’s had her fair share of explosive mood swings and heated phone calls, but it's never been this intense.

Her pink fingernails grip onto the strap of your wallet, and it’s ripped from your grip with force. Next, it’s holding onto your chin, while the other is gripping onto the loose fabric of your night clothes, shoving you backward toward the dining table.

Each time you’re going to topple, or your ankle twists from the imbalance, her hands grip tighter, until eventually, the curve of your spine hits the thick,  rough edge of the dining table.

That cocktail attire, the piece that clung to your frame so tightly, the one you were beginning to admire the way you looked in, was now fraying under her the dig of her nails. Now that she was towering over you, with your back laying on the dining table, the rip of the fabric comes quickly.

From midsection to thigh, there’s a large rip in it, revealing your bare body underneath. Your bra and panties provided little to no cover, and it didn’t last long.

Her tongue traced a circle around your belly button, until eventually, it was at the waistband of those panties. Valeria yanks them down, nibbling on your thighs until her mouth finds your core.

“Hijo de putas… can’t follow orders…” Her curses are muffled by the warmth of the flesh she’s licking on.

Any form of protest, or grunt from her roughness, and her stare hardens, only compelling more snarls to come from her plump lips. She will take her frustrations out one way or another—tonight you’re the target in her crosshairs.

“What if someone comes in?” Your voice comes out a murmur, as you’ve propped yourself up on your elbows, as if checking the mansion for any unwanted visitors.

“Then they’d be disobeying me.” Her voice is more hoarse now, but still soft around the edges. “That would be a mistake wouldn’t it?” Her question echoes through the large dining room, but she’s not talking about the guards; she’s talking about you. You disobeying her and facing the consequences.

When her men disobey, they end up with a bruised ego and a black eye, or worse. But you, you’ll forget your name by the time she’s done, without even finishing once.

You shake your head quickly, figuring you’ll take your chances with some aggressiveness over being teased for hours.

“Good.” Her response is simple, and she’s amused. She delves her tongue into your folds again, this time with a quicker pace. When you’ve writhed too much, or clenched your legs together around her head, one of her hands clamps down on a thigh, pinning it to the table.

Each whine, each reaction to her skillful mouth, is a climb to her ego. The unoccupied hand finds its way to your entrance. You’re slick enough—a mixture of her saliva and how her voice already had you dripping back at the restaurant.

The first finger glides in with ease, but you’ve tightened around her with each thrust of it. There’s nothing she enjoys more than how your back arches, how you can barely speak when her head is between your thighs.

Next, it’s her ring finger, successfully stretching you out. Her ability to multitask carries way beyond her work. She’s still swirling around your clit with the tip of her tongue, all while her two fingers have curled into a ‘come here’ motion deep inside you.

She’s satisfied you’ll stay where she wants you now. The dig of her fingertips releases, and now her thumb is in between your lips, giving you something to occupy your mouth with—something to drool and moan around.

Her tongue has pulled away, but her digits haven’t. Now she’s above you, using her knee to hold your legs open against the table. The centerpiece has tipped over in the process, but she’s paying it no mind.

Now that she’s at your eye level, she can watch as your lips wrap around her thumb, how your eyes are clenched shut one second and rolling back in the next. Every movement she’s making with her fingers causes a ripple of pleasure through you, only encouraging her to quicken her movements.

“Such a mess, hm?” Valeria chuckles, an amused grin spreading on her reddened lips. Now, the only sounds are your damped whimpers and the wetness coating her two fingers, sliding in and out continually until you’re trembling.

The torture drags on. Every time you feel the pleasure become too much like you’re going to finish, she slows down slightly, so it’s just enough to be stuck in purgatory.

Her thumb, now dripping with your own spit, slides out of your mouth with a moist pop. She wipes the saliva away on your cheek as if you were the bandana around her neck, but instead, it's your cheek she’s using to wipe the mess away.

Valeria’s no longer curling her fingers, only thrusting them in and out agonizingly. “Are you going to finish loud for me? Make a show of it?” Her brow is cocked, and she’s not going to proceed until you respond.

As soon as you’ve murmured a ‘yes’, she’s back on her game—harsher than before. Her fingers find your chin again, gripping it tightly to keep you still as her fingers begin to drill in and out, curling against your pulsing walls.

You can’t hold it much longer now, you never can when her trained fingers are this deep inside you. Despite how well you’ve been able to conceal your sounds before, now they’re bouncing off the walls, muttering small praises for how well she’s taking care of you.

She could take her hands away any second, and leave you a wet mess on the dining table, but she’s relishing the sight of you under her control too much—especially with her sour mood to fuel it.

Finally, the thrusts of her fingers have sent a spark from your core all the way up your spine, allowing your release from all the build-up. Her digging grip on your chin remains as you ride it out, and her fingers stay idle as the trembling subsides. She’s amused, very amused by this.

The pants had soon turned into deep breaths, ones where you were recovering from the high. Finally, she removes her fingers, this time wiping the aftermath off on her bandana instead of your cheek.

Now it’s playing with the frayed fabric of your gown. She was so blinded by anger before, she’d forgotten she nearly tore the whole piece off of you. To her, it was a small deduction from her riches—nearly nothing for her to replace.

Valeria leans down again, slowly pulling up the panties that were rolled to your mid-thigh; the one piece of clothing she hadn’t managed to ruin in her previous haste. Then, she returns above you again for one last tease.

She purrs into your ear, giving your exposed flesh one more glance before the pin of her knee is withdrawn. “You should see what’s going to happen to the other guy, amor.��

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #valeria mw2 #valeria garza #el sin nombre #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #call of duty #los vaqueros

[jessamine-rose]

✿⚘❁⚘❀ Astilbe ❀⚘❁⚘✿

Fufufu after all these months, here’s another Herbarium epilogue with more dark fluff and comfort. It was nostalgic to write for Capitano and his darling again (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, psychological trauma, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ 1.2k words under the cut ♡

The astilbe’s beauty has faded.

The pressed flowers are only a phantom of the radiant clusters you picked weeks ago. The petals have lost their brilliance. The feathery plumes have been reduced to flat shapes.

This is a natural consequence of preservation, one which occurs to all of your flowers. So why do you feel particularly mournful for the astilbe?

Maybe the flowers aren’t the problem. Rather, it’s you.

Your wedding ring twinkles on your index finger, an unavoidable sight. The sculpted flowers serve as a constant reminder of your marital status, disregarding the fact that you and your captor never had an official ceremony.

Capitano…what time will he be home? You usually accompany him to Zapolyarny Palace but he decided against it today. Important business, he claimed.

Nonetheless, he treated you so kindly before his departure. He’d given your new guard a stern warning which, even in his formal tone, sounded more like a death threat. You received a soft kiss, some new books, a promise of his immediate return.

Your life has never been happier. So why are you still plagued with your bad days?

You are used to this feeling, the ever-present melancholy which has haunted you even before you met Capitano—those hours spent trapping flowers in your notebook, escaping reality through storybooks, reliving memories better left forgotten. Perhaps it is your subconscious upset with you, the double curse of your self-awareness and resignation.

How can you believe in his love, knowing it is a twisted delusion?

Despite this, you’ve never smiled more since the day you accepted your fate.

Since meeting Capitano, you even remembered how to cry. Compared to your past tears and “tantrums,” the action feels oddly cathartic nowadays. Like a call for help finally answered by your own devoted knight.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupts your thoughts.

Your husband is home.

The door opens. Capitano enters the room.

“______, is everything well?”

“Capitano.” You leave your desk and meet him halfway. “Did you mi—how was work? You arrived earlier than usual.”

He feels warm. You lean into his embrace, letting him be the first to pull away. His hands remain on your waist.

“The new recruits show potential.” He looks down at you, face hidden by his mask. After a short pause, he adds, “Did you take kindly to Sergeant Naiad?”

“Cyane was all right,” you reply, shrugging. “They just kept quiet and watched me from a distance. They are nothing like Ceres, if that is what you’re asking.”

The change in his tone isn’t lost on you. “That is acceptable. Should they infringe on your personal boundaries, inform me at once.”

Is that even necessary? He already has his spies to monitor your behavior.

Your notebook is still open to the astilbe. Capitano walks over to your desk, keeping one hand on the small of your back.

“I presume that your astilbe has been fully preserved.” He taps the corner of the page, careful not to touch the pink and white flowers.

You make no motion to retrieve it. “Yes. They’re…not as pretty as when I first saw them. Or maybe that’s just my perception.”

He turns to face you. “If you desire more astilbe, we may revisit the botanical garden.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Shouldn’t this be enough? What more must he do for you?

“Which flowers do you want?” You return to your chair, feeling a familiar stab of guilt. “I’ll let you pick first this time.”

“My darling, what troubles you?”

Huh?

Capitano caresses your cheek this time.

“You are in low spirits,” he observes. Anger creeps into his tone, faint yet palpable. “Did you tell me the truth about Sergeant Naiad?”

You quickly nod. “I was! I just feel…it’s nothing, really! Nothing worth your trouble.”

He remains adamant. “I would be an inattentive husband if I fail to care for my wife.”

What kind of expression is on his face? Even with his face concealed, you don’t want to look at him. Anything to prevent him from perceiving your distress.

From your peripheral vision, an image catches your attention—a framed drawing on your desk, illustrated by the same artist who painted the family portrait in your living room.

-

“Such an odd couple,” they muttered.

You had to agree with them. With his mask and fine armor, Capitano was an intimidating subject. You, on the other hand, looked small and delicate in your lacy gown. But your close physical contact left no doubt that the two of you belonged to the same picture.

The artist spent more time on you. They took a while to capture your face, describing your gaze as a dim mystery. You didn’t mind; it meant more time in your husband’s arms.

During a short break, you faced Capitano to chat with him. That was when the artist froze, staring at you with renewed interest. A silent look from the former, however, was all it took for them to fearfully return to their canvas.

The finished portrait came with a small pencil sketch. You were looking at Capitano with bright eyes and a fond smile, unrecognizable even to yourself.

-

“______?” He holds your hand. His own ring twinkles above your interlocked fingers.

“I…It’s not important,” you insist. Despite yourself, you feel your heart racing for reasons not borne from fear. “I’ve dealt with this before. The issue will go away on its own.”

Foolish girl. Since when was your captor one to leave you alone?

Ever the patient man, Capitano kneels down to meet your gaze.

“One word from you, and I will do everything in my power to alleviate your sorrows,” he tells you. The soft declaration is juxtaposed by his firm grasp on your hand. “How could I be at peace when my beloved flower is in pain?”

Words fail you. You stare at your lap, gripping the armrest with your free hand. It is his next words, spoken with quiet resolution, which spell your defeat.

“But if you refuse to smile, that is also acceptable. I will stay by your side regardless.”

You give up.

At first, Capitano tenses when you throw your arms around him. The hesitation which follows—the way he carefully reciprocates your hug, measuring his strength…it only tugs at your heartstrings all the more.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Your eyes feel damp; are you crying? Your tears don’t match your mood at all.

What is there to worry about? Time and time again, your husband has proven his unwavering devotion to you.

Why should you torture yourself with the truth of your marriage? Freedom is nothing compared to this false happily ever after.

Who cares about the astilbe? You already have the most beautiful, eternal flowers wrapped around your finger.

Capitano’s heartbeat is comforting. He traps you in his embrace, rubbing circles on your back. You don’t need to see past his mask to know what tender emotions lie in his gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he says. He lifts your wrist to his mask, imparting a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I feel a bit better thanks to you.”

♡

Side Story ๑ Epilogue ๑ Another Comfort Fic

A few months ago, I started this fic cuz I was sad. And now that I’m less sad, I decided to finish it and cry over Capitano again. Aahh he and Damsel always put me in a soft mood TvT

Once again, thank you to @diodellet for your support as my bestie and peer reviewer. Last year, she actually wrote her own Herbarium-inspired comfort fic which I beta-read and linked above. Her smut is amazing and well-written, so pls check it out <3

Do share your thoughts on this fic!! And if you read the teaser for Astilbe, look at me in the eye and tell me that the Captain isn’t the best at comforting his darling ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @nicebonescomrades @harmonysanreads @ansy-tea @leftdestiny-posts @thescribeoflostmemories @kocherry @gum-iie @oofasleep @shumidehiro @ryo-ri @dulcetthorns @lambdrop @uhhhh-hi-im-sorry-for-this @the-dreaming-city @lyra-mew @yanmaresu @frogchiro @lcveaesop @micchikari

#il capitano #capitano #capitano x reader #yandere capitano x reader #yandere capitano #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #fem reader #jessamine-writing

[willowbelle]

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 500 follower event! ⊹₊ ⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

wow wow wow! i cannot believe this lil blog of mine has reached five hundred followers!

it’s crazy to think i only started this page two months ago and we’re already here!

my heart is so full. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

to say thank you, i will be holding an event! ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

i am taking requests for these prompts & characters (listed below)

feel free to choose a prompt/prompts & a character you want me to write about! you can also send me any specific requests/details you may want!

you can either comment your request on this post or message me privately! ◡̈

notes:

for my own comfortability, i will only write either female or gender neutral reader.

i have the write to turn down or alter requests to make me feel comfortable/enjoy writing them. ◡̈

p.s. i am a full-time psychology student & employee, so please be patient with me, as requests might take a bit. because of this, i will leave this event ongoing until further notice ♡︎

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

𖦹⭒°｡⋆ characters 𖦹⭒°｡⋆

law, zoro, ace, luffy, sanji, robin, nami, sabo, corazon, shanks.

⋆.˚⭒prompts⋆.˚⭒

☆ public sex / caught

❀ nsfw or sfw alphabet

𖤓 jealousy / possessive sex

☾ sleepy / morning sex

♡ virginity loss

❆ oral

𖦹 sixty nine / face-sitting

ꕤ sex pollen

εïз breeding (no pregnancy)

❤︎ bathing / showering together

☼ masturbation

𑁍 brat taming

✿ fluff / comfort

⚘ date night (sfw or nsfw)

☘︎ being in love

౨ৎ bdsm / bondage

༘⋆ sex toys

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

again, thank you all so so much for 500 followers!

i am so thankful that i have a safe space to share my writing with each & every one of you.

your endless support and kind words mean the absolute world to me! 𖤐₊˚.༄

i feel so welcomed & at home here!

im so happy to have a place to be my genuine, dorky self with all of you.

#one piece #fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #luffy x you #zoro x you #law x you #ace x you #sabo x you #robin x you #nami x you #shanks x you #corazon x you #one piece imagine #follower event #trafalgar law #rorona zoro #monkey d luffy #portgas d ace #nico robin #sabo #nami #shanks

[willowser]

𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄—𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐑—

ׂׂૢ༘ ᴡɪʟʟᴏᴡ. ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ. ᴀɴʏ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ .ೃ࿔* 𓂃

ᴀᴏ3 𔓘 ᴛᴡᴛ 𔓘 ᴍ. ʟɪꜱᴛ 𔓘 ʀᴇᴄꜱ

ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ! ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʜᴜᴍʙʟᴇ ʟɪʟ' ꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ! ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙʟᴏɢ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ꜱᴏ ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ⚘

ɢᴀᴍɪɴɢ ʙʟᴏɢ 𔓘 ᴛᴡɪᴛᴄʜ

𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍,

! ˗ˋˏ ❁ ˎˊ˗ !

more info down below !

ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ:

❀ i do not take requests. on occasion, i might be open for commissions.

❀ i do not keep a taglist.

❀ every character written on this blog has been aged up to [ at least ] twenty-five, unless explicitly stated otherwise.

❀ i write with a fem reader in mind most of the time, but will make adjustments for a gn reader where i can.

❀ this is a safe space that welcomes all people of all interests. if you have entered into this space with the intention to incite ugliness or hatred, then you are not welcome here.

however, if there is a pressing issue that you believe requires my attention, regardless of topic, then i am happy to have a conversation with you off anon in a direct message.

❀ i write about concepts/tropes that may be uncomfortable to some, such as [ but not limited to ]: children/dads/reader as a mother, exes to lovers, alcohol/drug addiction.

❀ conversely, there are concepts/tropes that i will not write, such as [ but not limited to ]: infidelity, polyamory, daddy kink, bimbo reader, isekai, unrequited love.

once again i want to reiterate that this is a safe space welcome to all people of all interests; my personal decision on this is in no way meant to portray any negativity towards said concepts/tropes, or the people that write them.

❀ and lastly—i'm simply here to have fun, and to share in the things i love, with you. please don't take me too seriously, and please try not to take anything i say or do in bad faith, for both your sake and mine ♡

ᴛᴀɢ ɪɴᴅᴇx:

✿ ᴀsᴋ ᴡɪʟʟᴏᴡ

✿ sʜᴜᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪʟʟᴏᴡ ; text posts

✿ ʀᴇғʀᴏɢ ; reblogs

✿ ᴡɪʟʟᴏᴡ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇs ; drabbles and fics and things

✿ sʀʙ ; self reblog

✿ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs: [ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ] ; little nonsense on my mind

✿ ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛ: [ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ]

✿ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ ᴄʜᴀᴘ: [ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ]

✿ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇ: [ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇ ] [ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ] ; posts revolving a certain concept [ eg. dad dabi, vampire bakugou ]

✿ ᴡɪʟʟ x [ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ] ; self ship stuff

✿ ᴄᴡ [ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄ ] ; content warnings to block [ eg. cw children ]

#interacts from @toadlettes #artwork is by abbott fuller graves #excerpt from moccasin flowers by mary oliver #quick links: #✿ willow writes #✿ ask willow #✿ thoughts: bakugou

[1800classiccherries]

Cake! ♡‧₊˚

⚘ Earth42!Miles Morales x black!fem!reader

⚘ Fluff! use of knives for baking, kissing

⚘ summary: Miles and reader bake a cake together.

⚘ wc: 763

⚘ this is my first time writing 42!miles so bare with me 😁☝🏾 (also sorry for the lack of picture, I'm on the fence about changing the way I format these.)

"How hard can it be?" you shrug feeling confident, as Miles reads the strawberry shortcake recipe you handed him.

“mm.. Ion know, this looks kinda difficult, ma…” he flips the paper and reads the rest of the instructions with a squint, “But, hey, if you got experience in this sorta thing…”

“I’m basically a pro, I’ve baked plenty of cakes.” As in plenty, you’ve bakes two and they both turned out less than great, but you chose to leave that part out.

“If you say so…”, he squints at you, “Are these all the ingredients we need?” he asks referring all the stuff on the counter you had set before he arrived.

“Mhm! That should be all of it…” you open a drawer that has a few aprons inside, “Want an apron?”

“you got one of them kiss the chef aprons?” you nod, “then I’ll take that one."

You hand him the apron and then grab one for yourself, yours just being a simple green with faint floral patterns. Once the two of you have tied them on Miles looks at you with an expecting look ok his face.

“What?” you ask already knowing what he wanted.

“Read the apron. I think the chef needs a kiss, don’t you?”

You tilt your head at him with an eyebrow raised, “I think the chef needs to focus on this cake we’re boutta attempt.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, y/n” He pleads, taking a hold of your waist.

With the way he was looking at you, you gave in giving him a short kiss knowing that if you kept going the cake would be forgotten. 

Turning your attention back to the cake it was time to begin, you pick up the paper with the instructions on it and begin reading aloud the first few steps. Whipping the eggs, sifting the flower then combining the two. Miles took care of the eggs and you happily sifted the flour having found it very satisfying.

“Y/n, could you pre-heat the oven? I’m almost done with this part,” Miles requests as he adds the milk and butter into the mixture. 

Once the oven was heated to the right temperature, you place the cake pan inside and set a timer for 30 minutes.

“What should we do for the next 30 minutes?” you ask staring the the cake in the oven.

~

Pulling away from Miles as you sit straddled on his lap, breathing slightly heavy, “Do you hear that?”

“Ion hear anything,” he brushes off pulling you back in by your hips.

You give up on trying to make out the sound and go to back making out with Miles, but you hear the sound again.

“Don’t tell me you can’t hear that?” the sound was driving you crazy and you had a nagging feeling that it was important but you  couldn’t place it.

“Y/n-“ he starts before you cut him off putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh, it sounds like it’s in the kitchen… Did we- Oh! The cake!” you promptly climb off of him and dash to the kitchen.

You grab the oven mitts on the counter and carefully take the cake out dumping it onto the drying rack.

“This actually looks good!” you cheer hopping a bit.

Miles finally makes it into the kitchen, “Of course it does, we made it.”

“I’ll cut this into three, and while it cools we can make the icing. Get the cream and sugar out.” Miles follows your instructions grabbing the necessary ingredients.

You pull a knife out of the drawer and cut the cake horizontally into three shorter cakes. Miles whips together the cream and sugar being sure to not make a mess. 

After the icing is made and the cake is cooled, it’s now time to assemble. You got the strawberries out of the fridge, washing and cutting them in half. Miles spreads and even layer of icing between each layer, pausing each time so you can add the strawberries.

Coating the cake with a layer of icing along the outside and adorning the cake with the last finishing touches, the two of you take a step back to admire your work.

“I won’t lie, it looks great.” Miles admits surprised at how well it turned out.

You grin hearing the compliment “See? And to think that you doubted us.”

“Not too much, for all we know it could be nasty.”

It was very much the opposite and y’all couldn’t help but eat most of it. Being sure to save a piece for your families to try.

Thanks for reading!

I didnt edit much and wrote pretty quick this so if sumn doesnt makes sense, oopsie 😋

#cherry's works ‧₊˚✧ . ˚ #atsv x black reader #miles morales #miles morales atsv #miles morales fic #atsv x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales 42 #the prowler #earth 42 miles #miles g morales #prowler miles #earth 42 #miles 42 #earth42!miles #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles x reader #atsv #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #miles morales earth 42 #miles morales prowler #earth 42 miles morales x you

[onelocket]

Hello there,I hope you're doing well both mentally and physically,and taking good care of yourself.

I really enjoy your writing style, it's delightful,and decided to be brave enough to make a request myself,if you're up for it.I personally have been sick for a while,thanks to my anemia, immediately going back to being horribly sick just as I was starting to recover from the last one.

If you could do a writing with about this situation with Fyodor and his significant other(them being sick,not Fyodor lol),I would appreciate it very much,you don't have to tho :)

Take good care of yourself

hello anon! you’re so sweet, i hope by now you’re doing alright too. i’m so sorry you have to deal with anemia and have to be sick at the same time, you have my full prayers for your health. i wish you all the quickest recovery and do listen to yourself as well — take care! thank you for requesting ♡

Fyodor with his anemic and sick lover

involves -- anemic gn reader, a bit of religion involved but not too focused on it

5 headcanons and 1 small scenario for you, anon ♡

⚘

He gets undeniably nervous when you’re sick. Again.

Not that he’ll make it obvious, or be the first thing he shows you, of course. It’s not his style, and he always knows how to deal with things. But if it comes to his lover? You receive a more caring and concerned side of his that he’s always a little too prideful to show to anyone else. You being sick again will worry him… but there’s nothing he can’t do to help you.

"Milaya, you’ve been sneezing and stifling a lot lately. Hadn’t you been recovering? …How about you wear something lighter and we’ll talk with a cup of tea, alright?"

He won’t pressure you by trying to immediately identify if you’re just going through a cold, or something else. Accompanied with his attentiveness, Fyodor can grasp a better understanding of how you feel just by looking at the symptoms you’re showing. Only then if you’re all comfortable and warm will he talk to you more… the last thing he wants is you uncomfortable, had you just been recovering only for it to say nevermind.

He’ll have his eye on you more than how he had previously,

Since a part of him thinks he also had something to deal with this, deep down. He won’t be open with it since his comfort isn’t the main priority right now, and he’ll just find a better time for it to talk. But while you’re sick and tired, it’s almost as if his eyes were made to look after you. With your anemia, Fyodor tends to be a bit more closer in case you’d ever stand up too fast or feel an uneasy linger in your head.

"Take it slow. I’ll help you, you mustn’t need to stand. What is it that you want?"

"Can you sit up, milaya? Let’s get you in this shirt, it’s lighter than the one you’re wearing."

To put it short, well, you’d be in bed most of the time. And if you really want to get something yourself or need to use the restroom, he’ll let you — but he has to come with. Except for the bathroom, of course, he’ll only stay by the door. Your privacy is also important, and he knows you’re still able to move by yourself. He’s just a bit more… attentive, is all.

Soft and short kisses with a comforting silence.

Fyodor also understands the situation you’re going through, so he knows what you’d probably prefer. He also gets sick from time to time and he can not control it — and you’ve been there for him when he does as well. But for now, it’s his turn. With your already lacking energy crumpled to a harsher state, both of you don’t really talk much unless it’s required. And even so, he’s usually the only one vocal, and you’d reply with a nod, a shake of your head, or by just staring with an expression he can read. When you struggle to speak, however, that’s as if a trigger that hits him to just comfort you and assure that there’s no need to waste your energy.

"…Shh, milaya. It’s okay, come here." Fyodor moves his hands up to your waist, being careful with lifting you up from the bed as you sit, a soft sigh escaping you. "I’m sorry." You whisper.

"There is no need to be." He whispers back, peppering kisses on your cheeks. Your hands were unavailable for him right now, so your soft cheeks will do. Silence follows, yet nothing in both of you says to speak and break it.

Even if you have the strength to talk; which was good for him, there will still be a thought in him that wants to just kiss and kiss your head till you smile. It doesn’t turn into a session, unfortunately or not, Fyodor keeping his kisses short but gentle and almost a surprise you get you a little startled, but nonetheless enjoy the gesture.

He never leaves your side unless he’s going to attend church.

(Obviously also when he needs to get or buy something, of course). Fyodor will stick with you at home for the majority of what he can do, willing to pause his plans needed to do just for you. When you’re deep asleep is only when he moves to do some small tasks, but a lot of the day and night — he is with you. Yet there are also days he has to leave, and it’s with a reason just for you.

"Milaya, I’m going to the church. Stay here and call me when you need to, okay?"

"…I won’t force you to stay, but please be safe." You smile weakly, and he hums in reply.

He didn’t want to leave you unattended at home, but this was something he needed to do for you. Fyodor’s prayers are always answered by God, correct? And he doesn’t even need to step foot on the body of Christ, he just prays and his prayers will reach God. But because of your poison of making him indulge in the nature of love for you, he can’t help but find his body walking to the church as he smiled at the familiar sight — closing his eyes to pray for your well-being; deep down knowing that God can’t deny this now that he took the time to come up to Him.

Flowers and stuffed toys, soup and tea.

Every time he gets home from church or just buying something out, he’s always returning with a bouquet in his hands. Either small or big, it’s something Fyodor always gifts you in hopes of your recovery to win over the sick feeling you have to deal with. Lavenders and snowdrops are usually his field of choice, but there are also flowers he brings that are bright — for it is traditionally the message of telling one to get well soon. He also brings small stuffed toys that are usually bears or whatever animal you’d prefer to cuddle up with, but it’s only when you ask him to buy you one.

"I’m back, milaya. I found a beautiful set of lavenders while I was heading back, as well as some snowdrops. Would you like me to put them in your vase, hm?"

"Truly… would you really cuddle this up more than me?" Fyodor jokes out, a soft and curious look on his face that almost betrays the feeling as you chortle, "I don’t want you sick, that’s all."

But honestly, you also wished you could, didn’t you? Aside from flowers and plush toys, he’ll waste no hesitation and question when you ask for a warm bowl of soup, or tea/any hot drink of your choice. He’ll mostly deny your requests of anything cold or sweet, politely trying to promise you that you’ll get what you want when you’re all recovered and better.

scenario

It’s been a rainy day today. You were still all cooped up on your warm bed, blankets there to support you against the cold while you sigh wearily, missing a certain comfort. Fyodor’s comfort.

He was out to attend church, as he usually does. He told you last night so it wouldn’t be a surprise for you today, but it’s still a little sad.

You know religion is important to Fyodor, yet you can’t control your emotions, can’t you?

Hugging the small creamy plush he bought for you, you idly stare at the empty bowl which initially had soup for you to consume as he was out.

"Why did I have to get sick again?" You mumbled to yourself, turning your head to the plush as you face it in your direction like it could understand you. "I thought I was recovering well from my previous one…"

Muffled rain and a silent room replies to your question as you squeeze the plush just a bit before settling it down beside you, hearing a knock on your door.

It’s Fyodor, surely?

You leave your silence as consent for him to open the door as he carefully swings the doorknob open, a faint smile on his face to see yours. You return the soft smile, tilting your head to the side to see him holding another bouquet of flowers. It was smaller and simpler, yet a sweet gesture nonetheless.

"I’m back, milaya." He whispered, closing the door behind him as he walked to you. "Welcome back." You reply, seeing him slide down the bouquet on your empty vase sitting on your bedside table. The smell of lavender and snowdrops please your scent as your smile softens up, "How are you feeling?"

"I should be asking you that," Fyodor hummed, "Have you gotten proper rest while I was out?" taking off his coat as he sits down on the chair facing your bed.

"Not enough," You sigh. "I still feel too cold and a bit dizzy."

"…Give me your hands." He whispered, shifting his position so his knees were almost pressed on your bed.

You simply follow, sitting up from your bed. You hear him coo, "There now, don’t move too fast," which you also complied. You didn’t want a familiar black sight to win you over when you were about to get a hold of his hands.

As soon as your hands met Fyodor’s, there was a second of surprise when you felt a little warmer in his hold. Both of you were anemic, so a warm touch was rare. But there’s no reason to decline this, is there?

"You’re warm."

"I know, milaya."

And you wouldn’t give it up now. You lightly squeeze his hands as your fingers interlock themselves between his, to which his faint smile softened up to. He brings your and his hands up, pressing a softer kiss on your knuckles. "Would you like me to leave the room so you can try resting some more?" He asks you.

"No, don’t leave.. you just came back." You whisper, closing your eyes as the comfort of both Fyodor and the muffled rain made you feel a little better. "Stay a bit, Fyodor."

There was a part in Fyodor that wanted to speak up his concern for you and comfort you with all he can, wanting you to know how badly he wants you to get well and recover from this discomforting situation you’re in that also brings displeasure to him.

But alas, he’s not a man who says it all. Fyodor’s smile is soon to be accompanied with a gentle gaze with his purple eyes, his thumb rubbing your own.

"…Of course."

#krei headcanons #krei & anon #bsd dostoevsky #bsd imagines #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor imagines #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x y/n #bsd fyodor #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor headcanons #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor hcs #fyodor fluff #fyodor dostoevsky

[raccoonfallsharder]

fanfiction masterlist

currently under construction!

about me | what you'll find here (spoiler: it's rocket raccoon all the time) fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

recently updated

✩࿐࿔ take what you need. brush your frickin' teeth. for nonnie [3/25] ✮

⋆˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall. Part Two. Crystallized Ginger. [3/27] ❤

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter five. o'erpine. ✩ [4/2]

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter six. lockheartedness. ✩ [4/11]

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷.⁺⋆˚₊ [4/17] ✮✩

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter seven. starlorn. [4/22] ✩

florescence❀ Year Three: Flowering [4/27] ✮✩

what’s the forecast for this month? longterm future projects

masterlists

sfw masterlist | nsfw masterlist | headcanons & imagines art [rocket & your OCs] | writing thoughts & "advice" recommended works (writers, artists, etc)

full masterlist below the cut. banners & dividers are by @saradika-graphics and @v6que ♡ thanks to them!

everything is in alphabetical order with pending works at the end, but if you can think of a better way to organize, feel free to hit me up ♡ what to expect from my fanfiction

⋆ ˖ ⁺ ‧₊ ☽ anthology ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ varies | no use of y/n | complete | word count: varies. miscellaneous one-shots belonging to no specific collections or series. gender of reader varies. collects three oneshots. adorations | Autopilot Systems Check | overheard on the bowie | the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip | rocket raccoon prompt week | tomorrow | warm compress

♡‧₊˚✩ Blackmail Material ✩˚₊‧ ♡ 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3/3 parts | complete | word count: 30,591. a classic tale of "that fuckin raccoon found your sex toy." post-endgame friends-to-lovers smut with feelings, fluff, & love confessions. Blackmail Material | Self-Sufficience | Bioluminescent

⋆⊰∙∘⋆❆ borealis ❆⋆∘∙⊱⋆ winter collection varies | no use of y/n | complete | word count: varies. an anthology of various winter-themed/holiday one-shots. gender of reader varies. collect four 2023 winter oneshots. traditions. | ugly sweater. | frostnip. | snow & stars. | winter across the galaxy

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ 18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | wip | 4/25+ | word count: pending. a story about scars. inspired by mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night.  please pay attention to all ao3 warnings/tags for every chapter. nemotia | ambedo | rasque | anthrodynia | o'erpine | lockheartedness | starlorn |

Domestic Scenes in Space Travel ✩°｡ ⋆ [UNDER CONSTRUCTION] The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | word count: varies. reader x rocket domestic fluff & smut with feelings. comics-based but you don't need any comics background knowledge to ride this ride. collects Installments 1-5 and an Interlude. The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl | Outer Space Safety & Spaceship Maintenance Training | Reconnaissance for Beginners: An Instruction Manual | Critical Interview Questions for Potential Room & Crewmates [explicit & smut-free versions] | Proof: A Moment in Space | Untitled Installment 6

florescence❀ ˖⁺‧₊˚ (a meetgroot) 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3/6 years | wip | word count: pending. Rocket & Groot leave their friends behind on Knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the Shi’ar Galaxy. It was the flowers that drew you in. mcu-based, slight au, medium-burn, eventual smut circa Year Four. tentative allies to friends to lovers. the middle is angsty but there are only happy endings here. Year Zero: Seed | Year One: Sprout | Year Two: Growth | Year Three: Flowering | Year Four: Formation | Year Five: Dispersal

˚₊‧✶ headcanons & imagines ✶‧₊˚ smut-free | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshots & drabbles various guardians of the galaxy headcanons, minifics, and more.

°˖✧˚♡ kinktober 2023 ♡˚✧˖° 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshots | word count: varies. based on @flightlessangelwings Kinktober 2023 prompt list. please read all warnings.

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷.⁺⋆˚₊ smut-free | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshots & drabbles | word count: varies. based on @rocketraccoonpromptweek. most can be read platonically, with only some brief mentions of romance or spice. explosives | hurts | emotionalistic | family | machinery | bite | home

✩࿐࿔ take what you need smut-free | gn reader | no use of y/n | 11 complete reminders | word count: varies. the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself. rocket bullies you for your own good. non-smutty. reader is gender-neutral. accepting requests via reblogs, asks, and tumblr & ao3 comments. collects various Reminders (ongoing) ࿔ eat somethin ࿔ go to frickin bed ࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done ࿔ take a damn bath ࿔ leave your frickin skin alone ࿔ take a fuckin study break ࿔ drink some goddamn water ࿔ stop destroying your fricking clothes ࿔ just buy the damn thing already ࿔ it's frickin laundry day ࿔ get some goddamn sunshine ࿔ have you taken your meds today? ࿔ schedule your fuckin appointments ࿔ do the goddamn dishes ࿔ brush your frickin teeth ࿔

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ (a meetgroot) 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2/3 parts | wip | word count: pending. wind·fall /ˈwin(d)ˌfôl/ noun. an apple or other fruit blown down from a tree or bush by the wind; an unexpected piece of good fortune. semi-shy ultrafeminine touch-deprived reader tries to avoid meeting knowhere’s intimidating captain. is profoundly unsuccessful. Sugared Violets. | Crystallized Ginger. | Candied Apples.

Window Across the Galaxy *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | 27/27 chapters | complete | word count: 235,940. girl falls first; raccoon falls harder. Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops. slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). collects Chapters I-XXVII. *:･ﾟ✧

what's on the horizon? future projects

#rfh fanfic #fanfiction masterlist #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket raccoon #gotg fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon x oc #rocket raccoon x you #rocket x you #rocket racoon x reader #rocket raccoon fanart #gotg oc #gotg rocket #rocket gotg #rocket raccoon x reader #rfh masterlist #blackmail material #take what you need #rfh kinktober #window across the galaxy #domestic scenes in space travel #sweatshirt girl #adventures of space pilot & sweatshirt girl #florescence

[eternalbuckley]

rafe cameron was someone who would always be seen as the big grumpy, insane and bad person. you knew what he did to others, you didn’t support his acts and he knew that. rafe tried to be a better man, for you. sometimes it was easier, sometimes it was harder. but he was sure about one thing: he loved you. in his own ways of defining love. he wasn’t a soft man but there were moments were he showed his soft side, only for you. when you were alone together, in peace. times were he could just shut off his mind and focus on you. his problems would been forgotten, you were the only thing that existed in these moments. from leaves kisses on your forehead, hugging you from behind, making you giggle or cuddling with you in the mornings after you woke up. he couldn’t get enough of you. seeing your smile was enough for him to keep going. he even learned how to make your favourite food, wether it was baking or cooking. he learned it, so he could make it for you. even if he didn’t have to. after seeing how happy you were the first time he made it, he swore to himself to do it more often.

"nah-uh," he would tell you, softly swatting your hands away. you wanted to help him cooking/baking but he didn’t allow that, "you‘re gonna go, be beautiful like always and do whatever you want, baby. the kitchen is my place now." rafe shoved you out of the kitchen and wanted to go back to focusing on cooking/baking the meal.

you playfully rolled your eyes and kissed his cheek. you could swear that you saw a slight blush creeping on his cheeks, not that he would admit that anyway. every time you two had these moments together you thought about the first time you met him. you could have never thought that rafe could have such a side in himself but after all you awakened the good parts of him and showed him that you cared about him, despite the things he‘s done. he was yours and you were his.

navigation | masterlists | my outer banks masterlist

#⚘; — my writing ✧♡ #rafe cameron #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x gn!reader #rafe cameron concept #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks #outer banks thoughts

[chiliyue-archived]

The blog theme change is so funny to me omg 😭 glad you recovered /j 🙏🏻🫶🏻

the amount of copium I am on is enough to bring me into a coma

live love laugh sigma <33 🫰fyodor who ???

oops my hand slip. my ba d

#⚘ besitos ♡ #until fyodor writes me a 5 page apology letter he will be receiving the cold shoulder. #jk. ill probably cave and change back to my rat king soon #my favoritism is going to show & i am not srry

[ilwonuu]

hellooo So i'd like to request a period comfort channie fic. These cramps are killing me but I'd like to get killed by bang chan's sweetness instead :( (that sounded so cheesy ew hehe) again I love what you're doing. Thank youuu <3

yes of course ml!!! i hope u feel better that is the worst! im here to bring u channie comfort. thank you for requesting <3 ily ur so sweet thank u for enjoying my writing:(

𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌♡︎

࿌𐬿*⚘𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗋

𖣥 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－ 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉， 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅！𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𖣥 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌- 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿<𝟥， 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋（𝗇𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌）， 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌， 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇， 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 （𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒，𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗅）（𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾）， 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖲𝖮 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎，𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋， 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽𝗌， 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾<𝟥， 𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾！！

𖣥 𝖺／𝗇- 𝗁𝗂 𝗈𝗆𝗀，，， 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 :( 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾，，

chan already knew. he already knew you were gonna wake up not feeling well. you have a period tracker on your phone. he checked your tracker last night to make sure you guys didn’t need to go out to get anything. he confirmed that you guys had everything as he did buy you a bunch of things last month. you woke up with ruined panties. you went into the bathroom to shower. your boyfriend quickly shuffling in behind you.

“can i join?” you smile and nod at him. you know that it will be a calming shower with him next to you. he makes everything better. the two of you strip for your shower after getting the water ready. he follows you into the shower with a soft smile. “how are you feeling angel?” he lets your hair out of the braids from the night before for you. “i feel okay. remind me take some pain meds when we get out.” you smile as you let your hair run under the water.

“of course. i will just that.” he smiles at you as the two of you get comfortable under the water. you are facing him when you pull him into a hug. he hugs you back quickly. “i’m so happy we don’t have anything to do today.” he laughs. “yea me too baby. just want to spend the day like this.” you laugh. “in the shower?” he rolls his eyes at you.

“no silly, in your arms.” he kisses your cheek with a smile. “i want to stay all day in your arms too.” you pull him into a soft kiss. he’s kisses you back slowly and lovingly. you pull away with a big smile on your face. “mm that was too good.” you laugh with a smirk. “oh was it?” he teases you with a smile as he kisses all over your face.

“let’s get you all clean yea?” he asks you with a smile as he grabs the soap cleaning your body gently. “this feels nice.” you hum as you relax as he rubs your back softly as he cleans you. “don’t you get any ideas baby.” he smiles at you as you turn red. “i’m just kidding.” he laughs at your cute embarrassed expression.

“you’re annoying channie.” you turn away from him as you rinse the soap off your body. he just gives you another smile as he washes his body. after the two of you are done. you pull him to kiss you again. he responds quicker this time holding your waist close. after the two of you share a couple more kisses and get out he quickly grabs clothes for you.

“here you go baby.” he kisses your head as the two of your get dressed. after you two finish getting ready for the morning you compile back into your king bed. he grabbed your heating pad that he recently bought for you. your content in your boyfriends arms as he leaves soft kisses against your head. he rubs your sides softly to help with the pain. he didn’t forget your pain meds so you were feeling 10x better.

“are you falling asleep? i can turn off the show.” he whispers to you incase you are already drifting to sleep. “no- it’s okay channie i’m just resting my eyes. you feel so warm.” he laughs at you words.

“baby, i’m so sorry to break it to you but that might be the heating pad.” you roll your eyes playfully. “no you’re warm.” he just nods. “whatever ever you say. tell me if you at least want me to turn it down k?” you nod with smile.

he strokes your hair back softly. he leaves soft kisses against your head helping fall into deep relaxation. you wanted nothing more to have him every day of your period. he already made you forget about it. you were happy enough laying in bed with the soft tv playing in the back.

“you’re my everything.” he whispers to you with a kiss against your cheek. “gosh- shut up. why are you being so cheesy?” you blush at his words. “you’re so mean to me but i let it pass because you’re cute.” he laughs rubbing your cheek.

“you’re cute too i guess.” you roll your eyes at him. “i know you love me.” he kisses your shoulder before pulling you closer to him.

“i really do channie.” you confess with a blush. you felt happier with him. your period usually made you feel down. you were so thankful. you really do love him.

#bangchan fluff #bangchan stray kids #bangchan fic #bang chan #bangchan smut #skz bang chan #stray kids bang chan #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids #skz smut

[her-penetrating-soul]

━━━━━━⚘ᥫ᭡​᭄∘˚დ━━━━━━

🤍 ‿⚘Bind me in the silken robes of my petals draping deeply within the chamber of my undying oceanic soul. Caress yourself into me gentle, let me feel the webbing of your enlightenment. It's your energy I am growing fond of. A darkness that lures my light further into you. A muse, an inspiration. I spend all day gazing upon your words. I'd be in enchantment. You pierced this oceanic soul in ways I never imagined. Like a webbing trying to escape. Yet not, I would rather be webed into this muse of who you are. Then, to not foretale what may not be if I lose sight of you. It's you that's has me tangled. I look for you in mirrors, longing to cast a reflection of you. My petals aren't the same since I tasted the sweet, gentle darkness. I am light how can this be that I am drawn to the silen of her radiance. Ah. It is you that lures me in. Like a child rediscovering her surroundings. I am not afraid of her tenderness. For I know you'll be there awaiting for me. My muse, my inspiration to write what all along I was so nervous, afraid to write. Now I'm not afraid. I long to pour my essences of everlasting beauty upon the pages. It's a book of my love for her darkness. Lurking in her frailness. I feel more alive than ever. Walking forth, with an illumination more powerful than my own self. I'm both Light & Darkness unfolding before the world to see that their is beauty in both. Draped within my petals of love. I, too, can cherish her divinity. I, too, can love the night. I, too, can become her child of the moonlight. A comforting sonnet where souls go to meet in their dreams. I to can be her child of the darkness. Embedded into her light as well, holding both tenderly into my bosom.⚘⁀🤍

Written: March 25th, 2024

©All Copyright Reserved:

♥️🖤༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶🖤♥️

━━━━━━⚘ᥫ᭡​᭄∘˚დ━━━━━━

#her penetrating soul #dark beauty #red beauty #red roses #red petals #petals of love #red makeup #aesthetic #photography #photomanipulation #soulful #soulful beauty #soulful love #soulful expressions #soulful sentiments #soulful moments

[jessamine-rose]

AAAA HI I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR WRITING FOR CAPITANO, IT IS SO NICE AND DOESNT EVEN FEEL YANDERE, THE WAY YOU EXPLAIN THE STORY AND EVERYTHING IS EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINE CAPITANO IS!

TY SO MUCH FOR WRITING THAT!!! ALSO I LIKE TO IMAGINE A SILLY SCENARIO WHERE CAPITANO IS FIGHTING SOMEONE AND HE GLANCES AT A FLOWER FROM AFAR AND STOPS HIS FIGHTING JUST TO PICK A FLOWER, AAHHHH YOU HAD ME JUST FALL IN LOVE WITH CAPITANO

Read Herbarium here!!

Ohh thank you for the compliment and your silly imagine, Anonie!! I was inspired to write my own scarier take on your idea, so enjoy this drabble  (づ ᴗ͈  ˬ ᴗ͈ )づ*.ﾟ

Tw:: YANDERE, violence, blood, murder, stalking, Stockholm Syndrome

Note:: Female reader, pre-release Capitano

♡ 0.7k words under the cut ♡

The meadow makes for an optimal battlefield. The open space enables various fighting styles. There are no obstacles for opponents to use as shields or hiding places. The soil can soak up the blood and consume the unclaimed bodies for nourishment.

It is only a pity that the flowers must lay witness to such atrocities. They are silent spectators if not casualties to be trampled on and stained with blood. There is no need to mourn them, however.

Once the battle reaches its end, nature shall persevere and reclaim its home. Some flowers may even be granted an untainted death and a beautiful afterlife by the mercy of the First Harbinger.

✿ ⚘ 

The makeshift battlefield is home to a variety of wildflowers. The vivid scene is an unlikely resting place for the Captain’s opponents.

Capitano’s sword slashes the soldier’s arm in a spray of blood. They scream and drop their weapon, staggering away from him.

Blood drips from their wounds and dyes the grass red. The meadow has become a mess of ruined flowers and mutilated bodies. They trip over the newest corpse, recoiling at the sight of their comrade’s crushed head.

The gods are so cruel. Why must they be the last man standing?

The Captain has been silent throughout the entire fight. No proud insults or cruel laughter as he killed their comrades one by one. No unnecessary bloodshed or wasted movements to draw out his opponents’ suffering. He works with cold precision, taking no sadistic entertainment in the fall of his enemies.

He is determined to finish them off as quickly as possible.

There is one thing which the soldier finds odd, however. From what they’ve witnessed, the Captain could have easily murdered everyone in one fell swoop. So why did he allow his opponents to scatter? Why did he attack them in different parts of the meadow? Why did he choose to prolong their terror?

The soldier tries to retreat, only for Capitano to land another critical hit on their leg. They collapse just a few feet away from his initial standing point.

They were all so foolish to think that they stood any chance against the Captain.

Their team had only been tasked to spy on the Fatui’s military camp. They hadn’t expected to find the First Harbinger in a secluded meadow of all places, seemingly distracted by a patch of blue flowers.

…Strangely enough, those flowers show no signs of damage.

The sound of ominous footsteps snaps the soldier out of their thoughts. Capitano doesn’t even give them a second to recover.

That is another benefit of this battlefield. In a meadow located far away from civilization, the screams of terror are left unheard.

✿ ⚘ 

The meadow’s peace has been restored.

Capitano sheaths his sword and inspects the final corpse. He was successful in minimizing the range of the blood splatters. The flower patch remains pristine, undefiled by the battle.

How inconvenient. Despite residing in such a large meadow, the forget-me-nots had chosen to flourish in a single area. He had to maneuver his attacks to ensure that those flowers would emerge unscathed.

The light blue petals are perfectly spotless, though their fragrance is drowned out by the iron scent of blood. It was wise of him to prepare an extra set of gloves.

“My lord! What happened?”

His spy has finally arrived. He walks past the corpses and kneels on the grass.

Capitano changes his bloody gloves. “I was merely ambushed by a few low-ranking fools. Sergeant Charon, your status report.”

“Of course!” Charon looks up and continues speaking. “Your wife is in good health, though she appears to be quite listless as of late. She still spends the majority of her time in her private library.”

His mission will be over in a few days. He must remain patient.

“And what of her new guard?”

“They rarely speak to your wife, as per your orders. From what we have seen, they are performing their duties without fail.”

“Continue to monitor their activity. Should they show any signs of suspicious behavior, eliminate them on sight. You are dismissed.”

“Understood, my lord!”

With that, Charon leaves the meadow.

If his spies were able to notice the difference in his darling’s gaze, she must be exceptionally melancholic in his absence.

A cruel side of Capitano finds gratification in knowing that the light in her eyes has become exclusively reserved for his company.

Capitano picks a small bouquet of forget-me-nots, mindful of his bloodstained armor. The gift will certainly elicit one of his darling’s rare smiles. He is looking forward to their reunion.

♡

Once again, Capitano challenges my ability to write action scenes. Imagine his broken Damsel waiting for him in Snezhnaya, reading her books and wishing for his safe return :’>

Thank you again to everyone who has liked my Capitano works and sent me your sweet messages!! And once again, thank you so much to @diodellet for peer-reviewing this and suffering alongside me!! I didn’t expect myself to become so attached to the twisted love story of Capitano and my darling, but I dug my own grave  (＞人＜;) Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @shumidehiro @dear-yandere @northcafe @dulcetthorns @lambdrop @uhhhh-hi-im-sorry-for-this @poetics-of-fuubutsu @p214ven @elixir-de-silence @loleah @springtidewaves @frostedclementine @literaree @the-dreaming-city @something-was-here @lyra-mew @siphite @blankussy @yanmaresu @frogchiro @alexteea @zana-horowa @lcveaesop @the-dreaming-city @micchikari @ryo-ri @harmonysanreads @something-was-here

#il capitano #capitano #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #the capitano agenda #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: death #fem reader #feedback #jessamine-writing