#AND YET I ALWAYS HAVE TO BEAR WITNESS TO IT?

[cuubism]

If you're looking for hurt/comfort prompts, how about trans!Dream coming out to his transphobic parents and it not going well, and ends up in a shouting match where Dream vents all his rage at his parents. Hob, Dream's loving boyfriend is there holding his hand the whole time and comforts him afterwards.

Of course, don't feel pressured to write this if you don't want to

i tweaked it just a little bit

--

In retrospect, Dream probably should have waited to do this until after he was no longer living at home. In retrospect, he should have gone to university on the other side of the planet so he wouldn't be pushed closer to the brink of insanity with every second spent in his parents' house.

Then again, if he had gone to another university he would never have met Hob.

If he had gone to another university he wouldn't have had Hob there with him as he tried to figure himself out. To hold him through crisis after crisis. He wouldn't have had to hear the absolutely wretched things his parents said about Hob, about what a terrible influence he was, how he corrupted Dream, how Dream left for university as their perfect obedient daughter and came back wrong and it was Hob's fault somehow. He wouldn't have had to hear those things. But he also wouldn't have known Hob.

He wouldn't have a key to Hob's flat, and be abusing the privilege now by sitting here on the couch even though Hob's not home yet, even though the term's ended and he didn't think they would see each other for some time, nor that this is necessarily what Hob meant in giving him a key. But he doesn't have anywhere else to go.

The short train ride over gave him time to breathe and he's calmed down, mostly. It may not have been the most well-timed decision, finally snapping on his parents like that, but he just reached his wit's end. It had been another mean comment about Hob--whom his parents had never even met--that did it. He's used to the constant criticisms of himself but he can't bear hearing it about Hob.

So he left. The slammed door and shout of don't come back until you start acting right echoing behind him.

He never would have done that before. And his parents seem to think one year of university made him do a one-eighty turn and become some kind of monster overnight. Dream thinks he was just quiet for so long he forgot what his own voice sounded like.

But he's calm now. He thinks. He's just... going to ask Hob if he can stay the night and then he'll figure out what he's going to do next. That's all.

Keys jangle in the lock. The door swings open and Hob comes in, carrying a bag of groceries.

"Oh!" he says, upon seeing Dream--sounding less surprised than Dream would have expected, considering it's been a few weeks since they've seen each other in person and now Dream is just in his house. "Dream. Should've let me know you were coming, I'd have pushed the grocery run off until tomorrow-- have you been waiting here for ages?"

Dream's calm. He is.

His lower lip wobbles and he bursts into tears.

"Dream." Hob drops the groceries--Dream thinks he hears at least one jar of something shatter on the floor--and rushes over to him. "Dream. Hey. What's going on?"

Dream lets Hob fold him into a hug, and says, "I fought with my parents. Yelled at them. Like I never have before."

"Probably deserved it," Hob says immediately, and Dream lets out a choked laugh.

"They did." It is hard to always be sure of this when they are criticizing him. Easier when they are criticizing Hob. "Only... I don't think they will want me to come back now. Not unless I... recant. On several matters."

"Oh." Hob pulls away far enough to look at him, hands bracing Dream's shoulders. For a moment, his expression creases in sorrow. Then steels in familiar determination. "You'll just have to stay here for the summer then."

"Here?" Dream says. Hob's flat is already tiny; he is on a student budget after all. Now he will share it with Dream, too?

As he does with so many things already. His time, his kindness. His ferocity in insisting that Dream own who he is no matter what anyone has to say about it. His clothes, when he just started transitioning--Dream had had almost enough gender-neutral clothes already to be getting on with, but Hob had still given him one of his jackets, and conveniently never asked for the jumper Dream had already borrowed-slash-stolen back.

His hugs, too. His kisses.

"Yeah, it'll give me a chance to finally fix your hair," Hob says, running one hand through the jagged mess of Dream's hair as he wipes away his tears with the other.

On top of everything else, Hob had been the one to cut Dream's hair once he'd finally worked up the courage to do it. He'd done an admittedly pretty uneven job of it, but Dream hasn't had the heart to fix it because the memory of it makes him smile. The look of horror on Hob's face when he'd seen the end result, his despairing wail of it's so straight and silky when it's long how was I supposed to know it would stick up so much!? And yes, Dream's hair does stick up all over the place now, but it's fluffy and he likes to run his hands through it. And he likes even more when Hob runs his hands through it.

"I like it this way," he says.

Hob smiles crookedly. "Of course."

He scrubs his hand through it again, then cradles Dream's cheek in his palm. God, Dream's missed him so much during these few weeks since the term ended. Hob kisses his cheek, and says, "I'm sorry your parents are such shitheads, darling."

His way of phrasing it makes Dream laugh, and then he wraps his arms around Hob's shoulders again, laughing and crying and leaning in to him, so relieved to have him he could just keel over. He would not have had the courage for any of this if he had not had Hob behind him. Perhaps his parents were right about Hob being a corrupting influence, but in the best way possible.

"Come on, I'll make you dinner," Hob says, tugging him up to his feet. "We can celebrate the new holiday of telling your parents where to shove it. I got pasta and--" he freezes. Lets out a long, whistling breath of realization through his teeth. "That was the sauce I heard shattering before, wasn't it."

"I think so," Dream says, and can't help his giggle. Hob sighs, then smiles.

"Well, you're just going to have to help me figure out something else, then. Come on."

He takes Dream's hand and tows him over to the tiny kitchen. Hob's hand is warm in his, his grip strong, and for the first time since leaving school at the end of term Dream feels like the tension actually leaves his body. With Hob holding him like that, Dream feels like everything will turn out okay.

Somehow, with Hob, it always is.

#i feel like i keep writing the scenes that happen AFTER the prompt rather than the prompt itself XD whoops #dreamling #trans dream #cw transphobia #ask #altair214 #my writing #i'm supposed to be doing my work rn instead i did this #short little fic

[idyllic-affections]

it would be nice if tumblr writers put their nsfw under the cut. or, you know, put "[fandom] smut" in the tags so that it filters out properly. please i am asking politely please sobs

#aphelion speaks 🌸 #SORRY I AM JUST SO. TIRED. PLEASE. #PLEASE. GOD. TAG YOUR NSFW. #there are some character smuts that make me genuinely uncomfortable #AND YET I ALWAYS HAVE TO BEAR WITNESS TO IT? #PLEASE UTILIZE THE READ MORE LINK PLEASE #OR JUST. USE THE TAGS. PLEASE. GOD. #this is coming from a completely allosexual person btw #(^ is that shocking for you guys to hear LMAOAOSJSLGJF)

[nariism]

you're mad at him.

you're mad at him and he knows it. you've been giving wriothesley the silent treatment ever since you arrived at the fortress of meropide, bandages in hand and a flurry of curses erupting nonstop from your mouth.

not a single word has been uttered between you since you sat him down in his office. despite refusing to speak to him, much less look him in the eye, you're dutifully bandaging up his raw knuckles like you remember sigewinne showing you back when she decided to go on vacation.

"it's very easy," her voice rings in your ears. you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from snarking back at her imaginary presence.

you only hoped she was enjoying herself up on the surface, accompanying neuvillette for the first time in ages. while she absolutely did deserve a vacation, you wished that she had given wriothesley a stern set of instructions to take care of himself in her absence.

if she did, maybe you wouldn't have had to come all the way down here just to witness him in such a state. your poor heart can't take this kind of worry.

the warden has come out the pankration the most unscathed, only sporting a split lip and bloody nose. his knuckles are red and cut, but it's nothing in comparison to the two inmates who had decided it was a good idea to incite a riot in what should be a controlled environment of the prison.

physically, he's fine. emotionally, he's having a complete meltdown.

he can't take this silence anymore; can't bear having you be upset with him, knowing that he should have been more careful about rushing in to stop the riot himself. the prison is crawling with guards for a reason, yet in his haste he decided it would be faster to intervene alone.

"hey," wriothesley calls out softly, timid despite his looming presence over you. "i didn't mean to worry you or–"

"why can't you be more careful?" you suddenly interrupt, voice cracking weakly. you gaze up from where you're kneeling on the floor, bandages halting in the air while you challenge him with your eyes. "don't you know how stupid and reckless that was?"

he holds your stare for a few moments, stunned by your sudden rebuttal. and then you tear your eyes away from his again, focusing back on tenderly wrapping up his hand.

"you always make me so worried staying down here day and night," you continue, voice so quiet he can barely make out your words.

"i'm sorry," he tells you earnestly.

"i know you're strong. i know it. but you're not invincible. would it kill you to cherish your life a little more?"

"i'm sorry," he says again.

you falter, a sigh escaping you as you peer up at him again. there's something softer in the way you look at him now, with all your frustration melting away into concern. you rummage through your bag for a wet wipe before standing to cradle his face.

wriothesley can't breathe when you're being so gentle with him. his hands find your waist and squeeze it to draw you even closer, until he can almost rest his head against your stomach.

"i love you," you finally tell him, and he feels the relief wash over him. "i can't stand seeing you hurt, so please be more careful."

you swipe the cloth under his nose a few times, gently dabbing at the skin and cleaning up the blood that has dried there. his steely eyes drift shut under your warm touch, allowing you to clean his face. when he only nods in response, your hand stops.

"promise me."

he looks at you again, a brow raised at your stern tone. but he would always relent to you, no matter what it is you wanted.

"i promise."

you blink down at him for a second, taking in how beautiful he is underneath his bloody nose. finally, you lean down to kiss the top of his head— a gesture of forgiveness and love that he's grown so accustomed to.

there's sunshine in your smile when you pull away from him to discard the used wipe, all previous signs of anguish gone from your expression.

his heart nearly stops at the sight.

you were right. he should cherish himself more. he can't stand seeing you fret over him even if it is a little endearing.

for now, he'll just enjoy having you take care of him. it's been so long since he returned to the surface, all he wants to do right now is bask in the light you bring down here with you.

"oh nurse," he teases, giving your hips another squeeze. "my lip got busted, too. got a remedy?"

you roll your eyes but press a kiss to his lips anyways.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

#— whispers in the wind ✧ #wrio 'my partner is mad at me i don't deserve to breathe' thesley #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x gn reader #wriothesley x gender neutral reader #genshin impact fic #genshin fic

[hxney-lemcn]

First Kiss — Housewardens x gn! reader

summary: your first kiss with your lover.

tw: none.

a/n: teehee. Its hard for me to pick what character I wanna daydream about. Also, can you tell who my fav is? *cough* Vil *cough*

wc: 2.1k (~250 each character)

Master List

Riddle Rosehearts

The warm sun gently warmed you both. A refreshing breeze softly caressed you, Riddle’s red hair swaying gently as he took a sip of his tea. You felt more than content as Riddle’s gray-blue eyes watched you intently as you rambled about whatever carried your fancy. It was a side of Riddle that few others saw, and you were grateful that he allowed you to, that he was willing to listen to whatever nonsense you spouted. The warmth in your heart burst as he nodded, giving his two cents about the book you spoke of. By the sevens did you want to just give him a little peck. You two were dating, so there was no harm in asking…right? Although the two of you had been dating for a bit, the question had caused him to fluster greatly. Cheeks a bright red, mouth gaping, chest heaving. You should’ve expected such a reaction, it took quite a bit for him to hold your hand without shutting down. To your surprise, he gave you his consent. Leaning over, you couldn’t help but find him absolutely adorable. Eyes closed expectantly, lips pursed, cheeks red. You closed the gap, leaving a chaste kiss against his lips before pulling away. When you pulled away he seemed to look both in awe and slight disappointment. 

“As my partner, you are allowed to show me your affection in such ways, I only ask you to keep it between us. Other’s do not need to witness such acts.”

Leona Kingscholar

You were bored. Your phone could no longer hold your attention and you just wanted to do something different. Too bad you had a whole ass lion using you as his personal body pillow. You stared at the familiar ceiling of his room, contemplating on a possible way to sneak out. You loved Leona, really, you did…but your limbs were sore and you felt antsy. So, what better than poking the bear, err…lion. You found yourself brushing his hair with your hands, scratching his scalp every so often. When that no longer kept you entertained, you lightly scratched at the base of his ears. His ear twitched, but you continued with your ministrations, a smirk pulling at your lips as a deep rumble was pulled out of him. You only paused when one of his eyes glared at you. When you mentioned you were merely bored and your legs felt like needles were constantly pricking them he only rolled his eyes. Quicker than you could comprehend, he pinned you down below him with a slight huff. His green eyes stared at you for a few moments, as if he was seeking permission, and when you didn’t push him away or fight him, he leaned down, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss. He didn’t stop until you were breathless, a smug smirk filling his features.

“Is this what you wanted, herbivore? If you want to ruin my sleep then you’ll have to compensate me.”

Azul Ashengrotto

You felt like you were going crazy. Azul would take you out on fancy dates, offering you discounts (is it really a discount if you were basically eating for free?) at the Mostro Lounge, and shower you in light forms of affection (kissing the back of your hand, guiding you with a hand on your back, gentlemanly shit), yet you haven’t kissed him? Preposterous! It was proving to be a difficult task, as even though you both had been dating for a while, Azul would shy away at any form of affection you showered him with. The good news was that he had become more receptive to it, the key was you both had to be completely alone and it could only be small gestures. A small squeeze of his hand, brushing back a stray hair, hell even giving him a compliment no longer caused him to run away. Sadly, you started to feel greedy, his pink lips always seemed to taunt you, an open invitation to lean over and place your own over his. But you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, you understood how kissing could be a big deal. There was one night, the dim lights highlighting Azul’s beautiful face as he watched you expectantly. He had you taste a new dish that he wanted to add to his menu and it just so happened to be your favorite food. As thanks, you asked him to come closer, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He did so hesitatingly, and felt himself burn up when you placed a kiss on his cheek. Then he felt like he was going to pass out as you pouted stating that you ‘missed’. Against his better judgment, he gave into your pleading, enchanting eyes, leaning in closer as you silently asked for permission. When your lips met his, he thought he was ascending to heaven.

“A-ahem, I-I’m glad to see that the d-dish was to your l-liking. I-if there’s anything else I could provide, p-please do not be afraid to ask.”

Kalim Al-Asim

It's a wonder you two haven’t kissed yet. You felt so spoiled with how much care and affection Kalim showered you with. He never failed to warm you heart whether it be from his hugs, his solutions if anything ever concerned you, or even just his smile. He was a beaming ray of sunshine, and it kind of intimidated you. Contrary to popular belief, you felt shy under Kalim’s love. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the way your heart skipped a beat as he kissed your cheek or refused to let you go. Oh and not to mention the spoiling. You knew you'd never stop the prince from lavishing you with golden jewelry and gems you didn’t even want to guess how much they were worth. Honestly, it wasn’t good for your poor heart…or consciousness. So when Kalim noticed your slightly downtrodden expression at the new ring he slipped on your finger he worried. Was it not to your liking? Was the color wrong? Don’t worry! He’ll find you ten more rings that you’ll love! …why did you look even more scared at that suggestion? You deserved all this and more! Poor Kalim, he doesn’t know a world without it being at his fingertips, he can’t understand your concern. Your heart hurt at his frown, his sad eyes reminded you of a poor puppy that was kicked. With a sigh you relented, it did compliment you nicely. And so, hoping to right the wrong of making Kalim feel sad, you leaned over and gently pecked his lips. It was like nothing had occurred at all as he stared with sparkles in his eyes.

“Could we do that again? How about another? Just one more, pleeeeease~ Haha! I’m sorry, I just love you so much!”

Vil Schoenheit

It wasn’t fair how pretty and charming your boyfriend was. You wouldn’t tell him this, but he could run you over and blame you for being in the way and you’d apologize. Yeah, you were a major simp, but you really tried to be normal about it. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you managed to bag him, something about how your stupidity was frustratingly charming…in which you showed him your B in potions but he simply rolled his eyes. Aparatenly that proved his point somehow. Anyways! It was one of those rare moments of peace, the two of you watching a movie that Vil had deemed a classic. As much as you tried to pay attention (you know how annoying it is when someone scrolls on their phone during a movie you love), you kept glancing at Vil to see his reactions. You weren’t being sneaky by any means, and he wasn’t sure if he should be happy you couldn’t take your eyes off of him or annoyed that you clearly missed the symbolism that was important to understanding the plot. Yet when you pointed out something even he missed…he was secretly proud. Perhaps you were a better multitasker than you seemed because he had watched that movie plenty of times and missed such a simple thing you pointed out on first view. His heart warmed as you pointed out more details that you liked, and others you didn’t completely understand, such a simple moment, yet one he would cherish. And now he was becoming the bad one, eyes straying to your lips while trying to listen to your rambling. He truly wanted your first kiss to be romantic, in a garden with fairy lights or over a fancy dinner, but perhaps this was just as, if not more so romantic. Gently lifting your head up, your words died on your tongue as Vil’s purple eyes stared at you so lovingly. As he inched his face closer to yours, he softly asked if he could kiss you, nearly sending your heart into cardiac arrest. As his soft lips met yours, you felt true bliss for the first time, and as he pulled away with a self assured smirk, cheeks a light pink, you questioned how you managed to achieve a dream like scenario. 

“It seems like you’re becoming a bad influence, dear. You want another? Perhaps I can oblige if you can actually focus on the next movie.” 

Idia Shroud

Where do I begin? You had been with Idia for nearly a year. You both were on the shy side, getting used to such intimate touches slowly. You can successfully say that you can now hug Idia without him freaking out. In fact, he seemed to seek out your affection, albeit in a backwards way. He’d act like he hated any form of affection and then proceed to stare daggers at you like he was trying to telepathically ask you to play with his hair. True cat behavior. You showed him the joy of affection and now you had to pay the crime (you did so happily). Idia was laying on your chest playing on his handheld console, you were mindlessly playing with his hair and your eyes kept drifting from your phone to your boyfriend. He was so pretty, you never understood how he thought otherwise. From his fiery blue hair, his yellow determined eyes, to his blue tinted lips. He may be a loser otaku, but that just happened to be your type. Your hand trailed from his bright hair to his pale face, gently caressing his cheeks. He looked over at you, his cheeks turning a light pink, no matter how much love you showered him with he would never get used to the way you made his heart want to rip itself out of his chest. And…oh sevens, were you staring at his lips? Just what was going on in that mind of yours? Did…did you just ask to kiss him?! Hair burning pink and hiding his face in your neck, he felt like his brain was melting. He’s dreamt of kissing you, how soft your lips may be, the flavor of your chapstick…but actually doing it?! Was your intimacy meter high enough? His charm stats are rock bottom, would he even kiss you right? Wait! H-he didn’t say no! Please kiss him… Oh, that’s a lot better than when he practiced kissing his body pillow. Great, you’ve got him hooked all over again.

“C-could we do that…again…I-I n-need to grind to get my charm s-stats up.”

Malleus Draconia

For Vil you were the simp, well now the turns have tabled. Malleus is straight up courting you, letting you progress the relationship as you’d like. You’re only comfortable with holding hands? That’s alright, he is more than happy to oblige your requests. You enjoy being hugged? Be prepared for dragon hugs, you can’t escape. He would never push you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. Honestly, he was expecting your first kiss to be at the altar of your wedding…yeah he’s a bit of a traditionalist. So don’t expect him to make the first move, he’s content with any and all affection you're willing to give. And poor you, you constantly found yourself with cute aggression when you’re with your boyfriend. He was just so cute! You wanted to squish his cheeks and squeeze him as tightly as possible (he wouldn’t mind, it's not like you could hurt him). You found yourself once again with a wave of cute aggression as Malleus pouted at the phone he currently held. You were teaching him how to use it and it was a bit harder than you realized. I mean even your mom got the concepts quicker than him…but you suppose your mom wasn’t a century year old fae. The feeling became so strong you couldn’t stop yourself from smushing his cheeks, causing his bright green eyes to stare at you in surprise that quickly turned into fondness. Letting your instincts fully take over, you brought his face closer, pressing your lips together. You had tried to pull away, but Malleus followed you, taking over and kissing you possessively. He wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

“I apologize, child of man. I can’t seem to hold myself back when it comes to you.”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia

[willowbelle]

Just Give In

new fic per request! ♡︎

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: established relationship, consensual somnophilia, begging, throat-fucking, slight degradation, praise, use of "good girl", sleepy sex, riding, cock-warming.

summary: law is an insomniac. law and reader have an established relationship & mutual agreement regarding somnophilia. reader sucks law off while he sleeps. law wakes up & sleepy sex ensues ♡︎

word count: ~3,000

tagging: @bby-deerling @risenwrites @strawheart-pirate @uchihabbynic @nina-ya @mandiemegatron @shamblespirate @eelnoise @maddddstuff

(only slightly proofread bc i need to go to sleep. ironic, right?)

Just Give In

A restful night’s sleep wasn’t a pleasure Law typcially found on his agenda. 

Sleeping for more than four hours at a time was almost too indulgent for him; a taste that was rare, forbidden, almost. 

He seldom found himself able to close his eyes long enough to feel fully rested, yet, he persisted, like he always did, working incessantly through the day, accompanied by nothing but the dark circles that tainted the skin beneath his eyes.

Despite the heaviness weighing upon his eyelids, sleep always eluded him like a distant desire; unrealistic, unattainable. His mind, always restless and relentless, simply refused to succumb to the peaceful embrace of sleep. He tries to rest, but to no avail, tossing and turning in the sheets with each gentle sway of the Polar Tang.

Today was different, though. 

Your crew had recently partaken in a particularly difficult battle, and to say that Law was exhausted was quite the understatement. He was drained; completely depleted of everything within him.

He had stretched his abilities to their utmost limits, and now, he lay before you in a state unlike any you've ever witnessed — utterly spent and motionless.

Bepo is attempting to set Law up against some pillows on his bed, but of course, he’s protesting, weakly shooing the bear away. 

“Enough, Bepo,” he rasps out, “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“But Captainnn-” the mink whines, teetering back and forth from foot to foot, “You saved our lives. It’s the least I can do-” 

“Saving your asses isn’t forgein to me, Bepo,” Law sighs, pain evident in his tone. He leans his head back against the plush fabric of the pillows, “All of you,” his eyes open again, steel irises scanning between you and your crewmates as you stand anxiously against the walls of your captain’s quarters, “Out.” 

You knew better than to disobey Law, especially when he was in such a terrible state, so you swallowed your pride and followed your crewmates’ lead, letting out a heavy sigh before turning towards the door. 

“Wait,” Law’s voice prompts you to turn your head, your wide eyes meeting his half-lidded ones as he musters a weak smirk, “Not you.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After some more convincing from his captain, Bepo finally relinquished supervision over Law, slowly making his way towards the door, trading places with you as you took his previous seat on the edge of the bed. 

The polar bear takes a few more anxious glances over towards you two, “You’ve got him, right, y/n?” he persists. 

You smile softly to reassure your distressed crewmate, “I’ve got him, Bepo.”

He smiles in response, letting out a relieved sigh, apprehension aided by your confidence. 

———————————————————————————————

You wait until Bepo’s furry form disappears into the hallway before opening your mouth to speak, turning your head towards Law again.

“So, Law,” you begin, but as your eyes meet his condition, your voice catches in your throat, and the remainder of your sentence fades into a whisper.

He’s asleep. 

Your heart feels funny in your chest at the sight of him, but you can’t quite place the feeling. 

He’s stirring slightly, softly snoring, inked chest rising and falling with each breath. 

He looks beautiful. 

Even though the two have you had been dating for quite some time, you had never seen him asleep. 

Your boyfriend was an insomniac in every sense of the word, and every night, as you both retired to your shared bed, you inevitably drifted off to sleep before him. Occasionally, you'd awaken throughout the night, only to find him absent from your side. You'd grope through the darkness, waiting for your eyes to acclimate to the dimness, until you could locate him. More often than not, he'd be bent over his desk, engrossed in jotting notes in his notebook or poring over the pages of a medical textbook.

This sight was unfamiliar, to the extent that witnessing him in such a seemingly normal human state verged on feeling forbidden.

Your mind begins to race, but you don’t try to catch it. 

The two of you had engaged in somnophilia a few times throughout your relationship; you’d often awaken to the feeling of Law’s hot tongue lapping at your aching slit, slender fingers engulfed within your tight cunt. 

You were always on the receiving end, of course, but you often found yourself fantasizing about what it would be like to take on the role of the giver.

And so, as you gazed upon Law sleeping soundly, his previous words reverberated in your mind,

“I doubt you ever will, but if you happen to catch me asleep sometime, you’re welcome to indulge.”

You could vividly remember his expression and the tone of his voice when he said it—confident, smug, almost, as if he were utterly convinced you'd never get the opprotunity.

Law was always busy; always working, always thinking, always disturbed. 

He was pretty fickle when it came to sex, and you constantly remained unsure of what side of him you’d be encountering each time the two of you entered the bedroom. 

But here he was; sleeping, peaceful, undisturbed. 

And you just couldn’t fucking help yourself. 

You release a trembling, apprehensive breath before surrendering to your desires.

Your hand finds itself on his strong thigh, but he stirs a bit, making you jump slightly. 

However, to your contentment, he remains asleep, turning his head to the side, unconsciously giving you more access to his neck. 

You bite your bottom lip before slowly sliding your hand up his leg.

You admire him like he’s a work of art in a museum; taking a mental picture of every dip and curve of his muscles, every line of black ink that decorates his tan skin, every indent of his abs, each hair on his chin, you worship it all. 

And so, you persist, delicate hands continuing their silent work.

You slowly and carefully straddle his waist as your fingers begin to work at the buttons of his shirt. You peel the fabric from his body, your heart racing within your chest, its pounding reverberating in your ears, causing your head to feel flushed with heat.

Your hands slide up his toned abdomen, fingertips finding themselves tracing the intriquite lines of the ink adorning his skin. 

You can’t help but let out a shaky, quiet moan, obsessed with the way his muscular torso looked cradled between your thighs. 

In this moment, you are nothing but a devotee, tracing his form, limb by limb, each imperfection of his skin burning into your skull as if they were put there simply to be admired by you. His body was a masterpiece, one that you’d gladly study over and over again, obsessively, till you could recite his every feature in your head in perfect detail. 

You carefully lean forward to place gentle kisses and love bites along his chest, down his stomach, taking precautionary glances up to his face to ensure he was still asleep. 

His eyes are shut, but his breathing has changed slightly; it's more labored, now, coming out in quiet huffs as he slightly trembles beneath you. 

You continue your gentle pursuit, rubbing your hands up and down his sides as you kiss along his happy trail, giggling softly to yourself at how the coarse hairs tickle your lips.  Each touch is a prayer, each gaze a hymn, and you relish in the way the feeling of his warm skin seems to seep into your own. 

Your hands tremble as you work at the button and zipper of his jeans, fearful that the noise will awaken him. It doesn’t, though, and you find satisfaction in your accomplishment, impressed by your own skill.

Now for the difficult part: pulling his pants down. 

You cursed at Law in your head; although you had always found his love of skinny jeans sexy, you now found it rather…inconvenient. 

You anxiously bite at the tender flesh on your inner cheek as you loop your fingers around his waistband, taking a deep breath in before abandoning all caution and pulling his jeans down. 

He stirs, as expected, but doesn’t awaken, simply letting out a low groan and screwing his eyes shut tighter. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him in nothing but his underwear; to your surprise, he’s hard, and the realization makes your cheeks flush with heat. 

You lean down, warm breath meeting his crotch, peppering his clothed cock with gentle kisses. 

His head rolls back and his back arches a bit, an unconscious moan erupting from within his chest. The abrupt noise halts you in your steps, prompting a swift glance back at your sleeping boyfriend. You gaze at him in awe as he doesn’t awaken, just twitches beneath your touch.

You bite the waistband of his boxers, clenching the fabric between your teeth as you pull them down, finally freeing his twitching, needy cock. 

The sight makes you inhale sharply, breath caught in your throat as you take in the unfamiliar sight of Trafalgar Law fully exposed before you; naked, vulnerable. 

You inch forwards, closing your eyes before opening your mouth and sliding your hot tongue along his thick shaft. Your tongue leaves a stripe of glistening saliva in its wake, the substance lewdly decorating your boyfriend’s pulsing cock.  

“Mmmggf,” Law groans at this, and his hands ball into fists at his sides, gripping the sheets. 

Your feel your core tighten at the sound, heat flooding your veins and collecting in your aching sex. You persist, lust at the forefront of your brain, taking his weeping tip into your soft, warm mouth. You hum around his head, delighted at the feeling of him filling  your mouth. 

He winces, back arching off the mattress as his eyes screw shut tighter, unconsciously reaching down to grab at your hair. 

You circle your tongue around his tip a few times before slowly beginning to bob your head up and down, taking his shaft down your tight throat, captivated by the feeling of his thick vein pulsing against your tongue. 

“M-mmm!” Law whines weakly in his sleep, trembling beneath you, completely at mercy to you and your wicked mouth. 

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in harder, moving your head up and down more passionately now, determined to make him erupt down your throat.

The unmistakable sounds of gagging and slobbering fill the room, and your cunt twitches at the lewdness of the situation, prompting you to squeeze your thighs together for any sort of stimulation. 

Suddenly, you feel the familiar sensation of fingers yanking on your strands, making you tilt your gaze upwards, your captain’s cock still eveloped within your mouth as you anxiously look up at him.  

Your eyes widen as they meet the state of him; he’s awake, eyes half-lidded and blown with lust as he gazes down at you. His face is red and flustered, dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead, aided by his sweat. His face looks unlike how you’d ever seen it before, and it feels like his stare is burning holes into your face. 

He looks entirely and utterly needy.

“Don’t. Fucking. Stop.” he groans breathlessly, teeth clenched, each word punctuated like a growl; desperate. 

But before you can even think about responding, he’s manuvered your hair into a ponytail within his grip before thrusting his hips upwards into your mouth, throat-fucking you mercilessly. 

“Nghh,” he groans, throwing his head back against the pillows as he continues to relentlessly thrust his hips, making you whimper and gag around his length. 

“You wanted it,” he groans, his voice tinged with a smug tone, “Now take it.” 

“M-mm!” you whimper around his shaft as he continues to abuse your throat, earning a low, guttural groan from within his chest, 

“Good girl, that’s it,” he praises, “Take that cock.” 

The grip he has on your strands is unwavering as he continues to fuck your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with each pass, making you gag, tears spilling from your eyes. 

His body grows tense and you know he’s getting close, his thrusts becoming sloppy and unsynchronized. 

His pelvis continuously bumps against your face as he continues, the hair from his happy trail tickling your nose. 

“F-Fuckkk-” he rasps out, body shuddering beneath you as he unapologetically bursts down your throat, hot ropes of his semen tainting your esophagus and inner cheeks. 

You cough, pulling off him, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks. 

You gaze at up him, eyes teary and wide, fearful that he was angry at you for disturbing his sleep. 

He’s breathing heavily, tattooed chest rising and falling frantically. His face is flushed pink and sweaty, fucked-out. He lets out a shaky breath before speaking, 

“Come on, y/n,” he smirks, still attempting to catch his breath, “Don’t tell me you can’t finish what you started.” 

His persistence and brashness causes your core to tighten once more, heat rushing through your body, making your limbs tingle. 

His words command you like puppet stings, your obedience unwavering as you straddle him once again.

You take a moment to remove your clothes before seating your bare pussy against his throbbing, desperate cock. 

In a final attempt to tease him, you begin to rock your hips, grinding your leaking slit against his impressive length. 

“Enough,” he groans impatiently, “Show me what you really want, y/n.” 

And so, you surrender to your longing, allowing it to take control as you grab ahold of Law’s cock, positioning him at your entrance before slowly sinking down. 

You hiss at the sting, the sensation painful but not unfamiliar. The two of you moan in sync as you continue to lower yourself, the feeling of his big cock stuffing you full was almost too much for either of you. 

You want to tease him more; slow down, pull off, anything to give you some control back, but he’s desperate, and you’re no better. You instantaneously give in to your desires, sinking down all the way and leaning down to kiss him as his cock is now fully engulfed within you. His lips meet yours with such urgency and desperation it makes your head spin. He groans weakly into your mouth, “Come on, baby,” his voice is strained, a rare inflection that you knew was for you only, “Move for me-” 

You comply, giving in to his command and beginning your dirty work, slowly starting to rock your hips back and forth, delicious moans erupting from the mouth of the trembling man beneath you. 

“F-Fuck,” he slurs, voice raspy, “more,” he groans, grasping at your hips. 

You begin to bounce on his cock, grounding yourself by resting your hands on his strong chest. You let let your head roll back, becoming absorbed in the feeling of Law’s impressive cock sliding in and out of you, pulsing against your tight walls. 

“You’re so damn tight,” he groans through clenched teeth, “That pussy’s so fucking good to me.”

His praise only makes you work harder, grinding you hips back and forth to gain some friction against your aching clit as you continue to bounce up and down, your skillful hips and tight cunt earning more weary moans from him. 

He reaches up to grasp at your tits, molding them in his strong hands and pinching at your erect nipples, making you squeak.

“Mm-mm, Lawww-” you whine wearily, heat racing through your veins as your head begins to grow tingly. 

Your legs begin to tremble as you continue to ride him, and he notices you losing momentum. 

“Here, baby,” he chuckles softly in between groans, “I’ve got you.” 

Law grabs your hips and holds you up, opting to thrust into you from below, making you squeal at the new sensation. 

He’s still exhausted, of course, so his thrusts are slow and sleepy, but unforgiving nonetheless.

Your tight walls continue to restrict and twitch around his aching cock, and each time his tip lazily brushes against your cervix, you both feel yourselves coming undone. 

“Fuck," he rasps out, “Not gonna last long.” 

Law continues to weakly thrust into you, and the sounds of wet squelching and skin-hitting-skin fill the room. 

Your breaths are labored and hot as you kiss again, moaning wearily into one another’s mouths. 

You’re both close, desperately chasing your impending orgasms. 

“L-Law-” you cry out shakily into his mouth, a warm, tingling sensation enveloping your body as you cum, gushing around his cock as you collapse onto his chest. 

“Fuck, y/n,” he grits his teeth, mustering a few more weak thrusts and groaning loudly before finally spilling his hot seed into you.

 “Fuck, I love you.” he gazes into your eyes, cradling your head in his strong hand and kissing the top of it before letting his head fall back down to the pillows. 

He lets out one final sigh before giving in to his body’s needs, stiffening beneath you and closing his eyes, allowing sleep to take him once again. 

You offer a gentle smile and press a tender kiss to his cheek before closing your own eyes, your body tensing as it prepares itself for sleep. 

“I love you, too, Law,” you murmur softly, following your captain's lead and slowly drifting off to sleep. 

#trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law one shot #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law imagine #one piece imagine #one piece one shot #one piece #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law fanfiction #one piece fic #trafalgar law fic #trafalgar law headcanons #trafalgar law headcanon #law headcanons #one piece headcanons #law one piece #one piece law #trafalgar law one piece #trafalgar d water law #one piece fluff #Trafalgar law x reader #Law x reader #Trafalgar law imagine #Trafalgar law one shot #One piece imagine #One piece fanfiction

[orikiys]

🔖 、FOUND HOME

ᘛ 𓏧     ࣪    𖠵 희승 ☓ fem!reader. ꔪ ﹏ ᘒ fluff established relationship implied flirting warning kissing petnames not proofread & 744 words

“do you think we’d still be a couple in an alternate universe?” you groan at the question and cover your face with your arm.

“go to bed.”

“what if we already got married and had five kids?” he mutters with a tone as serious as ever. even though it’s dark you can just feel that he’s not sleepy at all.

“go to bed,” your eyes are still closed yet you can’t hide the sleepy smile stretching your lips out.

a soft laugh escapes your throat when he places an arm over your waist and pulls you closer. even though the bed was big enough, it’s the warmth the radiates off his body that helps you fall asleep every day.

opening your eyes, you look up at him. from the dark all you are able to make out is his messed up hair which is unevenly falling over his eyes and his lips that fortunately never stop smiling.

“can’t sleep?” you whisper, extending your arm towards him and brushing the hair off his forehead. instantly, he closes his eyes with relief spreading all over and manages to mumble out a “no”.

his arms pull you in even more if possible and he tucks your head in his chest holding you as if you were his teddy bear.

“hmm why are you so soft today?” you tease him and when he chuckles, it reverberates in the walls of the room and your chest fills up with fondness at the sound of it. it doesn’t even need to be seen how heeseung would look when he laughs. the corner of his eyes would form crescents like the moon does and there’s always a sparkling glint in his eye that reminds you of all the liveliness and love he is filled with.

“did you go back to sleep, princess?” he mutters and raises his hand to cradle your jaw. his fingers brush against your cheek tenderly and a moment later you feel his warm lips come in contact with your forehead. he places a gentle kiss but doesn’t pull away without making the sound of a loud smooch.

“i wonder where all this love is coming from. is it because i let you watch your football match over my series?” you whisper looking up at him intently. there’s an unspoken agreement that passes between the two of you as heeseung lowers himself just where his lips hover over yours.

without giving it another thought, he holds you by the back of your neck, smiling softly as his lips meet yours in a sweet kiss. when he leans away, his hands still stay glued and distracted from tracing the outlines of your cheek as if it was the easiest thing to do.

“you’re beautiful,” is all he says as he plants another kiss this time heading for your forehead. your eyes remain closed in peace as you relish these moments with him.

living with heeseung has never felt like a mistake. every extra minute you spend with him is a reminder of how many more memories the two of you make. even the corners of the room are a witness of the gas called love that always floats in the air, trapping and holding down the two of you together.

“let’s sleep?” you suggest when you notice how quiet the guy beside you has fallen. turning around so that your back faces him, you drape his arm over your waist and place your hand over it slowly. heeseung shuffles a bit before back hugging you tightly and rests his head in the crook of your neck.

he breathes softly and his face is already at ease considering how all of his muscles have relaxed.

it reminds you of the times when he used to play basketball, he always had the same expression towards the things he adored; you noticed. be it his favourite fruit or his birthday, his eyes can never lie especially when it comes to things called love. and you do consider yourself lucky because one of it is meant just for you.

“i love you,” is the last thing you hear before you hear soft breathing and that’s the time when the world announces that he’s asleep.

you grab his hand softly and raise it to your lips, muttering back the exact words he did before you find sleep pulling you over.

nothing matters at the end of the day except you being wrapped by his warmth.

#ॱଳ͘ #k-labels #kflixnet #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung fluff #heeseung fic #heeseung oneshots #heeseung imagines #enha x reader #enha fluff #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha heeseung

[verinarin]

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞

angst with comfort | he’s always on the winning side of things, but for you he’s willing to lose

Aventurine never was fond of being alone, never since he met you.

Ever since you have graced his life with your warmth he can’t go back, he hated the idea of a past, present, and future without your warmth beside him. This selfish want of his transpires the most underneath the sheets, it goes far beyond his sexual need nor his primal lust.

No, this need of his is far more pure.

Sincere even, that’s saying a lot since he was never known to be sincere.

Yet he is, for you.

Only you.

He found it easier to sleep against your chest, listening to your calm heartbeat lulls him to slumber far more successfully than any other methods he used in the past. He often described your whole body as his teddy bear, the sentiment suits you perfectly since he had always wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close as his head rested upon your chest.

So warm, so soft, so comforting.

It fills his barren heart with emotions he has always yearned for, love and adoration.

A sense of being wanted, of being loved.

He has survived by himself for years by his cunning wit and gambling his life away, yet he had stumbled upon uncharted territories with you. The feeling of comfort and security you had given him has him utterly petrified.

The thought of baring his true naked self to you terrifies him, he was never a good person, he was far from it.

You know that. You know that very well and yet here you are with fingers brushing through his blond hair, the comfort that you gave also comes with a price.

And for the first time, he’s scared to lose it, to lose you.

Unbeknownst to him, a tear has escaped from his eye. He hates it. He hates how scared he is of losing you, “Rine, are you alright ?” your soft comforting voice lingered in his ear.

“Ah I’m fine !, what makes you ask that ?,” he smiled as he tilted his head upwards, your expression paints a clear picture of worry. He does not want that.

“You’re crying,” the softness of your voice, the kindness it holds. It could render him into a crying mess, he hates it.

He hates being vulnerable, yet it’s you.

Would you leave him for this?

“Am I now ?,” he chuckled, a smirk plastered on his face. An attempt to try to mask his feelings away has never worked on you.

Yet he tries anyway.

“You are,” your hand cupped his cheeks, your thumb gently wiped away tears drops falling from his face.

He smiled, genuinely smiled as you wiped away the tears that formed from his heart. His soul.

“Perhaps I am,” he bitterly replied.

“I’m here, always here and I hope you know that,” you replied calmly, his hands reaching forward to caress your cheek, holding it gently like a precious stone.

“I’m terrified,” he muttered, his thumb resting upon your lower lip as he spoke.

“Of what ?,” you asked, you could feel his thumb tracing your lips as you spoke.

“Losing you,” he replied shortly, his lips forming a gentle smile as he watched you chuckle upon hearing his answer.

“A gambler, terrified to lose. That’s new,” you smiled, your fingers brushed his hair back to see his face, tired yet comforted.

“I don’t gamble on our relationship, feel free to use me or stab me in the back if that’s what you want,” he leaned forward, closing the gap between your face and his.

“But for you, I’m not afraid to be on the losing side,” he muttered against your lips, before pressing his own against yours to seal the deal.

#☆彡veririnwrites #aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst

[formosusiniquis]

This one goes out to that old guy I saw at walmart yesterday loading up his pioneer woman cookware onto his motorcycle while enter sandman played

steddie | G | WC: 1154

---

“Hey baby, can you?”

“No.”

Steve's sweet tone sours immediately returning to the much more familiar gently bitchy tone Eddie knows and loves. “You don't even know what I was gonna ask.”

“Twenty-five years of marriage, lawful and not, Sunshine. I know when you're about to ask me for some shit we don't need.”

“Why would I be calling you if we didn't need it?”

“Because if you needed it you would have told me about it when I said, ‘Stevie, sweetie, light of my life, sun to my dawn,’” he looks around trying to figure out where the hell they moved the oranges and why the produce section is never in the same configuration anytime he comes here. He makes eye contact with a kid wearing an artificially faded printing of his own tour merch looking at him with a starry eyed look of recognition not of the celebrity but of family.

“Did you forget where you were going with that old man?”

He decides he might as well put on a show, both halves of this conversation already know he's going to do what he's told. “‘Stevie, my one truth north, my muse, my reason to continue living, my dearest husband, I'm going to Walmart,’ I told you not but thirty minutes ago and asked if you needed me to get you anything and you said no.”

“Oh, you aren't going to monologue for your adoring public all the sweet names I called you?” Steve is amused, he can tell, he's always been able to tell. He's accepting this as his penance for not giving Eddie an actual grocery list when he left.

“Well dear heart I am in public, but if you think we can find another grocery store to go to after getting banned from this one. I guess there is the Kroger on the other side of town.” The kid laughs, tries to hide it behind their hand, but if Eddie has had anything in this life it's experience with teens eavesdropping on conversations they shouldn't be.

“Oh you're really hamming it up, huh, Teddy. Can I tell you what you're getting me yet or do you still have a couple minutes in your set?”

He's given up on oranges, moves on to the onion he actually came here for, the lone ingredient for dinner that he'd forgotten from his clicklist. If they want to actually have the roast tonight it needs to start soon. “What is it that you remembered we needed, oh song of my heart.”

“I already sent you the link so you get exactly what I want.”

It's just ominous enough of a non-answer that he pulls his phone out of his pocket, juggling it and the five things he'd already grabbed that weren't on his one item list. He doesn't have the time to regret not grabbing the cart he was sure he hadn't needed when he sees what he's been sent.

“I'm on my bike! Where am I going to put that?”

“I'm sorry, am I hearing you correctly? Was I right when I said, ‘Teddy bear, my stars, my bard-’”

“You aren't on speaker.”

“My beloved damsel in distress, maybe the motorcycle isn't the most efficient of midlife crisis vehicles. Aren't you going to want something with more trunk space, why don't you get a Caddy or a Bimmer for old times sake. And what did you say?”

“I don't recall.”

“Probably for the best wouldn't want you banned from Walmart, what would the tabloids say?”

“Nothing that would match your wit, Sweetheart. Does it have to be this one?”

“Yes, the plaid matches the kitchen remodel, so be a good boy and strap it to your bike. And remember we've still got one kid to put through school if she decides to go, don't bring home any strays with you. Do you need to do your encore now, baby?”

“I accept your quest, my dashing prince. I shall return home with my bounty posthaste.” Encore complete, audience still enraptured, Eddie dips into the sincere. It's been nearly thirty years together and he's not once ended a call without saying, “I love you.”

“Love you too, my knight in denim battle vest. I'll see you when you get home.”

The call ends with the usual dull toned beep beep, the playlist the call interrupted starts to filter back into his earbud. He realizes he's going to have to walk right past the kid to get to the side of the store with Steve's Instant Pot.

“Hear they're about to have a reunion tour,” he says gesturing down at the reprint of their Came Back Wrong Tour shirt. The faux-fading has left a crack through his own face at the bottom making him unrecognizable, not that he looks the same now as he did at 25. “Those old bands just don't know how to retire.”

“I think it's smart that they're playing up the recent tik tok fame.” The kid says, “No one's even seen their lead singer since the 90s and after their first national tour he'd started wearing that mask.”

It hurts a little bit the way the kid says 90s like it's some bygone era lost to time. Tries to appreciate instead how good the mask idea had been, he'd really been an innovator. “That was a pretty sweet gimmick, you think he'll bring it back? It's kind of Orville Peck's thing now isn't it.”

The kid slumps, managing the impressive feat of looking desolate while standing over the tomatoes. “Probably, not that I'll see it. I couldn't manage to get a ticket.”

That is something he can fix, “Here,” he manages to grab ahold of his wallet, “as luck would have it, I've got a couple spares.”

The kid looks torn between fear and elation, it's likely at least the second strangest thing to ever happen to them in a Walmart. “Oh I can't-”

“No strings, I got it through work for my sister-in-law to go with my husband. She asked why none of the good bands ever have reunion tours so… not going obviously. And my husband insists he's too old to be that close to the stage. You'd be doing me a favor really.”

“If you're sure,” they say, the hesitance more a mannered necessity than real.

“Sure as shooting. Seriously, here give me your name so my husband knows who to make the thank you note out to.”

“Aspen, thank you really!”

Twenty minutes later when he’s got a kitchen appliance bungied to the back of his bike he’ll appreciate that something good came out of this. Three weeks later when he’s standing at the front of a sold out arena he’ll mostly appreciate another chance to be dramatic, “This next one is for Aspen who didn’t laugh when an old man tried to flirt with his husband in the produce aisle. Gareth, count me in.”

#steddie #steddie fic #old man steddie #rockstar eddie munson

[stylesharrys]

love me like you do

summary: harry’s never had someone take care of him the way that y/n does. 

word count: 2,361

a/n: here's another old exclusive guys. there are lots and lots of fics lined up for you for the next couple of months while I work on a 20k realtor!y/n and a 20k ex-boyfriend!harry so enjoy!

//

At first, Harry thought nothing of it.

The honeymoon phase, he told himself. It made sense, it was expected. His past lovers had all been the same during that time — always obsessed and seemingly in love. Seemingly. 

But after a few months, they always started to change. They’d distance themselves first, take a while longer to reply or to get in contact with him. Then, they’d get blunt and annoyed quickly with him. They wouldn’t want him close, wouldn’t shower him in affection. Wouldn’t let him touch them. 

And then, eventually, they’d leave. Maybe on the odd occasion, they’d butter him up and get a little splurge on his card, or go to him just for their release. A few had cheated, some just left. Nothing for Harry has ever lasted past a year and a half, and now it’s nearing the two-year mark and he’s confused. 

Y/N is a lovely woman. She’s kind, funny, smart, gorgeous. Harry thinks her kindness and wit is what attracted him to her in the first place, and in the two years he’s known her, he’s only started to love her more. 

It’s not like he thinks deep down she’s a horrible person, but Harry has grown accustomed to how things typically work in his relationships, and none of the above has yet occurred. 

Currently, he’s lying on his stomach with his face smushed into Y/N’s pillow. She’s straddling his lower back, her bum on his bum and his shirt is long gone as she massages the tender knots out of his shoulders. She’s been doing it for thirty minutes now. Harry’s been watching the clock. 

He’s been feeling a little ill the past few days. Migraine, sore muscles and the occasional fleeting moments of nausea. He lost his appetite and strength pretty quickly and Y/N has been on the ball with it — at his feet with a sick bucket, coddling his head to her chest with a cold compress against his skin. She’s done it all and Harry can’t quite understand it. 

From past experiences of being ill or caught with the flu, the only person to have ever taken proper care of him had been his mother. And now, his lover is doing what past lovers didn’t, and Harry’s confused.

It’s not that Y/N isn’t an overwhelmingly kind and compassionate person, because she is. Her caring and nurturing behaviour is nothing out of the ordinary for Y/N, but Harry has never experienced such care from a romantic partner before. 

It’s like Y/N has forgotten about the gruelling twelve-hour shift she just got home from, but Harry hasn’t ,and although he’s the one that’s sick, she’s the one that’s been on her feet all day. 

“Come on, I’ll do you.” His words come out gruffly, muffled slightly by the pillow that restricts the fluid movements of his lips. He can feel Y/N shake her head from above him. She sinks the balls of her palms into the backs of his shoulders. 

“You need to relax and rest.” She argues, thinks her reasoning will be enough for him not to ask again.

Harry shakes his head and shuffles beneath the weight of her body. Y/N lifts to her knees, allowing him to turn beneath her and onto his back. Harry’s eyes are bleary and sleepy as he blinks to gain his bearings. He stretches for her hips, hands finding them with ease. 

She’s sitting on his lower tummy, dressed in a pair of cycling shorts and one of his old Rolling Stones t-shirts that she changed into the second she got home. There’s dotting of mascara smudged below her eyes and a couple of pimples that are starting to show through the worn, minimal makeup. 

He knows she’s had a long day, could tell the second she got in and pretended that she was okay for his sake. Her hair is tied back low on her neck, stray strands wildly framing her face. She looks tired, burnt out. Harry just wants to look after her. 

“Bad day?” He finally asks. 

Y/N blinks twice and shrugs, head rolling as her shoulders raise and her cheek meets it. “Busy,” she tells him. “Nothing I’m not used to.” 

Harry squints. 

He knows she’s used to it — the long days with early starts and late finishes, the ones without a break in-between, where she doesn’t get to eat, save for a few grapes she manages to steal every now and then. He knows she’s used to it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting her.

He squeezes her hips gently. “Know you’re used to it, pet. Don’t make it any easier, though.”

She doesn’t say anything. Her hands are on his, encouraging them to sneak up her shirt to feel her skin. She’s warm, soft. Y/N pouts down at him. “Want a kiss.” She says, eyes glassy with affectionate need. 

Harry copies her expression, reaching up to caress the side of her face. “Can’t let ya get sick, babe. Why don’t you let me run you a bath and you can relax?” He offers, eyes gentle and she lets hers flitter closed for a moment, like she’s pondering over her answer. 

She shakes her head. 

“You’re the sick one. I’m going to run you a bath, and then I’m going to make you some soup for your throat. Know it’s still been hurting you.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything — knows that whatever he argues, she’ll bite back better. His body sinks into the sheets, head in the pillow as a heavy huff of annoyance and adoration slips from his mouth. 

//

When Y/N said she’d run him a bath, Harry didn’t expect it to be overflowing with bubbles or for every possible available surface to be littered in glowing candles. But the bathroom wasdecorated with such and Harry was overcome with an overwhelming amount of love for his girl. 

She let him take his time in there, relaxing and soothing his muscles while she cooked up some magic for his throat. Getting out of the bath, Harry most definitely does not expect to wander into the kitchen to see what he does. 

Y/N behind the stove, dishing up the soup with two fresh rolls from the bakery a mile from them. She’s got the lights dim for him — knows they’re hurting his head — and there are more candles around the living room. 

The coffee table is littered with them mostly, Netflix is up and ready on the TV and as he looks to the sofa, he notices she got out her favourite blanket — the soft one that Harry swears is made from angel wings. 

And he looks at her, starry-eyed and all. She’s got a gentle smile on her lips when she notices his presence and Harry is fucked. 

He can’t stop the rush of emotion that consumes him. His eyes turn glassy, nose tingling and heart aching. Harry reckons he’s easily the most loved man in the world and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He can’t help the single tear that slips down his face but he wipes it before she notices. 

Harry approaches her, arms wrapping around the middle of his love and he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. “Thank you, for all of this. Love you so much.” He rasps into her skin. 

He can feel her body warm against his touch and she smiles, rashes down to hold her hand over his. “Love you loads, too. And you haven’t got to thank me, this is just what you do when you love someone.”

When you love someone. 

She shrugs her own words off like they’re the most obvious thing she’s ever said, but Harry can’t stop falling harder for her. 

He’s loved people before, he knows that. But now, looking back, he wonders if anyone has ever loved him before her. 

Harry doesn’t remember a time that a previous lover put him before themselves. Where they cared for him and put his needs first. Where they showered him with care and adoration just because. 

No ones ever loved him as she does. 

The tears start to pool again as he pulls away and helps her carry their bowls and drinks to the sofa. They sit close, dipping pieces of bread into the creamy soup Y/N prepared and keeping their eyes on the TV. 

Harry is struggling to focus though when Y/N takes a glance at the clock and carries their empty bowls to the kitchen. He cranes his neck across the back of the sofa to see what she’s doing, but her back is to him as she runs the sink tap and rummages through the cupboard. 

What he does see is her shuffling back to the living room with a small glass of water and a curled open palm carrying three little white tablets atop it. 

Y/N settles beside him, handing him the glass with a tired smile and offering him the pills. “They’ll help with your head and throat, hun.” She curls into the sofa, her knees to her chest and close to Harry’s side. Y/N props one arm against the back of the pillows and her fingers find the long hairs at the nape of Harry’s neck, gently craving through the soft locks. 

He watches her for a moment, completely dumbfounded and speechless if he’s honest. 

Something like Y/N taking care of him when he’s sick shouldn’t have him feeling so fucked and in love, but it does. He’s teary-eyed because his girl is taking care of him off her own back. Because she isn’t complaining once or making anything about herself. 

Because she’s loving him beyond the words of saying it. 

And he cries. 

Y/N’s stunned at the sight, thinks maybe he’s about to sneeze, but his body starts to tremble and she realises what’s going on. So, gently, she pries the glass and pills from his wanton hands and places them blindly on the coffee table before reaching back for him. 

“Hey,” she coos. 

Her hands caress the damp and flushed skin of his cheeks to bring Harry’s gaze to meet her reassuring one. “Why are you crying, H?” Her words are asked in a light and airy voice, one that isn’t serious as she chuckles softly, but he still knows she’s concerned for him. 

He shakes his head and pulls her into his side, laughing at himself too because, why is he crying? 

“Just never had anyone look after me apart from my mum before. Really fucking lucky to have you, love. No ones ever loved me like you do before.”

Her hand is sprawled across his gently heaving chest and she kisses his neck with a soft peck, offering a squeeze. His hand is brushing comfortingly up and down her arm but neither of them really know why he’s the one trying to comfort her.

Y/N swallows, reaching her right hand across her chest to find his hand that lingers over the front of her shoulder, and she interlaces their fingers, squeezing. “I wish I could show you how in love with you I am… no words can describe it.” She admits, bashfully. 

Harry squeezes her hand, using his other to wipe his face and he laughs again, because he’s so in love that it hurts. It hurts so fucking good because he knows this is it for him. She is it for him. Together against the world. Their future, their everything. 

“I know, baby. S’the same for me.”

His raw voice sends a shiver through her spine and her own eyes are watering with salty drops of emotion. It hurts her too. More so knowing nobody has ever treated him right, nobody has ever taken care of him and loved him like he’s always deserved. 

“I’m always gonna love you like this, H. Always gonna put you before me. Put us before anything else. You’re it for me, hope I’m it for you, too.”

He grins, cranes his neck to look down at her through hooded eyes. “‘Course you’re it for me. Been my future since I fucking laid eyes on ya, pet. It’s us forever, yeah?” 

She breathes, tears slipping but she nods her head. He doesn’t get the chance to stop her before she’s leaning up and smacking a kiss to his lips, eager and sweet. He doesn’t pull away either, as selfish as it is. 

Y/N reads his mind, knows what he’s thinking. “Don’t care if I get a bloody cold. You’re worth it.” 

“God, I fucking love you.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

[hunny-beann]

I am literally having the worst day ever, do you think you could write some insanely fluffy Dream for me? I'm talking tooth rotting levels of fluff here.

Rest Now, Wife, Mine

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! Thanks a ton for the adorable request, I had a lot of fun with it and really hope it helps make your day feel a bit better <3

Synopsis: Morpheus' wife finds their bed far too lonely without him in it, and seeks out his presence to remedy this so she may finally succumb to slumber for the evening.

Thankfully, he is all too happy to oblige.

Warnings: None! Just pure and unbridled fluff :)

Word Count: 1,298

Her steps are silent and her pace slow as she approaches the familiar throne room, sensing even from outside of its walls that it is as close to empty as it is going to get for the evening.

That said, as close to empty as possible for the throne room of an Endless such as Dream was not nearly as empty as one might think, with it being a rarity that he not be found there.

She fights back a shiver as she steps across the threshold, her bare feet suddenly far colder than before, and her majority uncovered shoulders beginning to undergo horripilation at the seemingly inexplicable shift in temperature.

That said, being easy to explain was not a rule that the Dreaming followed, so this was nothing new, and certainly nothing unexpected.

Though, the sudden voice that split the once heavy silence in twain on the other hand, was.

"And what could possibly have you awake at such an hour, dear wife?"

The voice asked quietly, laced with both amusement and even a twinge of concern that had the wife in question smiling softly in spite of her best efforts to not appear excited at the mere sound of her love's voice.

Oh, but she had never been that strong, had she?

He had her wrapped around his finger just as he did the entire realm that he ruled, though he notably reserved the one with the ring for her and her alone.

She padded up toward his throne quietly, not willing to answer his question until she was close enough that her voice might not reverberate so loudly off of the palace walls.

Some words, she had decided long ago, were for her husband and her husband alone.

Upon her eager approach, the Lord of Dreams could not help but raise one of the corners of his mouth at the mere sight of her, holding his hand out at her nearness to guide her to stand before his crossed legs as he reached gently to take her other in his own as well, making a mental note of how chilled her extremities felt due to the cool night air of his throne room.

He watched as she slackened slightly at his familiar touch, her body always so happy to find him near in a way never ceased to have his heart all but melting at her feet.

What a disastrous little thing she was, truly.

He could never love another.

As her form relaxed at the feeling of his hands on hers, so loving in spite of the power that they held, she could not help but yawn softly, eyes growing teary as her ease allowed the weight of the day to truly set in.

Her dearest Dream Lord smirked up at her, his brow raised knowingly and his eyes twinkling as he watched her fight off the eternally tempting wiles of sleep.

What a sweet little thing, so helpless in her battles against her own biology that it was entirely too amusing to ignore, and always far too entertaining to neglect to bear witness to.

"You are tired, my dear."

The Lord of Dreams stated matter of factly, tugging his beloved closer using his soft grip on her hands so he could properly brush some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture which caused her eyelids to flutter closed briefly before they snapped open once more, her fight against herself not yet over in her eyes (though Dream could see clearly in the way that she swayed on her own two feet that there was already an obvious victor).

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head,

"You need to rest, sweet stardust. Let me bring you back to the bedroom."

He spoke gently, rising to guide her back to their soft and familiar bed only to halt when he heard her reply.

"No, I don't want to go back, you're just going to leave once you think I'm tired enough not to follow."

The Dream Lord faltered upon hearing this, raising a questioning brow in response before lowering himself down upon his throne once more, though this time he pulled his wife right along with him, sitting her on his lap in order to get a better look at her exhausted expression.

He frowned.

"Have you been staying awake on purpose, my love? Lying in wait for me as you promised you would not do?"

She shook her head, but he could see the way that the blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to explain, embarrassed to admit the things that she had to in order to quell his worries of any intentional harm having been done.

"No, of course not, I just..."

The Lord of Dreams hummed and brought one hand to her back, rubbing up and down along her spine and feeling her lean against him unintentionally in response, her bones heavy and all too prepared to sink into whatever comfort they could find.

"You just what, dearest?"

He urged, causing his lover to nod blearily in response, slowly coming back to reality again.

"I just find that sometimes I cannot bear to sleep alone, that the bed feels far too wide and empty without you in it."

Dream fought back a slight smile upon hearing this, feeling more than a little bit proud to know that his wife could rely upon him enough to truly need him so (though he was notably unhappy to hear that this was causing her any amount of unnecessary strife).

"And is tonight one of those nights, beloved?"

He asked, watching as she nodded, her head lolling slightly upon her neck as her overworked muscles struggled to remain in control over her all too tired body and mind.

"Poor thing,"

Dream all but purred in response, adjusting his love upon his lap until she was leaning against him, breaths warm on his neck and body seeming to grow heavier by the second as the feeling of his familiar closeness drove her into a type of ease that was felt only at a lover's closeness.

"That will certainly have to be remedied, won't it?"

He murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response, nuzzling closer with a nod as he gathered his coat that had been hanging on the back of the dais behind him with just one hand, draping it over her body and pressing a soft kiss against her head as he felt her begin to drift off into a much needed and far too well deserved slumber.

"Rest now, wife, mine."

He said softly, feeling his dearest love smile gently against his skin at his familiar words and the use of his favorite (and almost sickeningly sweet) nickname for her,

"I will see to it that no one interrupts you as you do."

If she had been more awake, perhaps the woman would have rolled her eyes or even offered a sarcastic retort in response to her husband's dramatics, but instead she simply nudged herself closer, pressing a gentle kiss against the pale flesh of his neck before she drifted off for the very first time that night, feeling truly safe in the arms of her most adoring love.

And when morning arrived, and the throne room became far less uninhabited, the two of them made for quite a sight, indeed.

After all, who would have thought that the Lord of Dreams might choose to sleep simply to live life as his dear wife did, his cheek pressed gently against her head and his arms wrapped around her as slumber found them both, pulling them closer together, ever still, in the very same way that they belonged now, and always would for the remainder of eternity, and perhaps even beyond that.

ao3 link

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus x y/n #sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fic #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x you #morpheus x f!reader #sandman x female reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman fic #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic #morpheus x wife #the sandman fluff

[bedsyandco]

age is just a number ☆ quinn hughes

note: Ahhh! I love writing Quinn so much😭 this was written in 20 minutes, i'll edit it later, i just really wanted to post it cause I have 0 patience and self control

requested: yes

summary: luke bsf x Quinn hughes. 4 year age gap. After some comments were made by Quinn's brothers, you get a little insecure in your relationship and Quinn has to reassure you

You and Quinn had been dating a few months now. sneaking around behind everyone's backs including Luke. Your best friend and Quinn's youngest brother.

The four of you were sitting in the living room at the lake house, watching some movie. Jack and Luke were chirping Quinn about some actress that he used to have a crush on. Going on and on about how he had a thing for older women because he was such a mommas boy.

You laughed along at first, always finding it so endearing to watch the brothers bicker back and forth. Even though you've been around to witness it for quite a few years now...it never got old.Your smile quickly faded when Jack started making comments about how all Quinn's relationships with younger women has failed, and that he should go for someone older this time, cause it doesn't seem like the younger girls can handle him.

You know you shouldn't let these comments bother you. It wasn't that serious and it wasn't directed towards you, but it was one of your, if not the biggest insecurity you had when it came to your relationship with Quinn. Being four years younger than him. Not being enough to keep him interested. These comments from two people who probably knew him the best, didn't do anything to reassure you.

"I'll be right back," you whisper, avoiding Quinn's eyes as you make your way to the bathroom.

A few minutes later there's a soft knock on the door and Quinn enters, shutting the door behind him and coming over to where you're standing in front of the sink. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder softly.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" he asks you softly

"Nothing," you mumble and he puts his hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him and pushing you against the counter.

"Don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know everything's not okay and even if I didnt this pout is enough to tell me there's something wrong." Quinn says, rubbing circles on your hip and tracing your lips with the thumb of his other hand.

"Do you think I'm too young for you?" the words slip out before you can stop them and Quinn sighs, knowing his brother's comments was the cause of this.

"Age is just a number baby," Quinn says teasingly and you sigh.

"Quinn I'm being serious," you retort, grabbing both of his hands and holding them in yours, the way they were caressing you becoming a little too distracting.

"So am I. I don't care if you're 4 years younger or 4 years older or if you were born the exact same day I was. It doesn't change the fact that you're perfect for me. You know how Jack is, especially if he's been drinking, he can't keep his mouth shut. Especially if there's an opportunity to chrip me about something. If they knew that we were together, he would be more careful about making remarks like that." Quinn says and you bite the inside of your cheek, knowing he was right.

"I'm not ready to tell Luke yet." you say and Quinn nods, expecting that response from you.

"The longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be." Quinn replies and you look down, not wanting to argue about this. again.

Quinn sighs softly before taking his hand out of yours and cupping your face between his palms, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"God it's torture seeing you all day and not being able to touch you. Kiss you." he says wrapping his arms around your waist and just hugging you for a few minutes. You smile a bit, thinking that this is exactly why he was nicknamed "huggy bear". Your guy loves hugging.

"I'll sneak into your room tonight. If you think a young girl like me can handle you," you quip and Quinn chuckles, knowing you're not gonna let that go for a while.

"I think you can handle me just fine baby" Quinn smirks, slapping your ass as you walk past him, and out the door.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ 📂 bedsyandco works! #⇢ ˗ˏˋ 📜 cam's fics #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic

[writtenfangirl]

Madness

I wrote this so long ago and then abandoned it because I didn’t know if the ending was satisfactory or not. I thought it would have a greater plot as well but when I couldn’t find it, I was dissatisfied until I reread it and realized the prose was too good not to publish.

Fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint hard enough.

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful, if Benedict was being perfectly honest with himself. Not the kind of beauty that had him picking up a paint brush and painstakingly striking an easel with lovely swirls of color but the kind of beauty that distracted him, made him brood in a dim corner of the room, watching the little twists of her mouth and the subtle way she arched a brow. Beauty to the point of distraction, like spending hours watching shooting stars dash across the night sky, not realizing as dawn approached on the horizon.

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

How was he meant to live, to exist and breathe, to witness such great beauty and yet have none of the capacity, the right, to keep it?

Just a glance from her, a single curve of her lips, and Benedict could feel his faith in God strengthening as easily as he could deny the Lord’s existence. Only a benevolent God could create such ecstatic beauty and yet no benevolent God could exist in this world if Benedict had to bear the cruelty of Y/N’s indifference.

Maddening.

He sighed, the sound bereft as he continued to watch her charm the eligible men of the ton. She had a veritable cabal of men gathered around her and if any other debutant had been in her position, they surely would have been overwhelmed by now.

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

With her head held high and her smile demure, she directed the men as easily as if she was holding court. A slight clearing of the throat and already, someone had a glass of lemonade in their hand while a flap of her hand would have the men falling over themselves in an attempt to get her a chair.

A queen holding court, indeed.

Benedict rolled his eyes at the man to her right, who practically shoved at the man on his left in order to catch Y/N’s attention. Not that it really mattered though, especially not when Y/N’s attention was focused on Benedict.

Even from across the room, the tension between them felt palpable. Exhilarating. It always had been with Y/N. Thick and smooth, the connection between them as tangible as their own beating hearts. Just a shared look between them and the world fell silent, the edges of his vision practically darkening at the edges until he saw only her.

Beautiful. Even as her face contorted with hurt for the briefest of seconds, her eyes pulling away from him and returning to the crowd of men that surrounded her.

Benedict gritted his teeth, the only sign of annoyance he let himself show.

“I see you are not quite so enamored with our diamond.”

Benedict’s head whipped to the left, finding Lady Danbury watching him with those shrewd eyes of hers. The old crone had her cane gripped tightly in her hands and Benedict fought his grimace at the phantom pain that shot up from his ankles. The dowager countess had a terrible habit of whacking gentlemen she didn’t like with that sturdy cane of hers and Benedict had felt the brunt of that pain far too many times for his liking.

Still, as a gentleman, he couldn’t very well ignore the woman. It would have been terribly rude of him to and it went against every fiber of the etiquette that had been drilled to him as a child.

He spared Y/N another glance before he spoke. “You think all those men enamored with her?”

“I think they think themselves enamored by her,” Lady Danbury said. “She is quite a beauty and accomplished too, I hear. Are you acquainted with the young lady?”

He had been, when he was young. As recently as a few months ago, Benedict had counted Y/N as one of his dearest friends but with everything that transpired between them…

“We are familiar with one another.”

Lady Danbury arched a brow, directing her attention back to Y/N. She was animatedly speaking with Anthony and Colin, the only time the entire evening where her smile didn’t seem a little bit forced. “Your brothers seem friendly with her. Why aren’t you?”

Because he was a stupid, bloody, idiot who didn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut, that’s why.

But his pride would never let him say that, especially not in front of Lady Danbury. “We are familiar with each other.” He repeated, voice tight.

Lady Danbury’s eyes flickered. “I seem to recall your mother telling me about how you and the Lady Y/N were thick as thieves not so long ago.”

Bloody hell, the old crone was relentless. He didn’t want to talk about his and Y/N’s falling out, especially not with her.

He suddenly whirled, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, I believe I hear someone calling me.”

No one was calling him but not even his impeccable manners could make him stay.

Lady Danbury harrumphed. “I may be old, boy, but I am not deaf.”

“Definitely hear someone calling me.” Benedict even cupped a hand, placing it on the side of his mouth before he yelled a quick, “I’ll be right there!” He turned back to Lady Danbury, who was looking at him as if she knew his claims were a lie. “Lady Danbury, if you’ll excuse me.”

The dowager countess simply gave Benedict a knowing look yet let him go.

He ducked into the crowd towards… bloody hell he couldn’t find anyone he would rather talk to. His brothers were still off speaking with Y/N and he didn’t feel like speaking with his mother, who would likely hound him about his fight with Y/N. Which left the last person of their party, Eloise. A quick scan of the room revealed his sister in the other side of the room, conspiratorially whispering to her best friend, Penelope Featherington.

He zoomed towards them, turning his back on Y/N and Lady Danbury.

Eloise caught his eye as he approached and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Why do you look as if you’re expecting me to bail you out of a horrible situation.”

“Can’t I see my favorite sister with joy in my face without being suspected of ill intent?”Benedict said with a grin before bowing to Penelope, who returned the gesture with her own curtsy.

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

Eloise rolled her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

“To ask you why you’re sulking in a corner instead of dancing despite—“ he pulled at the dance card in her wrist, every single line filled with names that were unfamiliar to him. “Did you put fake names in your dance card?”

Eloise snatched her wrist back. “Yes. I thought that with Y/N grabbing the attention of so many of the gentlemen, I would be spared the embarrassment of having to entertain any gentlemen tonight. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

Benedict turned to Penelope. “How many approached her?”

“Six,” Penelope smirked, “and those six quickly turned right back around.”

“Well with a full dance card, I’m not at all surprised.”

Eloise rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Spare me the lecture, brother. I’m sure I’ll hear enough from mother tonight.”

“She caught you?”

“After Eloise turned down the sixth one, Lady Violet began to suspect,” Penelope explained.

Benedict grinned. “When have you known me to lecture you?”

She gave him a saccharine smile, the kind that Benedict always knew would end with her barbed words. “Aren’t you meant to be fawning over Y/N? You’d done it most of our life.”

He bristled at her words.

Penelope shot them a curious look. “You never told me you were acquainted with the lady?”

“Hadn’t I?” Eloise frowned. “Lady Y/L/N’s family and ours have been acquainted for ages. Of course, she rarely ever came to London and if it hadn’t been for her father’s recent passing she wouldn’t have had a season at all. Mama had held hope that perhaps one of my dear brothers would begin to take some responsibility and marry her.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper that was so loud, it still reached Benedict’s ears. “Personally, I always thought Benedict would offer. He and Y/N had a special bond growing up. Even Daphne thinks so.”

Benedict had never hit a woman before but perhaps, just this once, excuses could be made for one’s sisters.

“So, well acquainted then,” Penelope said with a slight smile.

“I do recall Benedict pining after Y/N for years,” Eloise mused, uncaring as Benedict’s mood soured. “You never did tell me why it is you suddenly became estranged”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” He grumbled.

Eloise batted eyes innocently. “Irritable today, aren’t you, brother? Could it possibly be because of the cadre of men that hound every one of Y/N’s footsteps?”

“I have changed my mind. Francesca is now my favorite sister.”

“I love you too, Benedict,” she all but grinned.

He turned his attention back to Y/N, who, to his surprise, had taken her leave.

“She’s in the garden, if you wish to speak to her,” Eloise said, noting his wandering eyes and nodding towards the open veranda at the side.

“What gave you the impression that I would like to speak to her?”

Eloise simply rolled her eyes before tugging Penelope’s arm. “With Y/N taking her respite, I imagine there will be a sudden influx of gentlemen who would like to dance. Let us make ourselves scarce.” And she pulled Penelope along, the red head offering Benedict an apologetic look.

He glanced at the crowd once again before letting his feet carry him through the veranda and out towards the garden. There were still many people milling about outside that granted them protection from scandal but it was much more intimate than the loud din of the ballroom.

The night was cool, the spring air serene compared to the humidity of the ballroom.

He spied Y/N, her back turned against the door. Upon hearing his approach, she sighed. “Good sir, if you did not understand me, I wish to be al—“ she turned and her words died at her lips at the sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”

She looked even lovelier up close. She always did. Whether dressed in a simple frock with her long hair flowing down her back or dressed ornately with jewels adorning her, she always looked lovelier up close.

“What do you want, Benedict,” Y/N said, dropping that societal mask she employed inside.

“To apologize.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to apologize for. You asked for my hand under false pretenses, I rejected you. End of story.“

“Under false pretenses?” He echoed, his own tone turning sharp. “You think my proposal to be insincere? Is that why you rejected me?”

“I did not think it insincere, I knew it to be insincere. I heard you and the Lady Violet discussing me. I heard when you declared your intention to ask for my hand in marriage simply because she had asked you to.”

Oh.

Oh.

He remembered then, the conversation he had with his mother right before he proposed.

“Propose to her,” Violet had urged just as breakfast had been served, with only Benedict and Violet dining.

“I am not even courting her, mama,” he replied exasperatedly. It had been far too early in the morning to entertain his mother’s insistence on seeing him wed to Y/N. She’d pestered him about it in one form or another even before the Y/L/Ns had come to visit the Bridgertons and Benedict knew she would not stop until he and Y/N were formally engaged.

But Y/N had just ended her mourning period for her father. And though societal mandates dictated that it was perfectly reasonable for Benedict to ask for her hand in marriage, he knew how deeply she mourned the man, especially since his death had placed her in such a precarious position. The late patriarch of the Y/L/N family had been fond of his only child, even if she had been born a girl. And Y/N had loved him, even if his death left her and her mother saddled with financial debt despite coming from the longest line of barony in England.

“What does it matter that you are not courting?” Violet demanded. “You have known her since you were both children. You’ve been courting her all your life.”

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

“What is it that you do not like about her?” She insisted. “She is beautiful and accomplished and you have known each other your whole lives. Any young man would be fortunate to be bound to her in marriage.”

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

“Then why do you refuse to ask her for her hand in marriage? Doing so would spare her a season in London and limit their financial troubles.” And then she had gasped in indignation. “Or is their financial troubles the very reason why you refuse? I never raised you to be avaricious!”

Bloody hell. “I am not avaricious, mother. I do not care about her dowry or lack thereof!”

“Then what is it? Do not tell me it is because you do not love her. I have seen the way you look at her.”

Benedict had eyed his fork, had wondered if perhaps, it would be a better to shove it in his ears than listen to his mother’s hullabaloo.

Instead he took a scone, spreading a generous layer of clotted cream and jam so his hands had something to do rather than maim himself.

“And how is it I look at her, mother?” He drawled.

“The same way your father used to look at me.”

At that he had paused, scone half-raised to his mouth. He hadn’t known what to say anymore. Mentions of his own father had always been capable of silencing his mind.

Finally, he had decided on telling her the truth, that his mother may finally stop pestering him.

“Asking Y/N for her hand in marriage had always been the plan, mother,” Benedict relented. “I was simply waiting for the perfect moment.”

Violet smiled at her son kindly. “There are no such thing as perfect moments, dearest. Only moments that can be made perfect. And whether you ask her later or tomorrow or next week, that moment will be perfect by virtue of you asking.”

She was right, of course. Violet Bridgerton was so rarely incorrect especially in matters of the heart and love.

Benedict had given her a smile, and said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Well, since you so graciously asked me to, I shall propose to the Lady Y/N, if only to make you happy.”

That must have been what Y/N heard. Not the whole story but the end, when Benedict had teased his mother.

Now he was convinced that God existed and that he must be cruel. Only the machinations of a cruel God could have lined up the timing perfectly.

Y/N’s eyes flickered as she regarded him. “I do not wish to bind you in marriage with someone you do not hold any affection for. You have fulfilled your promise to your mother and have asked for my hand. I rejected you. We no longer have any obligations with one another. Good night.” She made a move to pass him, to walk back to the ballroom to her gaggle of men but Benedict’s hand shot up, gripping her arm and keeping her to him.

His hands were gloved and even Y/N’s arms were sheathed in silk. And though he had never felt gloves to be particularly offensive, he wished to burn the ones that covered their hands. If only so he could feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The heady scent of her perfume wafted through his senses. She smelled divine, like walking through a garden of roses under the cover of moonlight as the stars twinkled above his head. Utterly mouthwatering, and capable of driving even the sanest of men into insanity. The scent of distraction.

Always so distracting.

Benedict forced his mouth to speak before his brain could forget the words he needed to say. “Do you think so little of me? Capable of such cruelty especially when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s brows met, a flash of pain in her eyes and then it was gone. “It is the opposite, really. I think the world of you, Benedict. Only a gentleman would offer to marry a girl he has no obligations to simply because of her precarious position in life. You are an honorable man and any woman would be lucky to call you their husband. It is why I cannot accept your proposal, not when you do not love me. Not when there is no one on this world more deserving of love than you.”

Benedict frowned at her. “Why do you continue to insist that I do not love you?”

“Because you do not!” She pulled away from him, wrenching her hand from his grasp. Her eyes were pure anguish as she looked at him and the very sight of her pain had him staggering back. “If you truly held any affection for me, I would know. I have studied you all our lives, Benedict. And in all the time we shared together, you had never shown any affection for me beyond that of a friend. Your proposal hurt, Benedict. I have loved you in every way a man could be loved for so long and for you to ask for my hand in marriage out of pity—“ She choked, eyes widening as if she didn’t mean to say the things she’d said.

“You love me?” He echoed, heart beating quickly in his chest. He wondered, briefly, if his fast beating heart marks the day he really lived. If Y/N’s confession had been the reason he truly felt alive for the first time in his life.

Her face crumpled in pain as she stepped back. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said those things. Please take your leave, Benedict. That I may salvage whatever scraps of my dignity is left.”

But Benedict did no such thing.

Instead he took her hands and lowered himself into a kneel, setting his eyes upon her. The arching light of the manor spilled over the veranda casted her in a soft glow that took his very breath away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm and whatever pain she held there was washed away by her surprise. “Benedict, what are you doing?”

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

But he held firm, his determination cementing his knees to the ground. “Forgive me, Y/N, for my grave transgressions against you. That you had ever lived your life doubting my affections for you, or wondering if I cared for you as more than a friend are sins I will carry with me to my last breath. It will be my great shame that I had not made it abundantly clear that I love you. Because I do love you. Most ardently.”

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

“You are right. It is madness. The way I feel for you would drive the sanest of people into lunacy. But if loving you is madness then I don’t ever wish to be sane.”

Her eyes gleamed silver with unshed tears that threatened to fall from her pretty eyes. “B-But that morning, the day you proposed—“

“I did not propose to you out of pity for you, I did it out of pity for me. I needed to put myself out of my misery and finally marry the only girl I ever had the privilege of falling in love with rather than continue pining after you in secret.”

She let out a a laugh through her tears, the sound like bells chiming during a storm. Light and beautiful despite the pouring rain that threatened to drown it out. “Ask me again.”

His heart leapt to his throat, pounding so quickly he struggled to get the words out. But they came nonetheless, the words clear and betraying none of his anxiety. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #king george #violet bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton oneshot #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton oneshot #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton one shot #bridgerton season 2 #bridgerton season 1 #bridgerton series #lady danbury #regency era fic #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #gregory bridgerton

[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

revolution 0

boy genius (the record) masterlist | masterlist

stepmother!wanda x fem!reader

if it isn't love, then what the fuck is it?

18+: stepcest, age gap, jealous and possessive wanda, smut; dubcon, oral to a strap, brief use of a gag, strap use (r!receiving), face riding, oral, mommy kink, choking, degradation, praise | word count: 1.7k

“Are you going somewhere?” Wanda spoke from your doorway, making you jump slightly at her sudden appearance and you glanced back at her through the mirror where you were getting ready. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, Natasha’s taking me out,” you answered, the sight of her tightening grasp on the doorframe obstructed from your view. 

“On a date?”

“Yeah. Well, we’re going for drinks, so,” you shrugged, turning round to face her and her relenting stare. Her eyes looked at you darkly, glinting with a jealousy you couldn’t place. She’d not yet had to witness someone attempting to take claim of what was hers but she wasn’t enjoying it. 

She hummed a response, turning on her heel for a quick getaway before you could say anything else and you watched after her, missing the angered mumbles beneath her breath.

She occupied herself as best she could, bearing little mind to the sharp actions she carried out, letting doors swing closed heavily behind her and crockery clatter as she piled it high in kitchen cupboards. Her face was hot with a jealous fury she couldn’t shake, a pit swarming in her stomach with each step she took back upstairs to your room. 

She didn’t bother to knock, smirking darkly at your small flinch at the door hitting into the wall. You looked so pretty, her little angel all dolled up and ready for your suitor. She’d do anything to keep the sight all to herself. 

“Come here,” she muttered, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, beckoning you over with a manicured finger. 

“Wanda, I don’t have time for-”

“I said come over here.” 

There was no room left for argument and you couldn’t deny the spark that always lights at the husk of her commanding voice. You hate how pliable you become at just a darkened look from your stepmother, how she knew she could mold you like a pliable toy, pulling you towards her until you were right in front of her. 

But despite each and every sensible part of you that tries to resist her, you’re always lulled in by her dug-in claws. 

You didn’t resist when she pulled you onto her lap, ignoring the smirk against your lips - she knew she could get you to do whatever she wanted. When she kissed you, you knew it’d smudge the lip gloss you’d applied but it was pushed into the depths of your mind in favour of the all-consuming hold she had on your waist, pulling you closer until your knees were planted on either side of her. 

Wanda’s tongue pushed against yours and her teeth pulled at your bottom lip; you shuddered beneath her touch when her hands crept beneath your skirt, inching higher until they met the material of your underwear. 

“Wanda stop - I can’t,” you breathed against her, finally becoming aware of the spell she had you under, the one you’d tried to escape since the day it started. You knew it was wrong and you so hoped to find something real, something with true feelings and a romantic love you ached for. “I have to go.”

She didn’t listen to your protests though, nudging your underwear down your legs with her free arm looped tightly around you to keep you close. Before you knew it, they were torn from your body and balled in her fist while she looked at you possessively, lips twitching into a smile at the sound of knuckles tapping against the front door. 

“On your knees. Now,” she spoke, pushing you away from her without a second glance at you when you reluctantly took your place. 

“Wanda, I need to-”

“You don’t need to do anything apart from wait for mommy to get back.”

“Nat’s here, let me go to her.” 

“Why? So you can go and act like a little slut?”

“So I can try and find someone to fall in love with - to have a relationship with.”

“I love you,” she uttered, sweet words dripping with a malice and accompanied with a sour look. 

“This isn’t love, Wanda.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” 

She halted any words you tried to muster with your underwear being harshly pushed past your lips and you wished you’d been able to hide the whimper at the back of your throat because, of course, she huffed a laugh knowing you were wrapped around her little finger. 

You stayed where she left you, on your knees and silent; you listened to her retreating footsteps and the excuse of you coming down with an illness to the woman at the door.

She made you wait, taking her time before she sauntered back into the room with a prominent bulge in her jeans you knew wasn’t there before. 

You didn’t speak any words you knew she didn’t want to hear when she pulled the material from your mouth and accepted the cock she swiped across your lips instead. You slackened your jaw at the rough hold she took of your hair, accepting her strap she fucked into your mouth peering down at you dominantly whilst it hit the back of your throat. 

She watched pleasurably as your eyes began to water at her harsh actions, digging her nails into your scalp to pull you into her, bobbing your head to cover her cock with your spit. 

“You’re just a filthy whore, aren’t you?” she murmured. “So fucking desperate for your mommy’s cock.” 

You could only nod with any space in your mind taken up completely by her. If there’s one thing the older woman’s good at, it’s turning your mind into a haze of her and only her. 

She reveled in the sight of her strap when she pulled it away, shining with your saliva, lips wet and begging to be taken by her again. She didn’t let you catch your breath before she pushed her own lips into yours and guided you backward until your head was on your pillows and her body was atop yours. 

Her hold on you was addictive. You held onto her hips, silently begging for the intrusion of the cock that teasingly hit against your cunt with each subtle move she made. 

“If you want it, you’re gonna have to beg for it, honey,” she murmured, sitting up onto her knees as she looked down at your smudged makeup. In a deceiving act of gentleness, she cupped your jaw with a stroke of your thumb over your cheek, trailing downwards to take ahold of your neck with a squeeze, her nails leaving impressions in the skin. 

“Please, mommy,” you choked out, peering up with desperate eyes. 

“Apologise,” she stated through clenched teeth. “Tell me you’re sorry for being a slut just because mommy wasn’t giving you enough attention.”

“I’m sorry, Wanda. I’m sorry, please, I need you,” each word was tinted with a desperate plea. “I only want you.”

You admired the smile of success she sported at your confession, rewarding you with the head of her dick stretching you out as she pushed into your soaked cunt. She filled your hole slowly, listening to the way you sighed at each inch she buried into you, watching herself disappear into you with your skirt pushed up to your hips. 

She let you get used to the feeling, allowing you to pull her shirt over her head as she removed yours. Undressing one another until bare chests were flush together whilst she kissed you with heated fervour, beginning a steady pace with the rutting of her hips. Despite the kiss that showed affection, her thrusts reached deep within you, harsh and rough with the sound of skin hitting skin. 

Each stroke of her hips pulled sounds from you that she adored, a pleasure coursing through both of you. Her lips trailed over your neck with bites of her teeth sinking into the flesh, leaving marks scattered behind which she’ll be sure to admire until they fade. You grabbed at Wanda’s back to keep her close, legs wrapped around her waist to pull her into you. 

None of her actions were soft, not the way her teeth pulled at your nipple nor the grip she had on your throat. With each entrancing feeling she lay upon your body, the pleasure within you built, and the thumb she rubbed over your clit pulled you to the precipice of the edge. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Show me I’m the only one who could ever make you feel this good.”

Her voice was rasped and deep and her chest leaned into the touch of your hands to her breasts, the toying of her nipples between your finger and thumb. The world was just a blur when it came to Wanda, she had a talent for making you forget everything else during the throes of pleasure. 

You came with incoherent moans of her name, soaking the cock that rode you through your high with pushes into your pussy, arching your torso into the musing scraping of her nails as she watched you catch your breath. 

You only watched her with heavy breaths falling past your parted lips as she put her strap aside and climbed her way up your body, her eyes glancing down at you through her lashes. 

“Put that mouth to use,” she smirked. “You’ve got mommy all worked up.”

Your arms wrapped around her thighs as she lowered herself onto your face. You instantly licked through her folds to hear the moan she let out above you, humming at the taste of her arousal-coated cunt. 

She fucked herself onto your lips as they sucked at her aching clit, your tongue lapping through her slit with all the desperation to obey what she wanted - you needed to make her feel as good as she makes you feel. She fixed her eyes on yours and the sight only made you work harder; the way her lip was caught between her teeth and her hand that wasn’t tightly holding onto the headboard squeezed her breast, flicking her thumb over a hardened nipple. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re doin’ so good,” she breathed, punctuated with broken moans. Her skin was hot and flushed pink with her arousal and her body moved to chase her orgasm. You swallowed down each drop of her as you could when she came onto your tongue while her thighs trapped your head between them. 

When she pulled away she eyed the way your chin shone with her juices, the way your tongue darted out to clean your lips. 

“I hope you know I’m not done with you,” she uttered, taking a firm grip of your jaw. “And don’t even think about going on any dates ever again.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff #marvel fanfic

[dhampling]

both free gn!reader, 2.1k

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

-

you reject bhaal's greatest gift and pay with your life. to this, your horrified love bears witness.

word count: 2,105

a massive THANK YOU to @scarstothepast for sending this request my way - i hope it does your idea justice <3

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

-

Mutilation. 

Reduced to nothing but a flaccid gasp of your former self; a marionette in your father’s horrid hand.

Mangled beyond recognition. Bhaal’s rotten plaything. His prodigal children, both dead. 

Far past any conceivable beg for reconciliation. 

Naught but a smack as your carcass plummets to stone.

-

The Bhaalist temple is ripe, unsurprisingly. 

The smell of a weeping wound seeps from every porous surface. Infection in the mortar, decay in the miry ridges lining the floor; burning flesh amidst flame torches and wails in the middle distance akin to an abattoir. 

Yet, Astarion finds comfort there solely in your confidence. Your conviction. Your will to want for better, to reject your savage bloodline. The power you command over that innate desire to harm. 

You’ve prepared well for this encounter. You’re aware of the risks, you’ve scoped out the entrance to Orin’s rancid shrine; and you’ve gathered appropriate accomplices from your rooms in the Elfsong to assist you in rescuing the one of you held in her clutches.

He should be a little wary. A little skittish. Observant, always; but there should be a little rattle in his brain telling him to hold back from the rest of you. 

The self-preservation instinct developed over two centuries in captivity simply isn’t there.

He’s free, because of you. 

He wants to rip the windpipe from the changeling’s throat with his bare teeth. 

Stalk her chanting cultists from the shadowy ledges surrounding their sacrificial altar and shoot off innumerable Arrows of Many Targets at their vile heads. He - personally - wants to eviscerate any Bhaalist visage presented to you with brutal slash upon brutal slash until he is positively covered in putrid god-guts and wailing in victory.

A twirl of his dagger. The easy click of his disarm tools. A wink in your direction.

Astarion will save you the way you saved him.

He remembers the way you looked at him with the most hells-bent fury during the Ritual of Profane Ascension, ripped from your side and thrown aloft by Cazador’s wicked pact magic. The resolute wrath with which you slashed your way through the monstrosities between you. Pulling him from Cazador’s circle, his daggers returned; a rage so formidable in your eyes he almost wanted to sink to his knees and propose to you there and then. 

You wanted better for him. Better than perpetuating the vicious cycle of abuse starting all those centuries ago with Eravask the Forebear to his very own master.

Master.

He is better. 

He is capable of so much more than the brief wavering moment in that foulest of Dungeons, in which he wanted the most grossly depraved of powers for himself. Every single moment of agony, terror; torment, hunger - the way with which you so effusively confronted his paralysing fears and talked him from the brink; from becoming that very same monster in his moment of sheer dread.

You hop with a determined gait down the towering stairs to the walkway. Entrance in sight. Astarion stalks ahead and moves to disarm the trapped plates in your path.

The two of you have spoken about this moment many times, sequestered away in a corner in the Elfsong by candlelight. A bottle of Firewine and tears threatening to brim in your eyes.

You once were a master. Your freak of a demon butler cast in role seemingly as your very own Godey. You have no recollection of it, those you killed in your father’s name, nor how you did it; but the weight of those souls indeterminate in number is abject torture. There is no forgiveness for you. No hope, no conclusion. Just a wide and wavering path to redemption you can never be sure you’ll justly earn.

That awful, plagued creature you were. The night you softly awoke with Scleritas above you and that primal urge to kill the one closest to you through your whole adventure so far. Holding back. Warning him.

The way he sat and spoke with you, smoothed your hair as you bit furiously at his wrists and spat his name with such evil spite. Unafraid of you, no matter the threat. 

Two beasts in tandem.

-

Orin is horrifying in appearance. Pale, skin writhing with blue vein-like whips across her white flesh; armour of crimson jerky and eyes empty.

Lips smacking in wily delight. Bloodkin. Bloodkin. 

Astarion watches your confrontation prior to the conflict he knows is to come. He’ll get his moment to brutalise every single one of these sadists, but this is yours.

The ritual sacrifice is spared through your recollection of Bhaal’s terms - you were the one challenged, not your accomplice. 

These terms also mean your fight will be one on one. You versus her. 

Astarion’s face falls.

Fuck.

However, he takes solace in the fact that he’s come to know your expressions well through your adventures together. Your innate ability to stay one step ahead is what has carried you so far in the first place. 

She taunts you, yapping, pointing, aggrandizing; at one point even shifting into you. If the circumstances weren’t so dire he’d probably make a joke about what a fun evening could be had with such a skill. 

You remain stoic, mapping out the environment and taking stock of what you can use as leverage. He simply watches you with a mixture of trepidation and admiration resting uneasy in his gut.

"Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose."

The most grotesque monstrosity replaces Orin. The Slayer. 

Astarion watches on as the duel begins.

In light of having prior defeated the undead Visage of Myrkul, Orin alone isn’t a formidable enemy. Your battle-strengthened dexterity is unmatched and with each attempt the current favoured of Bhaal makes to injure you, you simply strengthen your position and hit her harder.

It’s almost enjoyable to watch the two of you dance.

While not easy, it certainly isn’t difficult to gain the upper hand with each attack you make. 

The Slayer is almost… clumsy?

Too large to aim her lunges with precision, you dodge her at most turns. Your party watches with baited breath, but small smiles begin to edge onto their weary faces.

The rabid dog and the acrobat. 

Each hit you strike weakens her substantially. While she does get some vantage on you and causes a little damage by the sacrificial altar, her limbs in this form are too spindly and make for stupidly easy targets to focus your attacks. 

Within minutes, the imposing figure is reduced to little but a pile of gore on the floor.

Among the foetid viscera that once was the changeling you immediately drop to search for her Netherstone-jewelled dagger. Bloodthirst. Hands heavy with still-warm organs as you retrieve your winnings, blood soaking every inch of exposed flesh on your arms. You throw your spoils to the side and hold the altar key to your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, startling you for the briefest moment.

Astarion.

“Gods. You idiot! You are positively deranged! You knew that would happen, didn’t you? Did you bring us along just to watch?!” He grins.

Your own smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You turn to embrace him fully. 

The rest of your party traipse across the tides of blood toward you.

“I had a feeling it might.”

You rest your head on his shoulder in the newborn silence of the temple, tossing the altar key in the vague direction of your party as your hands bloody his armour in a reverent grasp. 

“I love you. I just - I love you! You insane thing. You did it!” He laughs loudly, ecstatic.

You see your friends behind him, your eyes meeting theirs in a downcast stare. A nod of understanding.

“I love you.’

You sigh into his chest, splaying your fingers as if to hold more of him.

‘It’s not over yet.”

He pulls away and looks at you, lifting your head softly so your eyes meet his. His neck juts a little.

“Hm?”

His brow quirks inquisitively. The wail of victory depletes into a quivering hum.

-

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

The Visage of Bhaal is gone. 

Your flesh operates as little more than a bag of broken bones, skull cracked and limbs fractured almost beyond recognition. Eyes wide open but unmistakably dead.

He hears your two accomplices bicker in the background as the multiple Scrolls of Revivify retrieved from your pack fail to glow near your remains. They don’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. Their shouts are crisp in the silence of the temple. Brash. Disturbing. 

There should be more noise. There should be shouting, screaming, crying. Crowds of those you’ve saved should be here petitioning whatever God sickens of their stream of bitter tears to bring you back to them.

To him. 

He can’t take his eyes off your own. Empty.

If he’d gone through with the ritual, maybe he could have saved you. Turned you. Revived you as his and kept you safe from a fate like this for the rest of eternity.

You’d have despised him for it, but it’d be ok. You’d be awake. You’d be capable of feeling with which to despise him. 

No, he mutters. Not that. Not ever. 

He is better than that.

He shifts to sit cross legged next to your corpse as your accomplices’ shouting turns to unbridled wailing. Toys with your hair gently so as not to disturb the broken skull below the flesh and whispers to you softly.

“You silly thing. I know you’re still in there, aren’t you? I hope you know how much I love you.’

A quiet, heavy wracked sob.

‘You are so magnificent, little dove. So smart. You did so, so well. I am so very proud of you.”

He doesn’t notice Withers, not until he speaks.

-

You’re fuzzy as you stand.

He’s frozen on the floor, cross legged and round-eyed. Sharp ears pinned back. 

“No.” Astarion chokes.

Your eyes are heavy. They search for him in the blur and you stumble trying to feel for him.

“Astarion?’

Your companions are paralysed. 

The stages of grief begin to unravel. 

“Astar- Astarion, I can’t see. Where are you?” You sob, reaching out blindly in front of you to search for him in the fog. 

“Oh. Oh, my love -’

He looks up at you and blinks away a flood of tears as they threaten to spill. 

‘My love. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His feet carry his fraught body to you once again, mindless in their pursuit of you. You’re here. You’re warm, speaking; sobbing, and here. 

Name stricken from the archives. Pulled gently into his arms the second he stepped within reach and wrapped the tightest within them you ever have been.

Your party swaddles you in the biggest hug you’ve had in your life.

Astarion doesn’t let go when they do. He buries one hand in your hair, keeps one tightly around your waist. Shakes with sobs.

“You scared me.” He mumbles, letting out a small laugh into the crook of your neck.

You neglect to mention the patch of snot and fresh wet tears now adorning his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, playing with a lock of your hair. 

“No. I am. I am so, so sorry.”

“Seeing you like that ruined me, you know.’ He smiles shakily. 

You sob once more. 

‘I wondered why the whole of Toril wasn’t screaming for you at the moment of your death.’

He moves his head to look at you. Brings his forehead to yours. Kisses you so gently that you wonder if his lips have always felt this soft and his forlorn eyes glisten. Alive and in the arms of your lover.

‘They gave me nothing. Two hundred years of nothing. Useless wretches.’ He laughs and rolls his teary eyes. Sniffs. You smile at him with the dopiest eyes - you think - that have ever existed across the Sword Coast.

‘But the Gods listened to me this time because they knew.’

Astarion coughs. 

He smells like home - warm, spiced; familiar. Your eyes meet his now, his grasp on you still firm.  

‘You defied your father. You resisted your cruel destiny.’

Another kiss.

‘And now we’re both free.” He whispers.

Time stops for a few precious moments, a silent promise. 

No more. 

#astarion x reader #angst with a happy ending #my writing #one shot #request #requests open #gn reader #astarion x dark urge #durge

[pickingupmymercedes]

Not now, not ever - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

summary: Having her pressed to him brought back how important she's been to keep him grounded.

warnings: Angst, Mercedes 2024, Monza 21'.

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Hello everyone, I felt like angsty was in order. Sorry to bring that accident 😶, but yeah, hope you guys enjoy it!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Defeated and exhausted, that was Lewis scotched in his airplane seat with you tangled in his arms, asleep beside him. The flight back to the UK after a disastrous Japanese Grand Prix held all the weight of the race, the frustration of the poor performance, and the uncertainty of his future with Mercedes weighing heavily on him.

Gently cradling you in his arms, Lewis pressed his face into your hair, breathing in your scent, finding solace in the familiarity and warmth of your presence. His fingers lightly traced the contours of your back, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest. Holding you like this; he felt a fleeting moment of peace amidst the storm of emotions and uncertainties that surrounded him. He whispered softly, barely audible above the hum of the airplane engine, " Thank you for always being there for me, even when I'm at my lowest”

He held you close, drawing comfort from your presence, knowing that whatever happened, you had been through much worse and had always stood strong together. As he looked down to your sleeping figure, the scene brought back a nagging memory on repeat, a night back in 2021, when you had comforted him after a nightmare. Now, as much as back then, you were his anchor, his safe haven amidst the chaos and uncertainty.

You were jolted awake when his entire body lurched, causing him to drop you abruptly onto the mattress. His breathing was rapid, coming out in sharp puffs as he hid his face in his hands, his shoulders tense under your arms as you held him from behind. You waited patiently, holding him until his breathing began to even out. Eventually, he turned to you, fear evident in his eyes. Without a word, you pulled him into your embrace, running your fingers through his braids and soothing the tension in his arms.

You had never seen that happen to him – that nightmarish episode that left a haunting impression. It had been two days from the crash with Verstappen in Monza. You'd traveled with him to NYC under the pretense of having an important. No one knew about the two of you yet. A few stolen moments here and there, and nights tangled in each other were all you had. He returned to his penthouse almost at dawn after the Met Gala, quietly ushering you from the bedroom you were occupying to his own bed. His friends, drunk from the after party, were oblivious to the fact that your supposed meeting was just a cover-up. The real reason you were there was that you couldn't bear to be apart from him after that crash.

Hours seemed to pass without either of you uttering a single word. The mere press of each other’s bodies was enough to ground you both. By the time Daniel knocked on the door to let him know they were headed out and assumed you hadn’t spent the night, it was well past noon. Little did he know, you had been there the whole time and would continue to be there for the rest of the day.

Lewis had witnessed similar episodes with you, most often triggered by situations related to Ayrton. Sometimes it manifested as restlessness, with you tossing and turning in bed. But on other occasions, it was far more severe. You'd wake up cold, tears streaming down your face, a scream caught in your throat, and a deafening ringing in your ears.

When these episodes occurred, Lewis knew exactly what to do. He would hold you tightly, his fingers lightly tracing your skin and scalp, while he repeated reassuring words over and over. And when you finally became aware of your surroundings, he'd listen attentively as you spoke about whatever had triggered the nightmare, comforting you until you fell back asleep in his arms.

As the sun began to set, casting a hauntingly beautiful golden hue through the penthouse windows, you went to find some food, Lewis hot on your feet, taking any opportunity to find himself wrapped in your arms. His arms securely around you, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back as you leaned into him even while you waited for the stove to warm up the takeout from the previous night. The events of the day had left both of you emotionally drained, the scars of the past resurfacing with a vengeance.

The weight of the nightmare and fear of the unknown had taken its toll on both of you. The emotional strain was palpable, the shadows of past traumas lingering in the corners of your minds, waiting to strike when least expected. "You don't have to go through this alone, you know," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine concern. "I'm always here for you, no matter what."

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude, love, and pain. "And I'm here for you" his voice softly reassuring you “Always."

Lewis smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He pulled you closer to him, cherishing the moment of fragile peace and understanding between you. The bond you shared was unique, built on trust, understanding, and unconditional love. Despite the challenges and nightmares that sometimes haunted your nights, the love and support you provided each other were unwavering.

As night fell, Lewis led you back to the bedroom, ensuring you were comfortable and safe before joining you in bed. He held you close, his presence a constant source of comfort and reassurance. You drifted off to sleep, protected and loved in the arms that secured you so tightly.

Lewis remained awake; his gaze fixed on your peaceful sleeping face. The haunting memories of the accident with Verstappen in Monza played in his mind, and a shiver ran down his spine as he thought about how close it had come to being his end.

His thoughts were consumed by the accident, the fear of losing you, and the nightmares that had been haunting both of you. The emotional strain was palpable, and tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to watch you sleep, his mind tormented by the events of the past and the shadows of the traumas you both had endured.

The room was silent except for the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing. Lewis leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, his heart aching with love and fear. He whispered words of love and reassurance, hoping that somehow, you could feel his presence and know that he would always be there for you.

He tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer as if trying to protect you from the world and the nightmares. His mind was filled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future pressing down on him.

"We almost lost it all," he whispered to himself, his voice choked with emotion. "Gosh, I can't lose you, not now, not ever."

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[kairiscorner]

OKOK BUT

Jealous!Miguel stealing your attention only because you told Ben Reilly he has nice muscles 😭

You know that dude, when he's jealous, makes it clear that you only belong to his *wink wink*

AGHHHHHHH i live for jealous miggy for real

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

yeah, i'm... just a jealous guy, so what? — jealous!miguel o'hara x reader

miguel was at his wit's end, hearing you giggle as the blonde, buff-oon of a spider man was entertaining you with his muscles, that miguel was very certain that he had beat in every aspect possible. he didn't mean to brag–he honestly wouldn't care in a normal setting–but objectively speaking, his muscles and figure was far more superior than that of ben reilly's.

he respected ben, both as a spider man and a person, though he couldn't bear the thought of you–one of his only real friends and someone with a decent, functioning brain in the entire spider society–entertaining the blonde boy by giggling along, praising him, and running your fingers and hands over his biceps and muscles. ben dared not to show his true, flustered self as he kept 'accidentally' flexing at you, making you chuckle even more–annoying miguel even more, because... he should be the one making you all embarrassed, flustered, and giggly with his own much thicker biceps and muscles.

"it's just... so stupid." he muttered to himself as lyla chuckled. "gonna challenge ben to a flex off?" she sarcastically asked miguel, who–for a hot minute–ironically considered the notion, but ultimately decided against it with the shake of his head. "no, no need. i'll get over it." he said as a low grumble, which lyla raised her eyebrow at. "oh, will you, now?" she asked him with a hint of mockery, which made miguel snarl a little and sigh loudly. "you'll see." he declared with some spite in his tone.

he did not move on from it, not one bit actually.

it was driving miguel insane, because every moment he caught you that day to catch up and talk, he always caught you with ben–watching him entertain you yet again with him 'coincidentally' stretching and flexing those muscles he was so proud of but always played them off coolly when you happened to come by and... stare at him showing off.

this was it, this was the final straw–he had to prove to you once and for all just who you fold to, who makes you so flustered with a simple gaze your way with those piercing hazel (sometimes red) eyes of his–who made you want to have more and more of him and wouldn't be ashamed to get on your knees, or on all fours if he commanded you to, and beg for him to love you all evening into the early hours of the dawn. he had to show you who loved you, and who you loved endlessly.

when you entered miguel's office to report back to him on the statuses of some anomalies he needed word back on immediately. though when you entered the room, the atmosphere felt... entirely different now. you searched for miguel here and there since he wasn't there up on his platform, nor was he anywhere where the small pools of light touched the walls and floors of his office–he wasn't there, at least, not in front of you yet.

"you called, querida?" he asked you as he placed his larger palms on your smaller shoulders, feeling up your flesh gently and letting out low breaths as he got closet to you. your back felt his chiseled abdomen pressing against you, his pectoral muscles being pushed against your shoulders. you shuddered and felt your face get a little heated. you tried turning around to tell miguel you had the reports he was asking for, but it was a little hard to do with him pressing against you like this.

you finally turned around and pulled away from his grasp, but when you did... you were taken aback by the sight. he was completely shirtless, showing off his sculpted upper body, the curves and bulging of his arm muscles and built abdomen, and the only thing he was wearing was a flimsy pair of boxers that... looked a little thin from where you were standing. you gulped at the lump in your throat and tried to ignore the heat in the walls of your throat as you faced him with an embarrassed expression. you hurriedly handed him the report and tried to get away from him, but he blocked you in your tracks and looked down at you with darkening eyes.

"what's the rush, cariño? run me through these... one-by-one." he asked of you, which sounded more like a demand for you to stay, really, as he moved closer to you while you backed away–backing yourself up against a desk and being pinned against the wall by miguel as he loomed over you and stared you down.

"again, cariño... what's wrong? you gotta run me through these all... now tell me, what's the status on these anomalies?" he asked you as he gently ran his hand over your arm and raised an eyebrow again and involuntarily flexed his arm muscles by pinning his arm against the wall you were nearly backed into if not for the desk in between you two.

"y'better start talking, bella, or else... i might just make you talk myself." he said with a lower, sultry voice as he brought his face even closer to yours, your noses brushing together, and him hearing you whimper a little as he took your smaller hand in his own, bringing it to his abs. "what, cat got your tongue? that's not the little sweetheart i know... c'mon, say something." he encouraged you as you whimpered again and finally mustered the words to utter to him. "...you're... kinda big..." "kinda?" "v-very big..." you blurted out, all flustered as miguel leaned in closer, smiling, about to plant a kiss on your luscious lips. "how sweet..." he muttered as he kissed your lips gently, buttering you up before he shows you how much he's craved your attention before making you desperate for his attention soon enough.

you're in for the long haul this time... before the night ends, all your love and attention will all be on him, and only him–nobody else, just him and his body–and how his face contorts into a wide grin when he sees you stammer, eyes wide, and fluster over how much of a grip he has on you with those muscles he's got. maybe you'll spend the rest of the day with miguel tomorrow, hmm? ben and everyone else can wait... but miguel certainly can't.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv fluff #atsv fanfiction #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse fanfiction #⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ kairi writes !