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satorusugurugurl · 22 days

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Wake Up Call

Summary: Nanami Kento does everything in his power to try to wake you up for a meeting. But damn you're too cute!

Pairing: Nanami Kento x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 942

Warning: fluff, suggestive

A/N: Staring Fluffy Fridays! Every Friday you’ll get a fluffy one shot/drabble! 😘💚 I have a severe sinus infection, so I’ll be at home all weekend working on requests and stuff! Antibiotics here we go!! (totally not rolling on the floor in pain)🥲

The annoying buzzing of your phone pulled you away from the cozy sheets. Whining in protest, you smother your face back into the sheets. Nanami watched you from the bedroom door, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You were so adorable when you were sleepy like this.

Your alarm kept blaring, making you throw the covers over your face, clung Nanami in that he needed to step in. He trod carefully over to you, his palm gently pressing against your upper arm and moving his hand up and down in gentle strokes, watching you stir slightly, heavy eyelids lifting to gaze at him.

“Love, you need to wake up.”

“Mmm.” You protested, shoving your face into his pillow that you spooned.

“That was the third time you snoozed your alarm. You asked me to wake you up, do you remember?” strands of your hair fell over your face as you hummed. “You have a meeting this morning with Gojo and Yaga.” Surely your boyfriend thought that would do the trick, but you didn't budge.”Love, your meeting concerns the curriculum you're starting on barriers.” You cuddled the pillow more, moaning softly.

Nanami hated seeing you so tired. You have been working so hard for the last month. Working overtime, skipping meals, not getting enough sleep. All of those factors spoke volumes about your character. You were hard-working and devoted to making the world a better case, ridding it of one curse at a time. Regardless of how strong your work ethic was, you also needed some time to rest and unwind. Nanami wanted you to sleep, but he also knew how hard you worked on your presentation for the meeting. A meeting a particular coworker wouldn’t shut up over if you were to show up at the last minute.

“Gojo is going to tease you if you show up late.”

“Mmm, stupid blindfolded bastard.” You slurred, curling in on yourself. “He makes’ fun of me Imma snap that dirty blindfold against his face like a rubber band.”

Nanami sputtered a laugh, his large hand reaching up to stifle it. You were so cute and blunt when you were sleepy like this! Nanami turned the opposite way, laughing harder into his palm, cheeks flushed while his shoulders shook.

“Sorry to break it to you,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “but you’ll have to get through his infinity to do that.”

“Minor setback,”

“My love.” his freehand trailed down, gently massaging your hip, peeking out from underneath the sheet. You didn’t move, breathing deeper as you slowly drifted back to sleep. “Come on, you need to get up.”

“Ken~ five more minutes, please~”

With a glance at his watch, Nanami sighed in defeat. You’d still have time to make it to work if you picked up breakfast to go. He could put in a mobile order; that way, you could sleep in just a bit more like you wanted. Like he wanted, you deserved to get as much rest as possible.

“Fine, I’m snoozing your alarm for eight minutes,” he repeated to your dozing form. “If you fight me on it in eight minutes, I will be dragging you into the shower myself.”

“Ooookay, love ya’,” your sleepy form whispered.

“Love you too, honey.”

Eight minutes later, you groveled, hiding under the sheets as Nanami stomped in. He waited briefly to see if you would get up on your own. Without hesitation, your hand snaked out from under the layers of blankets and hit the snooze button for a fourth time.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Kento rolled his sleeves up to his elbows before digging you out from your fortress of blankets. His sudden actions had your heart racing and eyes going wide. Having him pick you up like that was a great wake-up call! You giggled and kicked your feet as Nanami carried you into the shower, not fazed by his tight grip.

“There.” Kento placed you down in front of the shower. “Get to it.” Fingers yanked your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor. “You’re going to be late.” But as he turned to walk out, you grabbed him, pulling him back into your bare chest.

“Oooh, Kento~ let me thank you for the wake-up call!” There was no chance you would let him leave now. You were wide awake and ready to go as you pulled him into the shower with a smile so sweet it could give him cavities.

Despite Nanami’s best efforts, you still arrived ten minutes late to work. Hair was messily done, a cold latte in your hands, and your uniform buttons were mismatched. Yaga jumped as you slammed a box of donuts down on the table as a makeshift apology before waving bye to Nanami, who headed to his office.

“Oooh~ my oh my! Ex-salaryman jujutsu sorcerer and our talisman expert had a lovely morning!” Satoru reached into the donut box, licking his lips as he took a bite from a jelly-filled donut. “You got a hickey on your neck, by the way, ~”

You gave Satoru your best Geto Suguru smile and head tilt. “Hey, Gojo, come here; you have powdered sugar on your blindfold.”

“Oh!?” he leaned forward, grinning. “Thanks for telling me I owe you big—” You yanked his blindfold away from his face, snarling down at the blue-eyed man before releasing it with a snap. “OW!!” Hearing Gojo’s yelp, Nanami roared with laughter as he continued down the hall; what a great way to start his morning.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart

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ramons-elevator · 10 months

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*SLAMS HANDS ON DESK*

FUCKING PHILS POV

Everything about his POV was bone chilling holy shit. Also fucking shoutout to the admins for picking Chayanne and Tallulah bc that was a really smart move.

For some context for those who arent Philza watchers:

Tallulah and Chayanne obey Phil. Yes they can be divas sometimes and be dumb and silly, but they arent like their siblings like Dapper and Richas who will just be dramatic and do dumb and dangerous stuff when their parents dont feel 100% okay with it. They will throw a fit but still be respectful of Phil’s word.

Phil said multiple times to them, especially Tallulah, to not go to the dinner no matter what. That as soon as it hits 2pm PST, they get tucked into bed and they can wake up after if they want. Chay and Lullah both agreed bc they both fear dying. Tallulah wants to see her dad and Chayanne knows how hard his dad works to make sure they are safe.

Let me fucking tell you how creepy it was seeing Tallulah walk into the dinner.

Phil immediately questioned her and was like “what the fuck you doing? We both agreed you would stay in bed.” and when ‘Tallulah’ just stared at him and shook her maracas, you could feel the air still.

Personally, it felt like a bucket of ice water got dumped on me. Phil literally froze. Because thats not fucking Tallulah. Tallulah is calculated, gentle, and slow moving. The ‘Tallulah’ at the dinner was shaking her maracas without a care in the world, running around. Also Tallulah will talk to Phil and they check in on each other. The ‘Tallulah’ at the dinner didnt put down a sign once.

Then as Phil was realizing that Tallulah wasn’t Tallulah, then ‘Chayanne’ comes in. At this point Phil realized that both ‘Tallulah’ and ‘Chayanne’ dont have cracks. Phil straight up looks at ‘Chayanne’ and says “You are fake, you arent my son.” Also same thing with Tallulah, Chayanne and Phil check in with each other. They are a well oiled machine. Phil knows Chayanne like the back of his hand and vise versa.

To be fair, Chayanne isnt an egg of many words. He likes action and just nods/shakes of his head when talking. If need be he will place a sign down, but he doesnt talk as much as Tallulah. So it isnt hard to impersonate him.

But the second, ‘Chayanne’ started punching Phil was again bone chilling. Chayanne rarely hits Phil, maybe once or twice from the top of my head. Again, Chay and Lulah are very respectful of Phil. If they need his attention, they do other ways. They dont hit.

And thats when Phil let Fit know that something was wrong. Those werent his kids. That they are fakes. Around that time, Phil runs home and sees that his actual kids are sleeping. He takes a photo, runs back, and fucking shows ‘Chayanne’. Phil lets the fakes know that he knows and he doesnt give a shit.

At some point, Phil and Fit talk again and ‘Chayanne’ runs up and tries to take the photo from Phil. Phil basically said fuck off and went back to his seat.

The part I find so fucking eerie was that Fit and ‘Chayanne’ had a lil talk. ‘Chayanne’ put down a sign that said something along the lines of “My dad doesnt love me anymore”.

That sign literally made me start to freak out because thats the fucking last thing the real Chayanne thinks. The real Chayanne knows that his dad loves him to death. That Phil would burn this server to the ground if anything bad happened to Chayanne. Chayanne knows that Phil does everything in his power to keep his son alive. He knows how much Phil worries about him and Tallulah (both the characters and the admins).

Going back to what I said at the start, the admins were so fucking smart for picking Chayanne and Tallulah to be the ‘Code eggs’.

People outside of Phil, Fit, Bad, and maybe Forever/Cellbit dont really spend time with Chayanne and Tallulah. Yes, other people do care after them and know them, but they really dont know their mannerisms and quirks. They dont know that Tallulah only shakes her Maracas when she is very excited or have something to say. They dont know that, while Chayanne can be hyper, he usually is very obedient and stays close to Tallulah when he can.

So putting them in a party where the attention isnt on them 100% time is so smart. They can run around and people dont think about it. They just see two eggs running around and having fun. They dont know how wrong it is to see them like that.

Then when the ‘Code eggs’ made themselves known, Phil got kicked. Again very smart from the admins because no one wanted to kill ‘Chayanne’ and ‘Tallulah’ even though they were obviously Codes. Even Fit, who Phil told over and over again that those arent his kids, hit the Codes once or twice but stopped because he didnt wanna take that risk. No one wanted to take the chance of hurting an egg. It gave the ‘Code eggs’ time to kill Charlie and try to kill others.

But the second Phil joins back, he is screaming that those arent his kids and to kill them. That they were impostors. Even then, they let Phil kill the Code eggs.

Then when Code Tallulah died, everyone stepped back and let Phil 1v1 Code Chayanne.

Im so impressed with the admins and the people who played the fake Chayanne and Tallulah. They did such a good job of putting a spear of ice through my heart. 100/10 Bravo

#qsmp #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah #qsmp philza #philza

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kingconia · 9 months

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VIL SCHOENHEIT, LEONA KINGSCHOLAR AND MALLEUS DRACONIA WITH READER, WHO IS ALWAYS IGNORED BY THEIR FATHER...

(...Who happens to be the headmaster himself.)

Bonus points: reader studies in the Diasomnia.

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— When he heard for the first time that the new student of the Diasomnia, is the children of the Dire Crowley, he had a very low expectations, to be honest. Not like he hated on you beforehand or something, more like he was too aware of headmaster's character...

— So, he was pleasantly surprised to see that you are completely the opposite of your father. Responsible, hardworking—if not for you being a crow yourself, and having the same surname, he would never guess that you were raised by this man;

— However... It was clear as day that the reason why you had nothing common with him, was because he hardly payed attention to you. You tried so hard by studying diligently and achieving the first places in different school contests, and yet... He didn't really care?

— Malleus had never met his father, but Lilia made sure he would never feel neglected in the way you were. And the mistreatment towards you hurt him even more, than it hurt you.

•

”Shit,” you groaned, baring your teeth in unhidden displeasure. ”Headmaster will not approve seeing that that these students broke the window.”

Malleus gazed at you curiously—both of you were sitting on the roof, talking about everything and nothing—and the question left his lips by itself.

”We are all alone. Why are you still calling him a headmaster?”

As you brought knees to your chest, resting your chin on them, you shrugged. With voice impassive and eyed cold, you explained:

”I don't have a particular way to call him. He is either headmaster or Crowley. So...”

Malleus's heart squeezed instantly of the thought of that.

It sounded so unbelievable.

He grew up witnessing how gentle Lilia was to Silver, and how the latter called him a father. Their bond, a sincere and tight one, was always an example for Malleus of how families should like. And here you were, ignored by a man, who was the reason you were in this world. How unfair.

”Y/n?”

Malleus thought, if you asked him to fulfill your wish—to make your father love you—he would. Without a doubt.

”Yes?”

But for some reasons, you never do.

”I hope, you understand, a precious raven of mine, that Diasomnia is your family, too.”

So, he can only offer you an alternative. An alternative, where you need to accept that despite not having your father's love, you had all of them—him, Lilia, Silver and Sebek.

”...Thank you for that. I... I try to keep that in mind.”

Yet, you still need some time to comprehend that.

He could wait. They all will.

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— He was naturally suspicious of you. It is not a secret that Vil hates privileged kids—such as Leona, for example—and for him, it was logical that you were the one, too;

— However, he started to doubt about that after observing you more closely;

— You never skipped lectures, always did your homework and participated actively in the classes. And not only that! Your achievements weren't passing through him—he was quite aware of all your wins in competitions, and a good reputation;

— So, to the moment, when you came to ask for his help for your talent show, Vil already admitted to himself, that despite having a privilege, you were a high achiever, who knew how to work. But, oh, little did he knew, that you were an opposite to the privileged person...

•

“Y/n-san,” Vil frowned deliberately, glaring at you with a genuine concern in his eyes, ”I think, you should take a little rest. Please.”

With your shoulders shaking, hands being red, and legs hardly keeping you up, you looked awful.

Vil knew how exhaustion looked—he wore it on himself all the time, after all—and he could say for sure, you were too close to the meltdown. If not to the overbolt...

”I can't. I should try harder,” you murmured, voice raspy. ”Only this way I can...”

The desperation in your eyes were so familiar that Vil almost flinched from it. Carefully, afraid of doing the wrong choice, he put hands on your shoulders, squeezing them softly.

”Y/n-san, you are one of the best students of our school. Even more, you are standing on the same place in the world, along with Leona and Malleus,” he reminded, lips slightly brushing your hair as he spoke. ”What else are you trying to achieve?”

”His attention, of course!" A sob that escaped your lips were too gut-wrenching to hear. ”What else I can need, if not a father?”

Vil didn't even try to conceal his own genuine sadness as he heard you saying that. Almost instinctively, he hugged you tightly, allowing to hide in the crook of his neck.

It was the moment, when he regretted that his assumptions about you being spoiled, were wrong. It would be much healthier for you, if he was right.

”Oh, darling,” he whispered gently. ”Cry all you like. You are allowed to.”

And so, you did.

When on the next morning you pretended that nothing happened, Vil wasn't mad at you for that. If anything, he was merely happy that he was able to help you for a while.

...If only you understood how worthy you are.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— The unbothered king had only two complaints to you, and both of them sounded ridiculous. Because, he was unhappy with you being a part of Diasomnia, and he couldn't settle with a fact that you were a crow. The end of the story;

— Leona truly couldn't care less about you or your father. What he cared was the fact that you were a powerful rival in the Spelldrive Tournament, and he was slightly bitter to losing both to you and your housewarden;

— Overall, he respected you. And that was why when you offered him to play chess together, he didn't say no. Since that, you became close, always playing together, in the same time and place;

— As Leona became closer to you, he obviously realised that your family relationships were fucked up—takes one neglected kid to recognise the other—but, decided not to pry out. If you want to talk about it, you will. Otherwise, he will not do anything.

•

”Huh?”

Leona blinked, not caring to mask his astonishment as he saw you sitting in the botanical garden, with chess board being set up, ready for another game.

”Hi, Leona,” you raised your head at him slowly. ”You are late.”

He weren't late, he just didn't know that you will be here.

The school was on the winder holidays, and the prevailing amount of students already left to their houses. As far as Leona had heard, the headmaster was the first one to leave, since he had a special vacation somewhere in the Shifts. Of course, Leona expected you to go there with him.

”...What are you doing here?” He asked bluntly. ”Shouldn't be you on holidays, or something?”

”My house is too empty,” you shrug, the slight frown indicating your irritation by this question. ”I decided, it would be better to stay.”

”...And the vacation?”

”Oh, Crowley never takes me with himself,” you huffed easily.

Leona had no idea that your relationship was that bad. Even Falena always invited him everywhere, just in case if Leona suddenly decides to agree.

”Well?” You rushed him. ”Are you going to play with me?”

There was nothing Leona could say to console you, words never being his strongest quality. But as he slowly made his way to the armchair, he couldn't help but being hit by the wave of the sheer madness towards your father.

How could anyone neglect such an ambitious and perfect kid as you?

”If I win, you are celebrating New Year with me,” Leona finally spoke up, moving the white piece of chess.

Well, it didn't matter. Not like Dire Crowley deserved you anyway.

”And if I do?”

”Then, I am celebrating New Year with you.”

You smiled at him, before concentrating on the game

”How cruel. I am in.”

He couldn't help but feel proud that the smile on your face was his doing.

Perhaps, you had not the best father, but... At least, Leona will make sure, that you will have a perfect holidays for once.

And that was fine, too.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #malleus draconia #vil schoenheit #malleus draconia x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #dire crowley

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ddejavvu · 9 months

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hi! I have a request for Criminal Minds…

It’s Dom!Spencer x fem or afab reader where they’re fucking and reader is sooooo gone that she’s not even catching Spencer’s degradations and praises anymore and just says stuff like ,,you’re so pretty,, or sucks his fingers without a single CARE in the world.

IM GOING TO HELL IM SORRY 😭 also, if you happen to do this, can I be “🏹” anon? apologies if you don’t do emoji anons, ignore this if you don’t. Thanks anyway! Love your writing I’m your biggest fan <3

this post is 18+, minors dni.

warning for ooc spence: i get you dom!spencer fans and this one's for you <3 but the man had to ashamedly whisper the word 'bitch' while reading it off of evidence from a crime scene so i don't think this one is really in character 💔💔💔 hopefully it's good though <3

Everything about Spencer is divine. The hair that hands in caramel-colored waves around your face, tips tickling your skin and only offering more stimulation to an already overwhelming experience. His lips, pink and plump that suckle ravenously at your neck, leaving stinging patches in their wake that won't heal for days. His cock, impressively thick and moderately long, stretching your drooling cunt and bumping rapidly against a spot so deep inside of you you're not sure you knew it existed. His fingers, long, slender, and veined, laying heavy on your tongue and putting pressure on its base so that you gag. Drool spills out around his digits as your body shakes from the force of his thrusts, and the gentle, soothing hum of his voice is with you only in sound, not in meaning.

You're too far gone to recognize the words spilling from his lips as he fucks you, terms like 'slut', 'dirty', 'filthy', and 'dumb' that, on a normal day, would send you into a stammering, blushing mess of denial and excuses. But now you're basking in his saccharine tone, letting his words wash over you and evaporate before your fucked-out brain has time to process them.

"Everyone thinks you're a genius," Spencer croons, sucking hard at a spot against your throat as he jams his fingers onto your tongue, "They say I'm lucky to have found you, 'cause you can keep up with me. But I know the truth, angel." He holds your hip in place with a single calloused hand, "You go dumb on my cock. That's all it takes, isn't it? Just a few. short. minutes." He punctuates his accusations with particularly rough thrusts, "And I've got you braindead on my dick."

"Is that true, baby?" He asks, kissing his way up your jaw and tracing the curve with the stiff tip of his tongue. You're whimpering around the three fingers he's stuffed in your mouth, lips desperately milking them like you would his cock. He curls them on your tongue, pressing down so your speech is garbled, "Answer me, honey. You go stupid for me, don't you?"

"Love you," You manage to blabber, drool spilling from your lips as you speak around his fingers. You're a spluttering mess, spit pooled in your mouth that coats Spencer's digits and seeps down your chin. You suckle at him like a man starved, and the pressure actually starts to hurt between the wayward lapping of your tongue at the pads of his fingers, "Love you- Spence, love you."

He feels your cunt clench around his dick, your body seemingly in tune with the single goal of sucking him dry. He muffles a groan into the crook of your neck, wondering if you'll ever remember the filthy way he's speaking to you now.

The words are harsh, but they're used endearingly, and he hums them into your neck with a kiss, like it's a compliment, "Dumb slut."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

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achenetype · 3 months

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Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment.

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod.

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out.

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold.

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off.

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says.

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly.

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?”

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil.

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded.

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed.

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.”

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said.

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.”

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this.

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday.

You think you’re going to die.

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it.

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all.

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—”

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

#— ash's writing #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #reader insert #y/n #pjo imagine #ok now we get into the warning tags #graphic depictions of injury #major character death #major character injury #reader death #alcohol mention #doomed by the narrative #genuinely im so sorry i really ran wild with this one good god #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #— ash’s answering!

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mclarenviolet · 10 months

Text

Cherry Wine

Astarion x GN!Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of blood/hunting, shameless flirting and a smidge of fluff

WC: 500+

A/N: Continuing the trend of naming my Astarion fics after Hozier songs because the combination is ✨chef's kiss✨ As always I try to keep reader gender neutral but as I haven't proofread this one particularly well please let me know if there's any slip ups!

You enter the firelit camp after your evening bathe in the nearby river, glad to have washed away the intense grime of the bog you'd been traversing for the last few days. You cast your gaze over to where Astarion lounges against a log, wine bottle in hand, his crimson eyes already fixed on you with a mischievous glint.

"Well, well, well," he purrs, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "If it isn't my favorite person in this whole wretched world."

You roll your eyes, failing in your attempt to hide your smile from the handsome vampire. "Spare me your flattery, Astarion. I might just faint from the shock."

He chuckles, his fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. "Oh darling, your heart can surely handle a few well-placed compliments from time to time."

You settle down beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. "And what makes you so certain that I'm not immune to your charms?"

Astarion leans in closer, his lips just a breath away from your ear. "Because, my dear, I've seen the way your cheeks flush whenever I grace you with my presence."

You fight back a laugh, shaking your head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He grins, his gaze smoldering as it meets yours. "Ah, but you love every bit of it."

You feign exasperation, throwing up your hands in mock defeat. "Fine, you win. I'm utterly captivated by your snark. Happy now?"

Astarion's laughter is low and melodic, "Delighted, actually."

As the night wears on, the camp grows quiet, your companions settling down in their tents, undoubtedly exhausted from what felt like endless days of battling amidst that miserable bog. Astarion however stays firmly planted by your side, silver hair seemingly glowing in the moonlight as he stares up towards the stars.

"You know," his tone soft, "despite my 'snark' as you so eloquently put it, I really do quite enjoy our time together."

Your heart skips a beat as his playful façade gives way to a vulnerability that takes you by surprise. "I know." your voice equally gentle.

He leans slowly towards you, gaze meeting yours once more, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "And if I were to do something that's shockingly out of character, would you be too surprised to stop me?"

Your breath hitches as his fingers brush against your jaw. "I guess we'll just have to find out."

And with that, his lips capture yours in a passionate kiss fueled by weeks of teasing and flirtatious banter, of stolen glances and lingering touches.

Astarion's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, his fingers tangling in your hair. You can taste the coppery tang of whichever creature he hunted earlier mingled with the cherry wine he's been leisurely sipping on all evening, a mixture you find unexpectedly intoxicating.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both pull away, breathless and dazed. Astarion's confident smirk fades into a genuine smile, his inquisitive eyes searching yours.

"Surprised?" he asks, his voice a low whisper.

You grin, all too aware that Astarion's keen hearing must be picking up the way your heart pounds in your chest. "Very."

He leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your back. "Well, my dear, prepare to be surprised more often."

A/N: Welcome to another episode of Violet doesn't know how to end her fics 😌 Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated as always 💕

#I am so deliriously tired after writing this lol #I am off to bed #Hope y'all enjoy 💕#astarion x gn!reader #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #baldur's gate 3

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cherryredstars · 4 months

Note

Hiiii.

Could you do headcanons or something of Simon would be finding out his girlfriend is a virgin and/or their first time together maybe.

I totally understand if you don't feel comfortable writing it or don't think it would fit the character.

You're my favorite Simon writer and tbh I use your interpretation of him as a basis for my daydreams lol

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Losing Virginity, Penetrative Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex, Praise, Fluffy Sex

Summary: Simon takes your virginity in the most beautiful way.

A/N: I got TWO requests for this and I love it so much, I jumped for my laptop!! And that’s so sweet!! I’m glad my Simon has a special place in your heart!!!

Word Count: 3.8K (Not Edited)

His hands are shaky.

His large, steady hands that he has used to kill men and handle sniper rifles are shaking. He might be more nervous than you are. But he wants this to be good for you. He wants to be good to you. He wants it to be perfect and sweet and painless. He wants it to be everything you've ever dreamed of and he wants it to be everything you deserve. He wants you to enjoy it and ease your mind of all the pretty little thoughts stuck in your head.

He doesn’t want you to regret this. Regret choosing him.

So, he’s soft. Feather light touches that make your body crave more and more. His hands are like clouds, making your naked body float as he sets you down on the pile of pillows on his bed. You sink into them, the white fluff cocooning your body. It keeps you warm, caressing your skin when Simon can’t. It warms your heart seeing how caring he is. How he takes these extra steps to make you more comfortable. How, even with something so all-consuming like sex, he still lets his world revolve around you. It makes you take a shaky breath, love and trust replacing the oxygen in your body.

Simon is slow as he crawls over your body, thighs planted on either side of your body. He hopes you can’t see the slight tremor in his hands as he brings them to your face, brushing hair behind your ears before cupping your cheeks. Your face is warm against his rough palms and he gets lost in your eyes. They are so powerful, sucking him in and refusing to let him go. They sparkle, shades of color twirling and dancing in your irises. In the natural glassiness of your eyes he can see himself. For a moment, he can see what you mean when you tell him how beautiful he is. He holds onto that image of himself, collecting another piece of you that will forever tether itself to his soul.

He hopes when you look into his eyes, you see how devastatingly gorgeous you are. He hopes you see what he sees.

His eyes grow heavy as he traces your features, his eyes drawing up a map that he explores every second he is away from you. His eyes catch on your lips, plump beauties that always make his lungs contract to the point that they ache. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing. His thumbs rub at your cheeks, and his eyes flutter shut the second his lips press against yours. Your mouth moves against him, and he presses against your body. His hands stay gentle on your face, even as his eyes squeeze tight and his lips become more bruising with passion.

His heart pounds against his chest, desperately wanting to escape and hand itself to you. His mind is a swirling storm of colors, reds and pinks and oranges that mix and pulse as his tongue invades your mouth. Your moan that he swallows drips down his throat like the sweetest honey, warming his stomach and giving his starving soul the motivation to go on. His whole body buzzes as he exchanges love with you, his tongue collecting yours as yours collects his. It coats his mouth until all he can taste is you. It feels like the end of the world when the two of you part.

His chest is heaving at the same pace as yours, love suffocating both of you in the sweetest of ways. Your lips are swollen and glossy from spit, and they stretch to the most heart wrenching smile as you stare up at him.

“You’re stunning.” He whispers into the quiet space, his hands leaving your face so he can see all of it unobscured.

Your cheeks flush, and he notices how it travels and colors your whole body. Your body with its soft skin and perfect imperfections. He can’t stop his hands from tracing over them. Every dip and bump and mark. Tracing the paths of beauty marks, stretch marks, and the faded remainders of scars. Your body shivers over the little touches, and he can’t help but smile down at you. It is a fucking miracle someone like you wants someone like him.

As his eyes go further down, he notices the shifting of your hips. Picks up on the ways you try to subtly press your thighs together to stop the pulse ache in between them. It chokes Simon, and his hands come to rub the top of your thighs. You instantly relax into the touch, sinking into the pillows as he calms you slightly. He travels down your body, his body half on the bed. You squeak when he slowly parts your legs, revealing the glistening between your thighs. Your face burns as you become self-conscious with him so close to your folds. Your legs instinctively try to close, but Simon keeps them open. From over your mound, Simon looks up at you, a reassuring look on his face.

“I know, love, I know. But I have to prep you first. I want to make sure it doesn’t hurt.”

The words are soft and caring, sinking into your skin. You bite your lips shyly, whispering out an ‘okay’. You relax your body into the pillows, taking deep breaths to try to keep the rapid beat of your heart at bay. Simon praises you, encouraging you to continue to relax with soft coos. Your breath hitches the second his lips press into your inner thigh, getting you used to the feeling of his mouth around your sensitive areas. You whine from the sensation, hips wiggling the closer and closer he gets to the aching area. One of his hands comes to rest on your lower stomach to keep you still, only applying the necessary amount of pressure and not an ounce more.

“Shh, baby. Just grab my hand if you need to, okay?” Simon mummers, his breath ghosting over your clit.

You can simply nod, your two hands instantly playing with his fingers as you fidget. Simon smiles, turning his head to hide it into the side of your thigh as your cuteness warms his chest. You can feel the curve of his lips against your skin, feeling the slight puff of air he lets out. Seeing him so easy going calms your nerves, and he can feel the moment your body completely relaxes. He pulls away from your skin, his hand holding your thigh squeezing the skin reassuringly.

He warns you with a gentle kiss right above your clit, and you hold your breath in preparation. It instantly escapes you as your mouth drops open with a sharp gasp when his lips press against your clit. Your hips jolt at the sensation, your hold on his hand tightening as he gives it a kitten lick. His lips rub against your bud, eyes looking up at you to study your expressions. Your mouth is dropped open with panting as he continues his ministrations on your clit, kissing and licking and sucking it into your mouth. When you become used to the sensation, his tongue drags down to your folds, licking the skin around them. You moan at the feeling, squeaking when he licks along your slit.

“Si!” You cry out, hips arching off the bed as his tongue pokes at your entrance.

His hand on your stomach brings them back down to the bed, and he moans at the rush of arousal that coats his tongue. His eyes are dazed, drunk on the liquid sugar between your thighs. His nose bumps against your clit as he moves his face up and down so his tongue can take it all in. You’re a moaning, whiny mess as he continues. Simon’s tongue begins to penetrate you and the two of you groan at the sensation. Your walls instantly clench around his wet muscle, and he can’t help but notice how tight you are. Too tight for you to be able to take his cock.

You cry out when he pulls his face away from you, heavy breaths parting from your lips. You look down at him, worried you did something wrong, but the calm look on his face calms you down instantly.

“I gotta stretch ya out, lovie. Can’t take m’with how tight you are right now. I’m going to have to stretch you out on my fingers, okay? Nice and slow.” Simon communicates, and your walls flutter at the idea of him fingering you.

“Nice and slow,” you repeat back to him with a nod and he rewards you with another kiss to your sensitive clit.

He leans his face back down to your cunt, resuming his addicting sucks and licks. It relaxes your body, only stiffening slightly as you feel his fingers. They don’t penetrate you, not yet. Instead they slide against you, collecting your slick to use as a lube. They’re glossy quickly, covered in your divine scent and smooth glaze. It takes everything inside of him not to instantly suck them into his mouth out of greediness.

The warm pad of his hands leave you for a moment, and you breathe out when you feel them placed right under where Simon laps at you. Your breaths become slightly shaky, anticipation flowing through you as he teases the entrance. Your hands bunch into the pillows, eyes closing when the very tip of his singular finger slips inside. It parts your folds smoothly, and your walls tighten around it the deeper he pushes it. It's like your walls are trying to suck him in and push him out at the same time.

Unlike what you’ve heard from other people when they've been fingered for the first time, it doesn’t hurt. There is definitely some pressure, but it feels more uncomfortable than anything. Simon moans against you when he knuckles out, your walls fluttering to welcome his digit. He curls it slightly to see how much room he has to move, and you moan as his blunt nails caress your rigid walls. As Simon expected, there isn’t a lot of room. You’re too tight and your body is dead set on suctioning itself around him like a second skin.

His mouth wrapped around your clit, coaxing it to make your body cooperate. He sucks on it, long and hard, making your body tense up as you feel a band in you suddenly snap. You cry out, hands desperately clutching onto Simon’s head as your hips buck. The orgasm floods through you, temporarily drowning all your nerves in pure pleasure. Simon can feel the wetness surging around his finger, and he uses it to his advantage as he begins curling and thrusting his finger.

With your body so relaxed with your climax, your walls have slackened just a bit. Simon tilts his hand upwards, making the finger inside of you apply pressure to your top wall. You whine out, slightly sensitive from your release. Simon pulls his face around from your thighs, and your cheeks flame at the sight of his glistening chin and lower face. It distracts you just enough to ignore the feeling of a second finger entering you. The uncomfortable ache gets stronger, and you wince from the foreign feeling. Simon instantly stops, eyes asking you if you want to continue. You don’t hesitate to nod.

Simon’s hand on your stomach slides down, just enough for his thumb to reach your bud. The rough calluses of his thumb swipe over the wet pearl easily, and you mewl as your body sinks down into soft pillows. Simon’s second dinger slides in almost instantly, sheathing it within you. Simon’s eyes are intensely trained to where his fingers meet your opening, focused on making you as comfortable as possible. Slowly, he curls his fingers inside of you, pressing up on your walls to coax them to loosen. You moan out, hips slightly grinding in time to his curls.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl, just keep doing that. Taking it so well, so proud of you,” Simon praises, mind numb from the way the sound of squishy flesh and arousal fill the room.

You whimper, walls slightly clenching around his fingers. It makes his heart soar knowing how much his words affect you. To reward you, he slowly begins to scissor his fingers inside of you, parting them as far as they can go before bringing them back together. It’ll help stretch you out, and the sounds of pleasure you make in response are musical gold.

“Think you can take another, sweet thing?” he whispers up at you.

You're tempted to shake your head no. It would be too much for you, would feel too good. It would break you in seconds, and you know your body would give out before coming three times. But you shyly- oh so shyly- nod your head. Simon smiles encouragingly at you, kissing along your thighs and legs. It makes a dopey smile cover your face, slight giggles escaping you as you feel his ticklish stubble. Simon withdraws his fingers half-way, pushing them to one side as best as he could. You can feel yourself pulsing, whimpering when Simon’s ring finger slips into the empty space. You’re too tight for it to slip anywhere past his second knuckle, so he works you there. The palm of his hand slides against your clit, adding on to the delicious pleasure consuming you. You can’t help the small gasp and whimpers that leave you, and you moan out in surprise when his third finger fully slips in.

He pauses, not moving his fingers and letting you adjust to the feeling of being so full and stretched. It burns just slightly, but it isn’t unbearable. In fact, it turns underwhelming all too quickly, your body already craving more. You sigh as you begin rotating your hips sloppily, humming as it forces his fingers to rub against your walls. Simon is in a trance as he watches you take your pleasure, and he curls his fingers to aid you. Your stiff movements become more fluid as your walls open up to him, the slippery sounds of wetness filling the room again. You can feel an orgasm snowballing in your lower stomach, and your thighs begin to shake. But just as it’s about to peak, Simon pulls his fingers out of you.

Your breaths are shaky and you make a sound of betrayal as your orgasm dies away. Simon coos down at you, sympathy in his eyes as he comes up. He leaves apologetic kisses around your face, scattering them down your neck until they reach your collarbones and shoulders. Your mind quickly forgets the failed orgasm as you feel the oozing tip of Simon’s cock rub into your inner thigh. The precum it smears on your skin is warm, and you can feel the stickiness of it. You shift your thigh slightly, rubbing it against him. Simon moans against your skin, pulling away and panting into the junction of your shoulder. He pushes himself up, one of his hands grabbing yours. Instinctively, you squeeze it.

“You ready? You still want this?” Simon asks you. “It’s okay if you change your mind, we can stop here if you want.”

The idea of stopping makes you want to cry, and you frantically answer him before he stops, “I want this. Please, Simon.”

Simon rubs your hand reassuringly, shushing you as his other hand guides him to your entrance. Slick instantly connects him to you, and he bites his lip as he rubs the head of his cock up and down. Your hips chase him, and your hand tightens around his. He chuckles at you, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. His forehead rests against yours, and he ever so softly asks you to meet his eyes. You do instantly, hips stilling and eyelashes fluttering. He smiles down at you, bumping his nose against yours.

“This next part is going to hurt a bit, baby. I wish it didn’t, but it will. Just… try to breathe through it, okay? Squeeze my hand as tightly as you need to and we can stop if it’s too much.”

His words and tone are so caring that it makes your heart ache. You nod, whispering out an ‘okay’ when you see from the look on his face that he needs a verbal agreement. Simon kisses your forehead before he pulls away briefly. His eyes scan the pillows, and he grabs on from the outer edge of the pile. He lifts your hips gently, placing the pillow under them. It gives your lower body some height, and you think it’ll make it easier for him to slip inside of you. In no time, his forehead is back against yours, and his fingers are tangling with yours. You breathe deeply, focusing on his eyes as you feel his tip press against your entrance.

Your breath hitches as his tip penetrates you, the crown slipping in. It makes your head dizzy, and Simon’s breathy exhale warms your chin. You blink rapidly up at him, mouth refusing to close as his head pops inside of you. Your body instantly tightens around him and he moans. His hand squeezes yours, trying to fight the urge to push more of himself inside of you. He takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a second before continuing. His eyes meet yours again as more and more of him enters you. Your breath is still seized in your chest, hand tightening around Simon’s. Through the buzzing in your brain, you feel Simon’s breaths hit you. Your eyes leave his face to his mouth, realizing he’s exaggerating his breathing for you. Your eyes stay to his lips as you begin copying him.

You stiffen when he stops inside of you, his tip meeting resistance as it presses against your hymen. Simon swallows, breathing deeply. He looks pained as he looks at you, like he dreads what’s next.

“Hey, love. You still with me?” He asks you gently. When you nod, he smiles slightly and continues. “You’ve been doing so good for me so far, baby. But, there is one more thing I need you to do for me, okay?”

The undertone he uses makes you unease and your body squirms. It causes him to press harder against the barrier inside of you and he hisses. You instantly stop. You bite your lips nervously, squeezing his hand. “What is it, Si?”

His hand squeezes yours in return, but his smile drops slightly. “This part is going to hurt the most. I’m gonna have to thrust into you with a bit of force to break through, okay? I need you to take a really deep breath for me. Can you do that?”

You can feel your body break out into a sweat as your nerves flare. But you nod hesitantly. Your hand has a death grip on Simon in preparation. Slowly you take a deep breath in, as Simon begins to slide his cock back slightly. Your chest puffs up with air, and it rushes out of you in a choked, high-pitched noise as he thrusts back in. His hand instantly comes to grab your other hand as you let out a small scream, and he peppers kisses around your face as he apologizes over and over again.

“I know. I know, I’m so sorry. I know, bunny.”

He’s all the way to the base, and you feel so full. You’re breathing heavily, nails digging into Simon’s skin. Your eyes are glassy with unshed tears. Simon’s lips are at your temple, muttering reassuring words to you until you calm down and that initial pain and burn disappear. You sniffle, eyelashes blinking away your tears. Your hands loosen from Simon’s slightly and he pulls his face away from yours.

“You okay? You want me to start moving?” he whispers to you, pushing sweat drenched hair away from your face with a soft smile.

You squirm slightly, wincing a tiny bit, but nod. “Just… go slow.”

Simon mumbles an ‘of course’, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling out slightly and giving you a slow and shallow thrust. You squeak at the feeling, your hands falling to Simon’s shoulders. Simon keeps that slow pace until the slight discomfort fades away. You moan as the pleasure starts registering, and soon you find yourself asking him to go faster. Simon obeys, beginning to pull out more and more until he’s thrusting into you at a good pace.

Your mouth parts with soft moans and gasps, throwing your arms around Simon’s neck. Simon’s arms come to wrap around your body, burying his head in your neck and pressing kisses to the skin. The drag of his cock against your walls feels heavenly and the knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

‘I- oh my god, Simon!” You moan out as he goes faster, the fluttering of your walls driving him mad. You feel amazing, tight and warm around him. He has to take deep breaths to not blow his load in the next second.

“Gods, love. You feel so incredible,” he moans out, pulling you closer to his body. Your walls clench even tighter around and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Si, I’m gonna-” You cut yourself with a moan as you throw your head back, arms tightening around his neck.

Simon’s face drops to your chest, sucking and kissing. “Go ahead, I got you baby. I got you.”

You’re done in an instant, moaning out his name as you come. Your walls pulse against him rapidly, and his pace turns desperate. His face slackens as he stills, spilling his own release into you. He slumps forward, pressing the two of you into the pillows as he twitches inside of you. Your hands rake through his hair, your combined panting filling the room. Simon places lazy, open mouthed kisses on the skin he can reach, each one followed by a slurred praise. You hum in content, your hands pulling his face up to yours. You have a dizzying smile on your face, and Simon loses his breath all over again. Your lips capture his, and he’s more than willing to kiss back.

When the two of you pull back, your cheeks warm. “Thank you, Simon. That was amazing.”

You can see Simon filling with love and pride, a smile spreading on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You giggle as he attacks your face with playfully kisses that leave wet marks in their wake. You laugh and squeal as you try to push him away, head thrown back with delight. Simon could die like this, he thinks. He would give up everything in the world to stay in this moment with you for the rest of his life. He smiles down at you, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“C’mon, let’s get cleaned up, love”

My heart is warm and fuzzy!!!

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pomefioredove · 23 days

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i crave angst and hurt/comfort/fluff maybe something like that with vil? maybe reader gets hurt pretty badly or something and vil gets upset?? hehe angsty scenarios>>

on my hands and knees rn... vil... save me vil...

summary: anger is an ugly emotion type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty..... mentions of bullying/abuse etc?? very open ended you can interpret that how you please, GOD this is indulgent

Anger is an ugly emotion.

So much is true even for Vil Schoenheit. If you asked him, there is nothing more undignified than losing your composure in front of others, especially those under your care.

No, Vil keeps such emotions to himself. If he feels the need to get a point across, or to settle a conflict, he will do so with grace and dignity. He won't even break a nail.

This is different.

This is seeing you turn away from him with tears in your eyes, and feeling as if the very world itself is crashing down around him.

He cannot stand it.

He cannot stand seeing you like this.

It shakes him to his very core. You've had bad days, evenings where you come crawling into Pomefiore looking as if the world had chewed you up and spit you back out at his feet, and he's tended to it.

He's combed your hair, cleaned the dirt out from under you nails, bandaged your paper cuts with a sort of gentleness he doesn't even reserve for himself, made you look new and whole again.

Vil can't help with this.

It drives him mad. It makes him feel like he's stuck inside his own ribcage with nothing but the sound of his beating heart, trapped in a flurry of confusion and anxiety.

He wishes you would just talk about it. It would make everything so much easier if you would let him help.

But he won't pressure you. He couldn't bring himself to. And, quite frankly, if he knew even the slightest detail about whomever had been making you feel this way, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop himself from finding them and mincing them to shreds.

As they deserved.

But Vil is not one to rush into anything. He is patient, cordial, taking his sweet time to understand a problem from all angles before enacting a solution.

And so, he doesn't ask.

He holds your chin between his delicate fingers and dabs at the corners of your eyes, hoping to brush away your misery along with your tears.

You sniffle. It's not a pretty sight- you're certainly no graceful crier.

He couldn't care less.

The only thing that Vil can think of now is how only one measly person could be your undoing.

After everything you've been through without even breaking a sweat, all it took were a few too-familiar words to melt you into a pool of bad memories and misery at his feet.

Sevens help whichever poor fool had done this to you.

"Now, now. That's alright," he coos, wiping your cheeks just as a new barrage of tears runs down them. "Don't worry about a thing."

You just barely manage to choke out a response. "I'm sorry, this is- this is embarrassing,"

"Nonsense. You have nothing to feel bad for. I promise I won't utter a word of this to the others,"

He cups your face in his palms, giving you a moment to compose yourself.

"Deep breaths," he instructs. "Seven seconds in, hold it, for just a moment, and then seven seconds out. There. Excellent job."

It's quiet. The sound of sobs and his own heart pounding seem to fade into quiet breaths shared between the both of you.

"Good," he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. A repetitive, soothing motion. "How do you feel?"

"Guilty," you say. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

"You've ruined nothing. You're very important to me, you know. I would never want you to think I'm too busy for you," he offers a smile. "Now, how do you feel?"

You're quiet for a moment, likely mulling over his words. Your voice is softer when you reply. "Tired,"

"Oh... you poor thing. I can't have you dead on your feet tomorrow, now, can I?"

You shake your head.

He stands, pulling you up with him. "Come along, then. Let's get you to bed. I'll help,"

He begins guiding you away from the couch you'd spent the better half of the evening sobbing on. You respond in a quiet voice.

"Vil?"

"Mm? Yes?"

"You promise you won't say anything about this to the others?"

A look of utter softness crosses his face at your request, and he smiles again. "My lips are sealed,"

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #lalala #queued

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statisticallymorelikely · 5 months

Text

✨00Q end of the year fic rec list ✨ (to commemorate the year of the lord 2023 when this ship came back to kick my ass)

the simplest of crimes by pdameron - fake marriage AU. my favorite 00Q fake married au just because the stakes are so low like they didn't have to do all that but the build up is so good.

come a lily, come a lilac by pdameron - florist!Q AU. this really got me giggling and twirling my hair.

James Bond Will Return by sorion - post-Spectre James comes back. a very charming character study.

as permanent as stone cathedrals by pdameron - pining Q. beautifully written with just the right amount of whump.

people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron - fake relationship but posh. i love whodunnits.

Hold Tight by orphan_account - Spectre fix-it. and fix it they did. also has my second favorite Q name.

lacunae (just the blood you owe) by finestkind - Q offers comfort as bond deals with grief. this fic honestly makes me ache, the way it handles friendship and grief and love UGH.

Say Something (I'm Giving Up On You) by Brihna - Spectre re-write where Q and James sleep before he goes off to Mexico. possibly my favorite Spectre fix-it, love emotional constipation and miscommunication.

Crossing the Bar by GwynDuLac - Q pulls bond out of retirement for an emergency mission. the best mission fic i have ever read hands down.

bloom on my skin, echo in my soul by Areiton - soulmate au. gorgeous writing.

if I couldn't be strong by SailorChibi - post-Spectre James is found abandoned in a hospital in a coma. i love how quietly vindictive Q is in this.

a bloodless coup by Ark - marathon sex. very vulnerable.

I Could've Been a Maths Teacher by Brihna - Q branch gets invaded. v good translation of the comic into prose.

I Don't Take Your Pleasure For Granted by Catchclaw - Q develops a crush. love me some pathetic Q.

I Won't Shiver, I Won't Shake by Only_1_Truth - Skyfall re-write, lots of Q whump. the hurt is so good but the comfort is even better. plus i love attack roombas.

Favours by dhampir72 - pining from Q's POV. fun fact: my gf once quoted a line of this fic to me and i knew immediately which fic she was reading, that's how much i've read this.

rain by Aniron84 - touch starved Q. god GOD, this fic!! there was a time in my life, i read this multiple times a day. the description of loneliness is so on point it always hurts.

Fidelity by marlowe_tops - Q seems to have picked up a stray. local idiot doesn’t know he’s in a relationship, struggles mentally

Indelible by enjolras_lexa - 5+1 of bond breaking into Q's apartment. quite gentle and funny.

A Hitch in the Holster by APrettySpy - Q is having A Time during a heat wave and like Q i'm not immune to the holster

when the world isn't fair by Mlle_Heloise - James rescues Q's holiday. warm and fluffy.

The Pros and Cons of Wayward Agents by Brihna - Q whump with a protective Bond. is it bad to be all teehee while reading someone beat someone else to unconsciousness

Best Dressed by HandsAcrossTheSea - PWP with kilts! really good p0rn and with bottom Bond to boot!

Through A New Lens: A Spectacular Love Story by christinefromsherwood - Q discovers he has a glasses kink, or does he? listen, i too am not immune to daniel craig in glasses so i can relate.

talk / listen by thestalwartheart - dirty talk. a masterclass in p0rn honestly, SO good.

The Inevitability of Time by dhampir72 - soulmate au. will never stop recommending this, it's so tragic and yet not?

#00Q #rec list #007 #james bond #quartermaster #i did not expect to get obsessed with them again #but honestly #one of the highlights of my year #there's such good fic out there im always well fed #ive read all of these at least 10x each

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mimihagis · 2 months

Note

[ GLIDE ]: sender ( menacingly ) runs their fingers through the length of the receiver’s hair.

That gesture was reserved for intimate moments shared by lovers, Tokinada was not permitted such an act without the immediate tension and recoil that followed. His discomfort could count as subtle if one didn't know what to look for, but something told Ukitake that this man could catch the slightest flinch and drink in that weak point, savor every drop, because it delighted him to see every squirm. Swallowing hard, fighting the need to pull away and yet denying himself the satisfaction of slapping his husband twice within the same month... he merely grit his teeth and kept from baring them. His hair was soft, smooth, well-kept despite his sickly status and touching those lengthy strands so freely was already uncommon, a breach in personal space that was added to the list of trespassings that Tokinada delighted in. The touch was so horribly close to his throat, his nape prickled akin to the way one felt the rush and desire to flee when danger lurked too near.

But he smiled, and his eyes were heavy with tired discomfort.

"Please don't, I have a headache." Which wasn't necessarily a lie, but also the words left his mouth and immediately he wished to retract them -- a foolish notion to ever think that causing him discomfort could ever be enough of a reason for Tokinada to stop doing something.

#in character. [ in a gentle way i will shake the world. ]#verse. [ tsunayashiro jushiro. ]#ayooooo COMES BACK SWINGIN' WITH THIS.

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frannyzooey · 8 months

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 14

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M (childbirth, PTSD, mentions of grief)

A/N: I tried to make this as non graphic as possible, focusing instead on the emotions of the characters. The entire reason I wrote this fic in the first place, I couldn't have made it through this chapter without the incredible suggestions, support and beta reading of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch. I truly hope you enjoy ❤❤

In the blue wash of time between the middle of the night and the dawn, he’s asleep next to you when the first pains start.

Deep at the root of your spine, a low throb blooms. Fading in and out, you try to ignore the manageable ache and when you can’t, your first instinct is to curl in on yourself. So you do just that: rub the heel of your hand against your tailbone, letting your feet slide together in the same rhythmic figure eight you soothe yourself with when you’re really sick.

That motion alone should have been a giveaway, but it doesn’t strike you until the sun is rising that this is something different.

Still, you let him sleep.

On an instinct to be alone, you slip from the bed to go sit out on the porch. Another swell of pain ripples across your back, the sensation still light enough to soothe with a steady rub, and a taut contraction stretches across your hips for a fleeting moment, then disappears.

The sun peeking just above the horizon, you breath low and slow, watching as it makes a steady ascent. The peaceful setting seeps in, blanketing you in reassurance and comfort, and you’re remarkably calm when he comes out of the bedroom in search of you.

Sleep mussed curls and a frown on his face, his arms are crossed tight over his chest as he wards off the morning chill.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is husky and low, thick with sleep.

“I think it’s gonna be today.”

—

He dresses immediately, setting his mind to tasks you’ve discussed for months beforehand in an attempt to calm his nerves. Still, his hands tremble when he walks down to the bank to fill pails with water. He balls them into fists and shakes them in frustration, willing them to stop.

Hours, days: there is no way of knowing how long this is going to take. He hates the uncertainty of it, the edge of danger that you have to teeter upon while he is helpless to stop it. Anything, at any moment, could go wrong and he would have no way of knowing what or how to help you.

He’d be fucking useless, just like he was before.

The guilt he’s always felt creeps through his chest like the fungus that’s infected everything else, settling deep between his ribs. It branches up through his mind, invading his thoughts and the heavy weight of it pulls at him; his shoulders rounding in a slump. His eyes close tight, his fingers digging deep into the damp sand as he braces himself on the ground.

The thick, suffocating terror he felt on Outbreak Day comes back to him easily, a different version of the same brand of helplessness he felt on the day Sarah was born. The same as what he feels now, he feels his chest tighten and constrict, his breathing getting shallower and shallower.

No.

Fighting against it, he shakes himself from the reverie of images: blood, pain, anguish, sobbing. An intensely feral need rises like bile; an urge to burn the world to the ground while screaming just to make sure nothing touches what is his.

Useful to no one if he lets it take over, he pushes it all away. Practiced in remaining calm under pressure, he takes a deep breath, focusing on the water.

In and out, in and out, timing each breath with the gentle lap of waves along the shore.

He speaks silent affirmations to himself - prayers, if he was still a praying man.

He can do this. He won’t fail. He can’t.

Gathering himself, he stands.

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, stepping back into the cabin. Shutting the door tight to keep out the spring chill, he sets the pails of water next to the wood stove and comes to sit next to you on the couch.

“Yea, I’m good.” A grimace of pain flits across your face for a split second, and he shifts to make room for you as you recline on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from across the back, he settles it over you.

“I think I should try to get some rest, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep.” Even as you say the words, a yawn breaks through.

“You’ll probably need it. Might not be a bad idea, ‘specially if you can sleep through some of the pain.” He rifles through the mix of bottles in front of you on the coffee table, placed there earlier by himself. “I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen,” he says apologetically. “But you can have some if you want?”

You wave it away, sliding down on the couch to try and get comfortable. “No, it’s okay. I can do without it for now. It’s not so bad.”

He moves to give you room, and your hand reaches for his, holding it tight.

“Stay with me? I don’t want to be alone when I wake up.”

The open vulnerability on your face pulls him in, the small way in which you ask breaking open his chest, and he immediately sits back, tugging your feet onto his lap.

“Of course, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He smoothes over the arches of your small socked feet, letting go when you curl them together, clearly a means to comfort yourself. He instead rests his hand on your shin in a reassuring hold, and watching your eyes flutter shut as your breathing deepens and slows, his veil of control stays in place while his mind begins to free fall.

Panic, guilt, nervous anticipation, panic.

Again he resists, using the warmth of your shin as an anchor.

He’s quiet: sitting with you for a bit, reading a little before giving up, double checking the supplies on the table. Making sure the bed in your old room is covered with a tarp from the shed, some old quilts piled on top of it.

Pacing until he wills himself to stop.

His eyes flick over to you every time he sees you shift in your sleep: your hand coming to rest on your belly, rubbing the underside with a fleeting wince of pain. He watches, and wishes he could take this all from you: every twinge of pain, everything that’s about to come.

The guilt he feels at being responsible for putting you in this position is something he thought he made peace with a while ago, but it flares bright with every small frown between your brows and when you wake with a soft whine of discomfort, he strides to your side immediately, helping you sit up.

Your pained sound grows louder, both of your hands splaying over the source as you clench your jaw, and feeling helpless, he does what he can, rubbing broad circles over your back.

“I’m right here, honey. I’m right here.”

You seem to give into his touch, leaning against it for strength and your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh as you ride it out.

He keeps rubbing, and the next few hours pass much the same: waiting and pain.

–

“Can you hand me that rag?”

The bed dips with his weight as he sits next to you, and wringing out the damp scrap of fabric in his hands, he runs it along your hairline.

“I can do it,” you protest, no real fight in the words as your eyes slip shut.

“I got it.”

You feel as wrung out as that rag, exhausted yet unable to rest. Keyed up with adrenaline, you’re trying to let your body take over and not fight every single contraction, but it’s hard - so hard. Each one wracks your body with a tight, seemingly endless crest of pain that steals the air from your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, forcing you to struggle on instinct alone.

He swipes the fabric along the bridge of your nose, gently guiding your face to the side so he can collect the sweat dusted across your cheeks. You focus on the delicate drag of the cloth, letting your body relax.

“Thank you.”

Not for the first time, he looks at his watch as if it still worked and then immediately away, directing his gaze out the window.

“Seems like they’re getting closer,” he remarks, his hand coming to rest on the hard swell of your stomach. “Does it feel like it?”

“I honestly…I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track.”

He nods and then leaves the room, coming back with a pencil and paper.

“It’s late. ‘Round four, I think, so you’ve been at it about twelve hours. Let me know when the next one starts, and I’ll count it out. I’ll keep track on here.”

He sets the paper down on the bedside table, his hand poised to begin making a chart and you rest your hold on top of his.

“I think…” you lick your dry lips, swallowing. “I think we just go with it. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time?”

If you don’t officially keep track of the time between them, you won’t officially know when it’s time to push but…something about it seems right to you, given the way you’ve learned to live without structured time.

That, and without an official “start time”, you can force your nerves to the bottom of your mind, delaying inevitable pain. Even if only for a little longer.

The stern look he gives you in response tells you how he feels about that answer, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not just about knowin’ when it’s time. It’s about knowin’ when it’s been too long.”

His logic wins over your fear, and a weighted silence lingers between the two of you. Not wanting to acknowledge what that would mean, you let his hand go and curl onto your side. Facing him, you let him know when the next contraction starts, and while he sets his pencil down to hold your hand, you watch his lips move with silent counts.

–

You just… let your body take over.

Existing in a plane of never ending cresting waves of crippling pain that come closer and closer together, you squeeze his hand just as tight as you squeeze your eyes shut with every single one. The fight inside of you fades, instinct ruling instead and needing to have faith in your body to do the right thing without any knowledge to guide you, you just…give in.

You should be terrified at the prospect of it, but you can’t seem to find the strength to care. Your body was built for this, designed for this, has done this very thing billions of times over throughout human existence and giving yourself over to that idea, you find yourself comforted, in a way.

You do what it tells you to do: take deep breaths when you can, curl onto your side into a tight ball when you need to, let tears fall freely from your eyes without embarrassment. You writhe and shift on the bed into whatever position feels comfortable, giving into the instinctual need to seek comfort at whatever cost.

Daylight shifts into twilight shifts into nightfall, and he’s with you throughout the whole thing, as steadfast as he’s always been.

At your side, like he’s always been.

There, like he’s always been.

With his reassuring presence beside you, you descend into a base version of yourself with his hand an anchor.

–

A quiet, formidable strength greater than the brute type he’s capable of emerges, and Joel watches as you close your eyes and draw on resources he didn’t know your body still had.

Underrated and overlooked in terms of survival, you may not have the physical skills he has but your internal strength and will to survive through hope and optimism are more valuable than his skills right now. Awestruck by the shift that happens before him, he wonders if that’s what's always subconsciously drawn him to you: this innate sense that you’ll fill in his blanks, bringing him a sense of peace when his life has known anything but.

You take his weaknesses and mold them into something good instead of a liability, meeting them with strengths of your own. He is responsible for so many things when it comes to you: your life, your well being, your survival. Seeing you now, taking charge of every one of those things with a fierce strength that outmatches anything he can provide in this situation, he not only understands that you have his back just as much, but also that you’ve always had it.

Two halves of a whole, your faith and his competence.

An equal partner, whose qualities shine bright in their quiet, unassuming way.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, you prop yourself up against the headboard of the bed with a low groan and tell him when you’re ready.

“I think it’s time.”

You barely get the words out before you’re bearing down in taut silence, your jaw clenched and he shifts on the bed, his hands molding over your knees to gently pull them apart.

“Come on, honey. I’ve got you.”

–

His voice calls to you from the depths of your pain, the sound of it muffled behind the blood rushing in your ears and you use it like a beacon, something to focus on. The contractions one on top of another, it’s well past dark outside the cabin when everything seems to happen all at once:

A dark, wet patch of hair emerging; Joel’s eyes widening as his fingers tentatively reach out to touch it.

A sob catching in your throat; fluid soaking the blanket underneath you.

Pain so fierce and overwhelming it makes you lightheaded; a pressure so blindingly sharp and heavy and full that you scream before it abruptly stops, everything sliding out in a slick rush.

“You did it, honey,” he praises you, his head down as he cradles the baby in his hands. “You did it. She’s out.”

She. The sobs you let out are involuntary, a mixture of immense relief and joy paired with the crash of adrenaline and your limbs shake with exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillow he’s propped beneath your head.

It’s only then that the silence in the room comes to your attention.

“Joel?” You wearily push yourself up, trying to see her.

He’s looking down at the mattress with a deep frown of focus, his skin ashen and gray and your stomach bottoms out, panic flooding your chest. Limited as your knowledge is about babies, you know you should be hearing her make a sound right now. Any sound.

“Why isn’t she crying?” you ask, a slight tremble catching the end of the sentence.

He doesn’t answer you, instead staying focused on her, his hands smeared and glistening with blood as one splays over her impossibly tiny chest, his fingers rubbing along the dip of her sternum.

“Come on. Come on.”

His words have a frantic edge to them, one you can hear even with how he’s murmuring the near silent chant to himself and you mirror it, doing the same.

“Come on, baby. Come on.”

A thin whimper breaks the tense silence, her limbs suddenly flaring out in a silent fight against the world, and her timid cry blooms into a bright wail that pierces the air.

Relief floods out of you in sob, his own breaking free in the rush of a heavy exhale, and when he scoops her up, unshed tears glisten in his eyes. Handing her wet body to you, she’s matted and smeared with blood and slick, and she squirms on your bare chest for a moment, your arms automatically cradling her close.

Impossible tiny, just like he said.

“A she.” Your voice thick with tears, you look up at him and he grins down at you, his smile shining bright with pride.

“A she.”

Your cheek comes to rest on the crown of her head when he bends to press a kiss to your forehead and his murmurs against the sweat damp skin there make you cry even more.

“You did it, my girl. You did it.”

–

A slight tremble to his hands as he finishes tying off the umbilical cord, he gently hands her back to you and reaches for the bucket near the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna go empty this, but I’ll be right back.”

You acknowledge him, your arms tightening in their hold on her as you scoot back in your bed. Tucked safely against your chest, she’s already sliding into sleep and you join her, closing your eyes. Fixing the blanket around you, he picks up the bucket and leaves the room.

Night darkens the path as he makes his way down to the water, the setting around him awash in muted colors. Animals moving in their quest to hunt for the night, the fresh spring breeze rustles the new growth on the trees that surround him, but he sees and hears none of it, his vision beginning to tunnel.

Black gathers around the edges of the world, the basin in his hands falling onto the grass. His boots sinking into the sand, he barely makes it to the bank before he’s buckling, knees hitting the soft ground.

The image of the two of you sleeping flashes through his mind, and the pressure in his chest swells and overcomes him, emotion choking his airway. The intensity of the last twenty four hours seeps out of him, the image of her still body as he rubbed life into her fixed behind his clenched shut eyes and finally - finally - he lets it go with big, wracking sobs that pour out, a sound he tries to muffle with his hands.

Relief, relief.

–

June Miller.

A basin of warm water between the two of you on the bed, you watch as he cradles her endlessly moving body in his large hands and bathes her. Her limbs stretch and flex slowly, testing their newfound boundaries and not being able to decide on which face you want to look at more, you shift your gaze back and forth between her scrunched one and his more focused, intent one. He’s careful yet steady with his movements, the gentle splash of water the backdrop to the tiny squawks of protest she lets out.

The lantern illuminates them, a circle of light surrounding their figures in an intensely intimate way and you watch glistening drops of water slide down over his thick wrist as he cups some, pouring it over her hair.

“I know you don’t like it. I know.”

It’s innate, his soothing.

Second nature from the first time he held her and spoke to her, you could tell he’d done this before. His body curled protectively around her as he held her to his broad chest, his movements practiced and confident and you watched as it happened without him even realizing, like he didn’t have to think about caring for someone else - just doing it, as if he couldn’t help it.

Finishing bathing her with the fresh basin of water he brought back from the river, she keeps her eyes closed against the light of the world as he sets her in her cradle, turning to help you from the bed. You brace your hand on his solid shoulder as he kneels, exhaustion thickly blanketing your body as you feel soothing, firm wipes of wet warmth on your skin. He’s just as careful and detailed with it as he was with her, and after he dries and settles you in the bedroom you share with him, he crawls in after you, closing his eyes.

Dawn is breaking when you wake to the sound of a restless, small cry and you leave him sleeping when you go to grab her, bringing her back to bed. Brushing aside the soft blanket that covers her cheek, you look down and see two dark eyes blinking back up at you. Shaped just like his, they stay open.

You want to wake him because it feels…significant, this moment. She’s tiny — dark eyes, a button nose, a dot of a mouth and full little cheeks. Her eyes are open and so are yours and the two of you sit there and just — look. Basking in the strange sensation of silently learning each other, yet knowing each other so well already.

You remember what Joel said, about you and them and the peaceful stillness of sitting in the quiet and your vision waters, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. More joy than you’ve felt in your whole life, the emotion is overwhelming - as if a beacon of pure, unfiltered light has flooded your entire body, lighting you from the inside out.

She keeps looking, her tiny brow scrunching and you smile down at her, another tear sliding free.

“Joel,” you whisper, and he’s up in an instant.

“Yea?”

It takes you a minute to speak, and his face shifts into alarm.

“What’s the matter? She okay?”

He sits up quickly, scooting closer to see her more clearly.

“Yea,” you reply, sniffing. “Look at her.”

She looks like you, like him, like her own self and you can’t stop looking at her, trying to find fleeting traces of every version.

Mesmerized, he strokes the soft back of her tiny hand over and over with his thumb, and his voice is a low gravel, full of soothing adoration.

“Hey, baby girl.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 21 days

Text

Winter's King 20

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The crackling of the fire grows clearer as the tides of sleep swirl and still. Your eyelids part to the flicker of the hearth, a figured limned in the rustic haze, looming over you, lifting you, moving you with ease. You stir and fidget, pressing a hand to the firm wall against your arm. The woolly tunic scratches against your palm as you feel the pulsing of a heartbeat beneath.

You look up at the square jaw of your accoster. King Geralt lays you on the mattress, your disposed clothes cleared away from the corner. He's gentle as he sets your head on the pillow, caressing your cheek and your hip as he draws away. He stands, looking down on you as his fingers curl and extend, a hot breath rushing from his nostrils.

You watch him as the the world sharpens around you and a flow rolls over you like cold water. You push yourself up on your elbows as the king's eyes rove your figure beneath the thin shift. He sways and brushes his hand over his chest, letting out a deep rumble.

You want to say something. Anything. Just a word to break the fragile tension between you. You can't get a single noise out. He stares down at you with his gold eyes, like coins shining, forged in flame.

He sits on the edge of the bed, snug to you as he rests his hand on the other side of you, tenting his arm over you. His other crawls along your shoulder and down to your wrist, walking back up again. His fingertips spread goose prickles along your flesh as you lay frozen in his fiery exploration.

The haze of the fireplace, the gleam of his eyes, and the dregs of your drowsiness make you doubt the realness of it all. Are you dreaming still? Everything is so much more than it should be. His heat, his touch, the way you can feel his need radiating from him.

You fall flat, staring at him, entranced by him. He brings his calloused palm to cradle your face. You gasp and latch onto his wrist.He lets his fingers flutter away and turns his arm, looking down at your grasp on him, cautious but firm. You see how his cheek strains and he sits up, grazing his other hand over yours.

He covers your hand with both of his and draws it up. He unveils it like some precious treasure and kisses each knuckle. You shake as each brush of his lips tingles through you. He pulls back and keeps hold of you, lowering your hand between you.

"You fear me," he says, "you fear what I want from you." His voice is low and sonorous, "I want nothing from you. I only want you, my summer maid." He inhales deeply and lets it out with a quaver as you feel the tremor in him, "my treasure."

Your eyes sting and tears soften the lines in your vision. You shake your head, a knot in your throat, a pinch in your chest. He brings your hand flat to one of yours and twines his thick fingers between yours. The difference is drastic, a reflection of your status. He is all-powerful and you are a speck in the wind.

"I have worn a heavy crown, I have raised an army, I have bled in battle, and not of it can compare to this, my treasure. You are my greatest achievement. By fates, I found you. I thought that I was destined to sit the throne, to unite these peoples, to hold it all in my hand," he squeezes, "but this is all I need have in my grasp. This is what called me to your southern plains. All of it for you. I have won it and so quickly as you bid me, I would give it up."

Your lashes flick as your heart swells. He cannot mean it. Not any of it. You are only a maid.

"You have your fear, little maid, and I have mine. They are one and the same," he gazes down at you, eyes wrought in layers of pain, sadness, and longing, like the sediment of the earth, worn and weathered through the years. "I fear myself all the same as you. I have withheld myself for as long as I can and yet I feel myself dwindling. I feel the rope fraying."

You sniff and shake your head, "your highness..." you croak and your voice seems to crackle in the air, "Queen Jazlene--"

"Do not speak her name. I beg of you. Treasure, I beg. I will beg you anon."

He keeps hold of you and shifts off the bed. He brings himself to his knees at the side of the bed, clinging to you as he once more kisses your hand. As you lay helpless to him.

"Do not fear me. How can you when I only mean to worship you," he rasps. "As any treasure, I only mean to prize you, to hold you dear, to keep you from those who would steal you away. To keep you for my own. Treasure, you are mine, all mine. By rights, I, King Geralt of Rivia and the Hinterlands, claim you. No other shall have you. Upon my life, I could not bear it."

You close your eyes, ice trickling into your veins at his declaration. He is king, he is the almighty, and you are his. You are sworn to serve and by rights of marriage, you are bound to him. Even if it wrong, even it transcends the vow he spoke to another, a king may bend the laws as serve his purposes. A maid may only obey.

"You have forsaken me," you whisper.

He kneels in silence, lowering his head to rest on your hand. You lay in tableau, strangled and solemn, as he prostrates himself at your side. As a mourner might do for some tragic corpse. Is that not what this is? Grief for the treachery of it all.

"I belong to you," he speaks at last, rising as he releases you. Your eyes roll open and pinpoint on him.

He turns away and pulls at his tunic, stripping it from his broad shoulders, revealing a back ridged with muscles. He drops it on the seat of a chair and sits in another. He is patient as he unbinds the straps of his boots and removes each in turn, placing them neatly aside. He undresses piece by piece, rapt in the task of his dissembling.

He remains only in his braies, the short garment ending at the top of his thick thighs. His stomach is as thick as the rest of his, muscles wrapping around his arms and chest, fur like the very wolf he's sewn into his cloak. He approaches the bed and you steel yourself for him.

He lifts himself over you, hovering just above, his hands above your shoulders as he holds himself on his knees, straddling as he once did in the moonlight of your unconscious. He peers down and breathes a scalding plume upon you. You shiver and meet his eyes, unable to repress the wash of terror that comes over you.

He pushes himself to the other side of you, folding his arm to fall upon his side. His other stretches over your stomach as he nestles against your side. He lays on his shoulder, facing you, and his nose brushes your temple. You clutch a fold of the blankets in your hand as his traces the shape of your side, playing with the seam of your shift.

His touch creeps over your stomach and his lips dance on your cheek. He exhales your name into your ear and his hand cups one side of your chest. A whimper escapes your throat as your nipple hardens, poking him as he fondles you. He is gentle but diligent, eager as he explores your body, as if you are another map to be conquered.

He trails up to your neck and his thumb draws a line along your throat. You feel his gaze but cannot face it. It burns hotter than the heart. He touches jaw and chin, as if he's never seen anything like you; cheekbones, nose, forehead, as if he is an artist moulding a statue.

He presses his straight nose to your cheek and drapes his arm around you once more. He embraces you from the side. He tucks his fingers under you and you bring your hand to his thick forearm, feeling the soft hair along it. You claps onto him and shudder at the ceiling.

"You will not always fear me," he whispers, "when you see the world for what it is, when you see me truly, you will feel as I do." He snarls as he leans his weight into you. "You cannot fight fate, my treasure. Even a king cannot bid what is written by destiny."

You let every ounce of strength drain from you. You sink into the mattress, surrendering to his will. Whatever he might do, whatever he might demand of you, you will give in. That is your duty.

He purrs as his own body relaxes, "I only wish to feel you, little maid. My soul needs yours close." He closes his eyes and bows his head to rest against yours. You shut your eyes once more but know you will not rest.

You are afraid. You are terrified. All your life you've served but this is more than you've ever been asked. The peril is all yours. A king would never face the same atonement as a maid.

⚔️

The king enshrines you in his warmth. You examine the white strands of his hair as you lay in his arms. Your gaze wanders further to his rounded muscle, the unmatched strength woven in his body. His statue matches the intangible authority attached to his very being. He is power incarnate.

You feel smaller as you lay beside him. The night passes, as it will not matter water. Time marches on like the very army that invaded your homeland at the behest of the man now clinging to you. Just a maid. Just a deceiver.

You turn your eyes past the king's sleeping form. His rumbling snores underline the soft crackle of embers breaking down. You cannot remove the danger buried deep in your chest. Memories only drive it deeper and deeper.

Your remember when Jazlene was only a girl. You've known her through every year of her life. You've seen her grow from cradle to crown. She might be flawed, she might be selfish and rotten and mean, but she is still that life you watch round the duchess' stomach when you were but yourself a child. She is still a living being.

There was a time when she did not obsess over jewels and silks and bottle. When you both were just young and naive. When she counted and you hid, then switched places. When you revealed yourself form behind your hands and she giggled in amazement. That time is gone and you only see doom ahead of you.

You can't lay there any longer.

You move the king's arm off of you and sit up. You put your back to him and bend over your lap. How you could melt to a puddle like the icy outside those castle walls. How you might wilt away like a flower without shade.

You do not dare leave the bed. Your emotions cannot overrule the man behind you. You flinch as he quiets and his snoring turns to a long groan. A tickle crawls up your back as he touches you. He pinches the fabric, tugging it as if to get your attention.

"Are you well, treasure?" He asks with grit in his throat.

"It is morning," you say, though the shutters block out the day, "shall I fetch you something to break your fast?"

He sighs and his hand fists the back of your shift. He pulls until you twist to look at him. He props himself on one elbow, holding his head as he looks at you. His expression is not as stony as it usually is. He is not the statuesque king, he is just a man, entirely vulnerable in nothing more than a piece of cloth.

"I don't want you to be maid this day," he touches your hip, his eyes dipping to watch his hand. "I want to... show you something. I want you to know this land. Once you do, you will know me."

"As you wish, your highness."

His brows lower and he pushes himself up, sitting against the pillows, "it doesn't need be. What do you wish, treasure? Tell me and I will grant it?"

You push up one shoulder, "I wish for nothing. A maid does not..."

"Not a maid," he insists again, "you, what do you wish?"

You lower your head and turn back to the chamber, "I would see your land. Show me then what I have not already seen."

His forceful breath uneases you. He is disappointed, though you say exactly what you should. What he should want. You will heed his desire, he only need declare it.

"Very well," he jostles the bed as he moves to sit beside you, "you will need to dress warmly. I will have gloves and a hat. Some boots," his arm is snug to yours, "

"Thank you, your highness," you utter.

"No, Geralt. My name is Geralt."

Your chest racks and your shoulders feel as if there are pins stuck in the joint. Your lips part then clamp together. You try to muster your voice but it catches like phlegm. You nearly choke.

"Will you say it?" He asks gently.

You turn to glance at him. It feels next to blasphemy. You blink and he reaches to frame your face with his large hand.

"To hear my name on your lips would me like a sacred melody. Please, treasure, just for me, you can say it," he pleads.

You take a breath through your nose and let it out in a wisp, "Geralt."

He smiles and his thumb runs along your chin to your lower lip, "again."

"Geralt," you say louder and he toys with your lip, his golden eyes narrowing on it, hungering for it as if a starving man looking upon a fine citrus.

"Again," he commands once more.

"Ger--"

You cannot finish is name as he covers your mouth with his. He smothers you in his need, pulling you against him, snaring you in his arms. He brings you over him as he falls onto his back, moaning as he delights in the taste of you, nibbling at your bottom lip. He hums and draws away as you breathless stare down at him.

"I have never known paradise, not in the hinter or the summer, but I find it here," he growls, "upon my very chest, in my very arms. If only it could be forever."

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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simp-ly-writes · 4 months

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Harvey's Proposal

Pairing: SDV Harvey x Reader

Summary: The details, location, and everything else to do with the lead up to and actual proposal of Harvey to the Reader.

Warnings: swearing, slight angst?- just some miscommunication that leads to a HEA.

A/N: Harvey is legit my comfort writing character whenever I get frustrated with another plot.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

You had noticed your doctor acting strange recently, he made less eye-contact than usual, became generally less communicative with you and had been leaving the house during odd times for "scheduled appointments." Yet when you contacted Maru for who he was meeting with that afternoon she said that the tables were clear for the day.

The furthest devils of doubt from the back of your mind began digging their way front and forward to your thoughts as panic soon took over every interaction you counted with Harvey in recent memory. You 100% thought he was preparing himself to break up with you as you were mentally preparing yourself for the heartbreak

One day, when Harvey comes back from the clinic without a speck of usual tiredness gracing his features has your heart stopping in the kitchen as you turn off the sink, drying your hands to face him. You watch as he stands there still- coat and scarf still off as your ears begin to ring. You were not ready for the announcement, not now- not ever.

Sadness began to creep onto your features, a few tears in your eye as you shook your head- not even listening to what he had to say. You watch through blurred vision as he races his way across the tiles- boots slipping from the recently moped floors. You feel as he pulls you into his warmth- long arms wrapping around your frame in a gentle yet firm grip.

You shook your head still as he squeezed you that bit tighter, he presses kisses onto the top of your head as you drop your body weight onto him- your knees giving up in your overwhelming sadness. Your hands shake as you try and pull away as you feel Harvey let you go.

The doctor stands there still- afraid of what you had yet to tell him, afraid of what caused you to have such a reaction. "A-are you alright my love?" Harvey asks, a few tears in his own eyes as he watches you suffer through what he has yet to understand- he wants to help you through whatever it is you are facing.

You cringe as you sniffle loudly and hiccup into a sentence, wiping your face against your sweater as you turn away to face the sink once more- not baring to look at him anymore. "Why did you not tell me earlier, Harvey?" you asked with grief.

Harvey stares at your back with split-second shock of trying to organizing the information of the situation- just like a medical report. "If I had known that you hadn't been feeling well recently, and- and not wanting to go on a walk with me this afternoon. I would never pressure you into going- darling. That I promise you, I'm so sorry if it came out that way, I'm so sorry that all this stress on my part is coming into our relationship-"

You turn around quickly as Harvey takes a step closer, you watch as his hand rises gently before your own and falls just as quickly to his side. "We were in a relationship Harvey!- we were meant to work things out! Go through life together without need to glance forwards or back, all I ever would need is to look to my side and see you there. That is life- what I thought to be and what I dreamed of. I CAN HELP with the stresses Harvey, I can help with the shit, with the fucked, with the world-ending beliefs. And is is not just that I can- its that I would- I would have without a second thought if you were to just have told me what was going on inside."

You take a deep breath of air in, trying to calm down your breathing as you grab a glass of water from the tap. You watch out of the corner of your eye as Harvey stands there still, tears like waterfalls down his cheeks- staining his dress-shirt and making it bleed all the way down to his heart.

He takes of his glasses, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands before dropping to his knees. You drop your glass in a panic, racing to the floor as well as his head falls into your lap- you feel his ragged breaths as you rub his back. He sobs endlessly- gripping onto your pant leg- afraid to let you go.

Subconsciously you hand makes its way towards his tangled hair, combing your fingers gently through the knots as sigh out, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of his head. Once pulling away, he raises his head, resting his forehead against your own with closed eyes as he whispers out into the near silent kitchen.

"I am such an idiot," you feel his soft cries turning into laughs as you tense once more, "why would you say such a thing about yourself?" you ask in an equally broken tone.

"When thinking back- my recent actions or rather lack there of have been nothing less than... well shit. I'm sorry for all the secrets, some lies and my lack of presence. In my world- I was beyond worrying of slipping something up about my actions but it appears I have done that nonetheless."

Harvey takes a deep breath, eyes opening to capture your own as he fixes his glasses and pushes a hand through his hair- an action that signals he is outputting stress. "What I mean to say is that I love you so greatly- my dear. More than I can even put to words, to think, to know and even categorize what something like what we share can feel- I, I am always at a loss when it comes to you. Lost in the time we share together, lost in your smiles, your laughter, the presence you grace me with. I am the luckiest man alive and perhaps the most undeserving as of late. I love you- and it is you that defines what the word love is and it is only you that places these feelings and definitions into actions that I can only do my best to express."

Harvey shifts up slightly, proping himself up on one knee as you gasp, world spinning yet again as you experience a whiplash of emotions. You cry harder and crane your head back into joyous laughter as he does the same before calling you to face him once more.

"And besides the poor timing, the lack of romanticism, composure on my end and setting of this all. I can only hope that when I present you with this ring, you will help me to greater define what our love can look like, what actions we choose to take together, and make me able to look past, look forward, and to only see you in it all. Will you marry me?" Harvey asks, the ring shining underneath the warm artificial light of the flicker bulb that flutters just like your own heart.

You cry out a yes, you both falling against the tiles as you stare up at the ceiling and in one another arms. With the ring placed on your finger, you hold it up into the light as it refracts all around you- looking towards Harvey you connect smiles and relax to the word that is future.

╰┈➤ A/N: currently crying over this, brb. (hope you enjoyed reading!).

↳ Taglist: @lovelybee666

#stardew valley harvey #sdv harvey #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #harvey stardew valley #stardew harvey #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #harvey x reader #harvey x farmer #fanfic #fanfiction #sdv fanfic #sdv #sdv fanfiction #sdv farmer #stardew valley fanfiction #simp-ly-writes #simp-ly

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metorea · 5 months

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Receiving Oral w/ HP Boys

smut below the cut!!! all characters aged up

Harry

♡ More than anything, Harry is nervous. Nervous to mess up, nervous to do poorly- just nervous.

♡ But this doesn't stop him from trying. Quite contrary, actually, he tries very hard.

♡ He has never gone down on anyone before, but he has …. done his research.

♡ He's gentle and cautious at first, but the sounds you're making spur him on like nothing else

♡ “So good, so so good. You can give me another right?”

♡ He finds himself quickly drunk with lust, addicted to the reactions he's pulling from you

♡ You will have to pull him off, because he's not stopping until his jaw locks up.

Ron

♡ Weasley's man, I'm telling you.

♡ This is probably one of the first sexual things you guys do together, period. Just going down on each other. No risk, high reward- what could be better?

♡ He's ever done it before you, but unlike Harry, he is not nervous in the slightest. In fact he is glaringly confident

♡ For good reason, too.

♡ Ron is, in a word, ravenous.

♡ He may be oblivious most of the time, but in this arena, he is not. Quite contrary, he is incredibly in tune with you. Every move you make, every sound that leaves your pretty lips, he's listening and adjusting accordingly

♡ “Fucking hell,” Is all you'd get from him, once or twice. His mouth is too full for him to say much else. Not that you're complaining.

Cedric

♡ Cedric is not a huge fan of oral. He prefers to get to the main event, where you're both feeling good. But seeing how interested you are in it, he's willing to try it.

♡ And God, is he glad that he did.

♡ He has you lay down on your back for him while he explores slowly, moving at an agonizing pace

♡ The first time you cum, he's shocked. He'd hardly done anything at all and here you were, a mess.

♡ It opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

♡ He watches and enjoys as feather light touches elicit the most extreme reactions from you, taking unbelievable pleasure in the way you're so desperate for him

♡ Yeah, oral becomes a staple of your foreplay from therein.

George

♡ He wants this. He wants it an incredible amount.

♡ You never have to ask. He is ready to go, constantly.

♡ Under the desk. In a closet. On his bed. On your bed. On Fred's bed. Everywhere.

♡ George Weasley is absolutely nothing in this world if not a munch.

♡ And God, is he good at it. Entirely too good at it. It's almost too much, the way he devours you without inhibition.

♡ You have to push him off when you've finally cum too much for you to handle, and simply can't keep going. Even then he'll try to persuade you to just let him help you clean up, resulting in an eventual round 10.

♡ “Come on baby, you're okay. Hush pretty girl/boy, one more.”

Fred

♡ Fred isn't a munch per se. He is, however, a freak.

♡ He's always looking to try something new, something experimental.

♡ One day, an idea occurs to him. What if he combined his two favorite things? You on top, and him making you feel good.

♡ This lands you here, on his face

♡ Fred LOVES it. He loves the way that he's drowning in you while you rut against him, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he pulls you down against him.

♡ He's looking up at you with greedy eyes while you use his mouth to get off, and he could not be more thrilled.

♡ “Y/N, I told you to sit, not hover. So fucking sit.”

Draco

♡ 69 sorry not sorry.

♡ Draco is a very greedy man. He takes and gives nothing back, as has always been the case.

♡ Luckily for you, this does not apply to sex … most of the time

♡ He loves to have you sat on his face while you go down on him so he can feel you struggling to focus, choking on him while you shake against him.

♡ He makes a game of it, trying to get you to finish before he does. More often than not, he wins

♡ “Merlin, Y/N. Already? Tsk.”

Blaise

♡ He does it to think. I'm not kidding.

♡ He's stressed out? You're crushing his head between your thighs. He's confused about something? You're sat on his face.

♡ He uses you as a reassurance, taking pride in the way he can make you feel so, so good.

♡ If he can control nothing in this world he can control how hard you're cumming on his tongue, amen.

♡ “Lay back.” He'd say, bursting into the room from what you can only assume was a long night, loosening his tie just enough for it to hang on his neck. “You know what I want prince(ss). Help me out, won't you?”

Tom Riddle

♡ Like most things with him, it is a ploy. A plot, to make you weak, make you pliable.

♡ To Tom, there is no position more powerful for him than between your legs, staring up at you while you struggle to create any thoughts whatsoever. And that's exactly how he likes you; totally brainless.

♡ Unlike the others, though, this is not about your pleasure. He is mean about it, always. More often than not, he goes down on you as a punishment, not a reward

♡ He withholds orgasms for so long you're crying, shaking against him

♡ And when he does let you cum, he refuses to let you stop- overstimulating you into a puddle

♡ He's a powerful wizard, he can go all night. And he does.

♡ “What, it's too much?” Tom asks, raising an eyebrow with a sneer. “That's too bad. You aren't moving until I'm done with you.”

Requested by: @irissfoot

#cedric diggory #draco malfoy #enzo berkshire #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter smut #ron weasley #smut imagines #tom riddle #x reader smut

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causenessus · 3 months

Text

Nightmares. | Bungou Stray Dogs

inc: dazai, chuuya, tecchou

written in 2nd pov (female reader implied at least for chuuya)

song recc: roslyn by bon iver

word count: 1064 words

summary: "how do they take care of you when you have a nightmare?"

sorry if they all seem the same D: i tried to make them all unique and i can see the difference between each character in how they would treat u but i know it's small i'm sorry they're all just such green flags and would be the sweetest <3

dazai

has had so many nightmares himself he knows just how to take care of you

having someone with him at night helped reduce the stress and the number of ones he has <3

you’ll wake up from a nightmare, crying out as you shoot up and he’s there for you from the very start, sitting up as well and shushing you, pulling you to his chest

“it’s okay, it’s okay,” he kept repeating as he drew your head near to his chest. “deep breaths, bella,” he encouraged softly, holding your face so that you were looking directly into his eyes while he gave you a gentle smile. he ran his hands through your hair, smoothing it out until your breathing calmed down

is super patient with you throughout the whole process, will not act sleepy in the slightest so that you don’t feel bad for waking him up or anything else

“ ‘m sorry I woke you,” your voice shook as you tried to take a deep breath, wiping the tears away from your eyes.

he took your hands off your face, using his own to brush away your tears with all the care in the world. “don’t be sorry, I was half awake anyway. take your time, love.”

he’ll offer to listen if you want to talk about it, but he understands if you’re not ready yet

tries to coax you back to sleep soon after because he wants you to rest

but he knows from experience how hard it can be when your mind is racing

the reason it’s helped him so much to sleep with someone though is bc it can take your mind off the dream <3

he’ll position you against his chest and between his legs while he rests against the headboard of the bed. he’ll intertwine his arms with yours, rubbing circles on your wrists while he hums softly to distract you

if you’re feeling sensitive to noise, he’ll place his hands over your ears instead, using his thumbs to rub the sides of your head

he’s there for whatever you need him to do. during your first nightmare with him, he’ll still be figuring out how you react to them. after that, he'll remember exactly what you need and want from him. he wants to make sure you feel safe and comfortable no matter what <3

chuuya

wakes up first while you’re still tossing and turning in your dream

he’ll sit up and lean over, waking you as gently as he can. he’ll cup your face as you wake up, brushing anyway any tears with warm hands

“hey, hey, it’s okay. you’re okay. it’s just a bad dream. I’m right here. you’re safe,” he whispered softly as you woke up shaking, your breathing erratic

he kisses away the rest of your tears, touching you so gently and with so much love

asks if you want to talk about it and if you need anything else which he’ll be happy to get for you

afterward, he’ll pull you close to his chest, one hand on your head and the other around your waist, making you feel secure and protected

I think he’d be the type who would keep talking the whole time, distracting you from your thoughts. he’ll talk you through everything he’s doing, he’ll continue to comfort you, and will talk about any other random thing once you both have laid back down

probably tries to make some jokes a little bit before you head back to sleep as well to make you feel better

“sometimes, that stupid dazai shows up in my dreams and I just know it’s not a coincidence. there’s no way that scheming blockhead doesn’t have some mysterious way of communicating and entering people’s dreams. and he does it just to piss me off. ugh, just thinking about it makes me upset,” he ran a hand through his hair, smiling when you let out a small laugh, wiping away the last of your tears with the back of your hand.

he took your hand in his own and kissed it softly, “there’s my pretty girl. see? you’re safe, nothing bad is gonna happen.”

tecchou

does not wake up

you wake up from your nightmare, eyes bleary and heart racing. the only thing you want is to be in his arms so you wake him

once he sees your tears though he’s up immediately, hands on your face as he wipes them away, “oh angel, what’s wrong?”

you place your hand over his own, “just a nightmare…I’m sorry I didn’t know what else to do.”

“nothing to be sorry about,” he says softly, a smile on his face as if you had said something funny, “that’s what I’m here for. I’m glad you woke me up.”

he suggests making a warm drink to calm you down if you’re up for it

in his experiences, he’s found it best to get up and change his surroundings in order to get his mind off a bad dream

if you say yes, he’ll make you something to drink before sitting next to you in the kitchen. he’ll be with you the whole time, telling you that he’s willing to listen if you want to talk about it or anything else if you don’t want to think about it

will have a hand on your thigh or back, rubbing it slowly to comfort you

when you both head back to bed, he’ll hold you close to him, one hand intertwined with yours to let you know he’s there while the other runs through your hair <3

if you don’t want to get up from the bed, that’s okay too, he’ll ask you what you want him to do and makes sure your every need is taken care of <3

kisses your forehead as you both lay back down, then draws patterns across your skin with one hand. the other one flat against your lower back to keep you pressed against him

if you’re still a little scared, he’ll continue to comfort you and reassure you that it’s okay. he’ll wipe away any more tears and stay awake the whole time. he tries to make sure he hears your breathing slow and that you’ve fallen back asleep before he closes his own eyes again to make sure that you get the rest you deserve <3

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu #chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya #tecchou x reader #tecchou suehiro x reader #suehiro tecchou #bsd x reader #bsd headcanons

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