cat got your tongue?

©PRIMAVIVA 2026.

[primaviva]

ᗢ oh? look who decided to come closer. welcome, darling, to my blog. i'm your favorite cat burglar, DALIA! she / her. 18. PR&DR latina. unlabeled. taurus. ceo of gwen stacy writers. mike wheelers princess to his paladin. jill valentines wife. clark kents heated work rival. women loving page. take your time, temptation purrs softly here.

ᗢ i do not write and refuse to write rape, pedophilia, underage smut, racist and other things that include these as scenarios. i only write for fem readers.

i. masterlist ii. gwen masterlist iii. coming soon

ᗢ recent posts .𖥔 ݁ ˖ “you always win” ft. mike wheeler

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[k1swass]

when u find a masterpiece x reader fic, but the reader turns out to have a name and a description

[primaviva]

pairing. re9!leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis. leon refuses to give you anything in return for acting this desperate and demanding. so, he obliges you to fuck yourself in front of him. after all, he can't let his baby go on to be undisciplined.

words. 0.9k

warnings. nsfw! dubious consent, sexual denial, humiliation if you squint, masturbation, voyeurism (leon watching), submissive reader, fingering, exhibitionism (r performing). enjoy at your own risk.

eeeeeeeek!

the chair screeched as he dragged it from his desk to the foot of his bed, allowing him a front-row seat to his favorite show. leon manspreads, watching you flinch as his exhaled breath brushes against your bare breasts at the edge of the bed. your thighs are spread wide, and he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to mask his enjoyment. yet, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

“might need to get a restraining order with the way you've been clinging to me since i took my boots off at the door. actin’ pretty needy, hm, baby?" he hums, making the observation to himself as those impossibly sharp blue eyes scan your face. “you think just because you've whined all this time, you get to have me however you want?”

you’re already half-naked, flushed with desperation. “please, leon,” you murmur, breath hitching as your fingers trail down your stomach. “need you.”

leon clicks his tongue as he peels off his black gloves one finger at a time, the wedding band beneath catching the dim light. “no,” he coos softly, leaning back as he admires your figure, voice steady enough to make your chest tighten. “right now, you need some self-love.”

his words make you shudder. you wanted nothing less than his thick fingers sliding in and out of you, or perhaps his muscles encasing your body as he hovered over you, stroking in and out of your needy pussy. in a perfect world, you’d fight back with a roll of your eyes and a bratty comment, but you didn't want to risk leon dragging this on to keep you from getting to what you desired. to win this game, you would need to play along with your husband.

“touch yourself,” leon demands, voice low and syrupy. “gotta have a showcase first before i buy into what you're sellin’ me. then maybe…” he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. “i’ll give you what you’ve been begging for since i came back.”

you swallow hard, your pulse thudding in your ears. every nerve ending burns under his gaze. slowly, you reach between your legs, fingers slick with arousal already. it didn't take much for inspiration to strike; your muse was right in front of you. you traced slow circles over your clit, just the way he likes, letting your eyes roam over his frame like a painter observing a masterpiece. his furrowed brows tightened at the sight of you, caught between a look of hunger and the struggle for self-control. his dark navy shirt clung tightly, with stretch marks straining to accommodate leon's large biceps, almost visible through the fabric. his hair, the way it cascades over his half-lidded blue eyes. the moment you moan, leon shifts. he straightens his back, a large hand moving down to cup his clothed erection, as if to soothe the ache of arousal that began to stab against his dark wash jeans. his pupils dilate, as if he can taste your sweetness that spills onto his sheets.

“atta girl,” he whispers, his voice now rougher. his hand trails down your leg, avoiding the places you truly crave his touch. “just… look at you. fuck—i don't know how your fingers haven't pruned yet, baby.. my girl gets this wet just thinkin’ about me?”

with your eyes fluttering and your pace fastening, you nod frantically. with each touch, your stomach contracts as your thighs gradually start to quiver.

“say it,” he commanded, voice suddenly stern. “don’t drift off on me now. tell me who you’re thinkin’ about.”

“you,” you gasp, your free hand grasping the one he has clutching your thigh, squeezing it to ground yourself. “only you, leon.”

leon lets out a low laugh, the sound rough around the edges. "yeah,” he admits, eyes glinting with satisfaction. "thought so."

you're getting close. your breathing becomes shallow, and your hips buck into your hand. you can't think of anything that doesn't include your husbands name: leon, leon, leon, leon. he consumes all of your senses, and you find yourself repeating his name like the start of a prayer as you bite your lips so forcefully that they could draw blood. leon can see it; how close you are to breaking.

his grip on your thigh firms slightly, thumb brushing once against your skin. “c’mon, baby,” leon murmurs with that crooked grin,  “keep those pretty eyes on me.”

your eyes fly open as the tension coiled inside you finally snaps, stealing the air from your lungs. your body stiffens as a surge of pleasure rushes through you, so much that you feel as though you might cry. much like water being twisted out of a drenched rag, you can feel the energy discharging from your body. tears frame your vision, and as you lose your composure, the room grows blurry. leon observes every moment with a ravenous, worshipful hunger as you cry his name, sobs stinging your lashes.

he rises from the chair and slowly but confidently stretches over your trembling body as you collapse back, your chest heaving. he leans in to kiss your strained hands, your stomach, and your thighs. his breath is warm as his mouth lingers over yours.

“you did good,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours for a moment before he presses another soft kiss to your lips. “always listen so well to me.” 

you can only smile hazily at the praise, leaning into him as his hands settle warmly at your waist. 

leon huffs a quiet laugh, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “c’mere,” he encourages gently. “let me take care of you now.”

want to read my previous leon fic? you'll find it here <3

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[primaviva]

plagiarizing my own fic LOCK ME UP !!!! I ZONT CARE !!!

[primaviva]

pairing. re9!leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis. leon refuses to give you anything in return for acting this desperate and demanding. so, he obliges you to fuck yourself in front of him. after all, he can't let his baby go on to be undisciplined.

words. 0.9k

warnings. nsfw! dubious consent, sexual denial, humiliation if you squint, masturbation, voyeurism (leon watching), submissive reader, fingering, exhibitionism (r performing). enjoy at your own risk.

eeeeeeeek!

the chair screeched as he dragged it from his desk to the foot of his bed, allowing him a front-row seat to his favorite show. leon manspreads, watching you flinch as his exhaled breath brushes against your bare breasts at the edge of the bed. your thighs are spread wide, and he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to mask his enjoyment. yet, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

“might need to get a restraining order with the way you've been clinging to me since i took my boots off at the door. actin’ pretty needy, hm, baby?" he hums, making the observation to himself as those impossibly sharp blue eyes scan your face. “you think just because you've whined all this time, you get to have me however you want?”

you’re already half-naked, flushed with desperation. “please, leon,” you murmur, breath hitching as your fingers trail down your stomach. “need you.”

leon clicks his tongue as he peels off his black gloves one finger at a time, the wedding band beneath catching the dim light. “no,” he coos softly, leaning back as he admires your figure, voice steady enough to make your chest tighten. “right now, you need some self-love.”

his words make you shudder. you wanted nothing less than his thick fingers sliding in and out of you, or perhaps his muscles encasing your body as he hovered over you, stroking in and out of your needy pussy. in a perfect world, you’d fight back with a roll of your eyes and a bratty comment, but you didn't want to risk leon dragging this on to keep you from getting to what you desired. to win this game, you would need to play along with your husband.

“touch yourself,” leon demands, voice low and syrupy. “gotta have a showcase first before i buy into what you're sellin’ me. then maybe…” he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. “i’ll give you what you’ve been begging for since i came back.”

you swallow hard, your pulse thudding in your ears. every nerve ending burns under his gaze. slowly, you reach between your legs, fingers slick with arousal already. it didn't take much for inspiration to strike; your muse was right in front of you. you traced slow circles over your clit, just the way he likes, letting your eyes roam over his frame like a painter observing a masterpiece. his furrowed brows tightened at the sight of you, caught between a look of hunger and the struggle for self-control. his dark navy shirt clung tightly, with stretch marks straining to accommodate leon's large biceps, almost visible through the fabric. his hair, the way it cascades over his half-lidded blue eyes. the moment you moan, leon shifts. he straightens his back, a large hand moving down to cup his clothed erection, as if to soothe the ache of arousal that began to stab against his dark wash jeans. his pupils dilate, as if he can taste your sweetness that spills onto his sheets.

“atta girl,” he whispers, his voice now rougher. his hand trails down your leg, avoiding the places you truly crave his touch. “just… look at you. fuck—i don't know how your fingers haven't pruned yet, baby.. my girl gets this wet just thinkin’ about me?”

with your eyes fluttering and your pace fastening, you nod frantically. with each touch, your stomach contracts as your thighs gradually start to quiver.

“say it,” he commanded, voice suddenly stern. “don’t drift off on me now. tell me who you’re thinkin’ about.”

“you,” you gasp, your free hand grasping the one he has clutching your thigh, squeezing it to ground yourself. “only you, leon.”

leon lets out a low laugh, the sound rough around the edges. "yeah,” he admits, eyes glinting with satisfaction. "thought so."

you're getting close. your breathing becomes shallow, and your hips buck into your hand. you can't think of anything that doesn't include your husbands name: leon, leon, leon, leon. he consumes all of your senses, and you find yourself repeating his name like the start of a prayer as you bite your lips so forcefully that they could draw blood. leon can see it; how close you are to breaking.

his grip on your thigh firms slightly, thumb brushing once against your skin. “c’mon, baby,” leon murmurs with that crooked grin,  “keep those pretty eyes on me.”

your eyes fly open as the tension coiled inside you finally snaps, stealing the air from your lungs. your body stiffens as a surge of pleasure rushes through you, so much that you feel as though you might cry. much like water being twisted out of a drenched rag, you can feel the energy discharging from your body. tears frame your vision, and as you lose your composure, the room grows blurry. leon observes every moment with a ravenous, worshipful hunger as you cry his name, sobs stinging your lashes.

he rises from the chair and slowly but confidently stretches over your trembling body as you collapse back, your chest heaving. he leans in to kiss your strained hands, your stomach, and your thighs. his breath is warm as his mouth lingers over yours.

“you did good,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours for a moment before he presses another soft kiss to your lips. “always listen so well to me.” 

you can only smile hazily at the praise, leaning into him as his hands settle warmly at your waist. 

leon huffs a quiet laugh, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “c’mere,” he encourages gently. “let me take care of you now.”

want to read my previous leon fic? you'll find it here <3

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[writercultureis]

writer culture is daydreaming all day about the fic you’re going to write, only to come home and not be able to put a single word on the page.

[primaviva]

if any clinically perverted anons wanna drop some crazy requests on ya girl head for her to write… not saying im easy… BUT IM EASY !!! 😅😅😅😅

[primaviva]

pairing. re9!leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis. leon always leaves his house key at home when he's on missions, especially after losing it due to “all the unnecessary backflips” he does, as you put it. he doesn't need the key anyway, not when he has a beautiful wife waiting for him at home. so when you hear the doorbell, you know your husband is back. however, when you turn the knob, you don't receive the expected hug and forehead kiss.

words. 0.7k

warnings. nsfw! dubious consent, fingering (r receiving), cum eating. enjoy at your own risk.

you barely get the door closed before leon has you pinned against it.

his lips crash into yours at a speed reminiscent of a car going sixty miles per hour in a school zone: hungry, claiming, no time for sweet nothings. his muscular thigh presses between yours, forcing your legs apart, his hands already finding the hem of your house dress, yanking it up with a low growl.

“long time, no see, huh baby?” leon mutters against your neck, biting just hard enough to make your breath hitch as the pinch of pain blurred with pleasure. “been thinkin’ about you all damn day.”

you whimper, nodding but you aren’t at all sure what you are even rapidly saying ‘yes’ to, nonetheless, it’s obvious your body has subconsciously already made the necessary choices for you, as you’re already soaked through your panties. you have the worst kept secret burrowed between your thighs, considering your husband feels it immediately when he cups you, his oh-so thick middle and index fingers pressing right over your wet spot.

“fuck,” leon breathes, smirking against your ear as he pokes and prods at your clothed pussy. “she’s dripping… if i were to make an educated guess, i’d say you been thinkin’ about me too.”

just like his missions, leon can’t afford to waste time.

he pushes your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you in one slow, delicious stroke. your mouth drops open, a breathy cry escaping before you can stop it, and leon loves the clinical satisfaction he gets from the soft, weak sounds that leave those saliva lined, plump lips. and so he presses deeper, curling his fingers just right.

“you’re gonna cum so fast,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch and tremble. “just look at you—fuck—clenchin’ already.”

leon pumps faster, his calloused palm rubbing against your clit every time he powers in and out of you like engineered machinery. you arch against the four-panel door, fisting his dirty blonde tresses, the other clawing at his bulky shoulder that caged you, legs already shaking.

“y’know i’m an agent, not a psychic. gotta use your words, baby,” he encourages, voice velvet yet steel. “tell me what you need.”

“you,” you gasp. “faster—please, leon—i need—”

leon is never one to leave his wife waiting, and so his fingers slam into you with purpose, precise and filthy. the wet sounds echoing off the walls as you become a mess, thighs trembling, moaning so loud it’s obscene.

“cum for me,” leon growls, breath hot on your neck. “cum all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

enervated, you do. hard. as if leon were a drill sergeant, your body listens unquestioningly to his command. those legs of yours jerk, fleshy walls pulsing around leon, soaking his hand as you cry out your husband's name like a prayer. with no reprieve, his fingers did not seize their attack on your nerves until you were left twitching and boneless, barely able to stand.

he pulls his fingers out, unhurried, before bringing them to his mouth, tongue out patiently awaiting for your flavor to kiss his tastebuds.

“mhmm… perfect baby,” sucking his middle finger clean with a hum of satisfaction. “nothing tastes better than a delicious, warm, home-cooked meal after a long day at the office.”

you would have rolled your eyes and sneered at his intolerable dad jokes, but you had already rolled your eyes with such frequency that they felt strained, together with the realization that your voice was simply too hoarse to respond with a snappy retort.

with his index finger still coated in you, he tilted his hand forward, eyebrows raised and a grin of pride on his face, beckoning you to indulge as he had, almost as if this were a wine tasting. as far as leon knew, it practically was. you opened your mouth to welcome him, and soon the empty space was furnished with leon's index finger, sucking and slurping up your own sweetness.

“taste that?” leon purrs. “that’s mine.”

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[primaviva]

pairing. mike wheeler x fem!reader

synopsis. mike wheeler comes to a horrific discovery... he has a oral fixation!

warnings. short drabble, pervy!mike, post season 5, masturbation, lewd descriptions of readers mouth, mike being an uncontrollable yearner and lusting

mike wheeler with an oral fixation.

honestly, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it all went sideways. there was no slow build, no dramatic build up to a sudden awakening, just one unremarkable morning where he woke up and realized his brain had apparently been hijacked by hormones with a wicked sense of timing. somewhere between yesterday and today, the wiring got crossed, flipped, and set permanently to loud. he chalked it up to the same awkward evolution that turned innocent middle-school makeouts into late-night pervertedly horny thoughts that refused to shut up, the kind that made him stare at the ceiling and wonder, purely hypothetically, obviously, whether still being a virgin at eighteen was statistically strange or just deeply inconvenient, considering how feral his own body seemed determined to be some days.

although it did happen, it didn't begin with anything clichéd like a banana (though, we'll get to that later).

one day, some random, unceremonious day at melvald’s, it just happened. you and mike had been going there after school forever, killing time with spoonfuls of ice cream and half-finished sentences. you and mike had been going after school forever, talking about nothing and everything while settling for vanilla, because by the time the final bell rang, vanilla was always the only flavor left. you’d ride on the back of his bike while he pedaled, the world blurring past you in a way that felt small and endless all at once. except now, somewhere along the way, melvald’s had quietly become your place. the kind of place where the workers greeted you with knowing smiles and not-so-subtle teases, where “the usual?” sounded suspiciously like “here come the lovebirds yet again,” and neither of you bothered to correct them.

flash forward to the two of you sitting there with ice cream, well, you had ice cream. mike, traitor to the cause, went with a milkshake. it felt important to note, like fate itself was already lining things up. the booth was sticky, the air smelled like pure sugar, and everything was normal in that deceptively calm way right before something changes. and then it happened. small. harmless. almost stupid, really. just a cherry. but looking back, that stupid little cherry would go down as the very first incident.

mike didn’t think anything of it at first; the way your hand darted out to steal the cherry from his vanilla milkshake like you’d done it a hundred times before. he never minded that kind of thing. truthfully, he’d let you take just about anything if it meant getting that smile out of you. but this time was… different. what he hadn’t been prepared for was the sudden, inexplicable dryness in his mouth as he watched you lift the cherry to your lips, slow and deliberate, sucking the last trace of sweet vanilla from it. the moment lingered a beat too long, heavy in a way the air hadn’t been a second ago, and mike realized, slightly horrified, deeply doomed, that something had just shifted.

sluurp, slrrp, sluurp

the sound cut through the low hum of the diner like it had personal beef with him. it was ridiculous, honestly. a cherry. a sound. and yet mike froze, painfully aware of how loud it suddenly felt in his head, the booth sticky beneath his palms, and all he could focus on was you, completely unbothered, savoring that stupid little cherry like you weren’t accidentally ruining his ability to think straight. he hated, deeply, tragically, how one sound could do that.

he licked his lips and pressed them together, forcing his mouth into a straight line like that alone might keep him under control. whatever this urge was, this weird, intrusive thing hijacking his body, he didn’t even have a name for it yet, let alone a plan to deal with it. his eyes betrayed him anyway, tracking the careless way you handled the cherry, the brief flick of your tongue, the effortless confidence of it all. his brain filled in details he absolutely did not ask for, spiraling on how your tongue cupped the cherry, covered it in saliva, and swirled around its base. how lovely your lips appeared encasing the cherry, and how warm your mouth must have felt. it was absurd. embarrassing, even. and yet, there he was, fighting a losing battle against his own thoughts over a single, stupid cherry.

did he mention how stupid the cherry was? because it was a pretty stupid, little cherry. 

it was almost enough to make his hips buck involuntarily, muscle memory from masturbating betraying him before his brain could catch up. he was confused, deeply so, caught somewhere between why is this happening and oh, this is definitely happening. there was a flicker of thrill he refused to unpack, an awareness he didn’t have the vocabulary for yet, only the certainty that his body had very rudely decided to react on its own. embarrassing. alarming. and, if he was being honest with himself, a little exhilarating in the worst possible way.

it only went down from here. 

when you started eating your ice cream, with that little spoon you lifted with all the concentration in the world, mike almost forgot how to breathe. you pressed your tongue flat against the vanilla, making sure not a single drop escaped, flicking it, licking it, savoring it like it was the most important thing in the universe. and mike? aw poor, doomed mike. he was stuck in some kind of trance, squirming in his seat, utterly helpless as he watched how your lips worked over the spoon, how your tongue traced every curve. he sat there, frozen, watching in a kind of dazed disbelief, like his brain had short-circuited and defaulted to observing the way you ate instead of forming coherent thoughts.

at one point, a stray drip of vanilla slid down to your chin, and mike felt his jaw lock like it had a mind of its own. his hands were betraying him too, opening, closing, twisting, fidgeting, anything to keep from doing something he absolutely shouldn’t. every tiny movement of yours was like a tiny electric shock straight to his nerves, and he sat there writhing in a way that was equal parts discomfort and battling against pleasure.

this just became an occurrence. 

one time you were over at his house and his mom asked for help with dinner, her hand was cramping, apparently, and you called mike over like his opinion mattered. you lifted the spoon for him to taste, but apparently his verbal approval alone wasn’t enough. so, without missing a beat, you dipped a finger into the sauce and brought it to your mouth, letting it disappear between your lips as you savored every drop. mike just froze, jaw slack, eyes wide, entirely incapable of looking anywhere else. when you finally lifted your finger with a little pop and a satisfied “mhmm,” it was like watching a performance he had absolutely no business attending, but he couldn’t look away.

or that time he came over and everything seemed completely normal, until you asked if he wanted a snack. he said no, naturally, thinking that would be the end of it. but then you mentioned your own hunger was “killing you,” hopped off the bed, and disappeared down the hall. mike blinked, relaxed... and then came the slow, creeping horror: you returned, holding a banana. his worst nightmare, perfectly yellow and entirely unavoidable, now sitting smugly in your hands. he froze, caught somewhere between “why” and “oh no,” while you looked ignorant to his torture.

he was genuinely on edge, like the kind of tense silence right before a jump scare in a horror movie, trapped in the theater seats, eyes glued to the screen. only the screen was you, and the “jump scare” was the banana in your hands. every nerve in his body screamed in anticipation as you slowly peeled it, and he braced for the unimaginable: your head tilting back, taking the whole thing in, maybe even gagging. instead… you just took a bite. quite loudly, might he add. right in front of him. the sigh of relief that escaped him was embarrassingly loud, sounding almost cartoonish in the quiet of your room. phew, thank god you didn’t start bopping your head up and down!

“what?” you tried to ask, muffled and half-garbled through your mouthful, the casualness of it somehow making him even more on edge.

that’s when he realized.

oh.

oh.

your mouth turned him on. even more concerning, he wasn't alone. because his hand immediately went into his boxers when he returned home.

mike wanted to trace your lips with his thumb, slow and deliberate, feeling the soft curve beneath his fingertip. he wanted to slip it into your mouth, watch you work, the thought alone making his chest tighten. he imagined the way your warm mouth would coat his thumb, the slickness of your saliva glinting against his skin, and the way it would leave him wanting more than he had any right to admit. he knew, without a doubt, that you’d look breathtaking: submissive, eyes half-lidded, lashes heavy as you tilted your head up at him, glossy gaze locked on his, and utterly, impossibly irresistible.

he knew he wanted those same lips on his cock. god, his mind was so perverted. mike thought of himself delicately tapping your lower parted lip and slapping his dick at your lips, teasingly edging both you and himself considering that he achingly wanted to be snugly within you and feel your warmth engulf his cock. he had a dirty picture in his mind he wish he could materialize to look at; to see your pathetically puffed up, swollen lips from kissing him, stretched to fit himself inside your pretty mouth. your saliva was what he desperately wanted to see dripping down his veins like wax on a melting candle. he wanted to see your supple, slick lips kissing his tip and—

before he could even get all the thoughts out, mike had already cum in his hand. 

p.s. im starting to work on your guys requests! ty for sending so many good ideas i was actually really shocked at how inspired i got. also im thinking of making this little drabble into a full fic... tho that's on the back burner <33

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[sentientsky]

repeating this to myself forever and ever

[bee2124]

Real men have failed me but fictional men never have 😛

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[primaviva]

How do I become ur moot?

omg you can just ask in my inbox as long as you aren’t anonymous so i can know what your user is to follow back!!!! also i usually just mutual writers just to keep that in mind 🖤🖤

[primaviva]

on the topic of asking for requests… is the roberto robertoson x reader tag still kicking because i been DYING on life support to write for him too but i have not a single thought in my head (this is me asking for requests)

p.s. please differentiate if you want a fic or headcanons just so i dont mess up what you want! also smut, fluff, angst, etc is all welcome <3

[primaviva]

im taking mike wheeler requests!! it can be anything just please differentiate between fics and headcanons 😵‍💫

p.s. if it’s smut i’ll only accept post epilogue/season 5 mike

[primaviva]

pairing. mike wheeler x fem!reader

synopsis. mike doesn’t think you can distract him from the campaign he’s been working on for 8 hours straight. clearly he’s forgotten how much his girlfriend enjoys winning. well, challenge accepted.

warnings. st5!mike, lot’s of kissing, making out.

god, you've never been more bored in your life.

mike is sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against his bed, hunching over an alarming amount of papers that surrounded him; graph paper, notebook paper, a spiral-bound binder with paper inside with BLOODBOUND SHADOWS OF EBONSPIRE which you could only assume was the campaign name written in sharpie on the cover, hell, maybe even parchment paper. his pencil was currently tucked behind his ear like a nerd straight out of a cheesy cliche movie ready to pop through the theater screen, and there next to him, an untouched can of coke sweating onto the carpet beside him.

you’re on his bed, settling in like you always do, sinking into the soft familiarity of his blue sheets. the white comforter with its grey grid pattern is tucked around you, a little cocoon of warmth, while you wrap yourself in his blue, red, and white patchwork blanket. you’re not doing anything in particular: just sitting there, legs bent, socks half-off so only the tips of your toes are sheltered, caught in that specific kind of boredom that comes from watching someone else be utterly, painfully absorbed in something that doesn’t include you.

it felt like you were third-wheeling a date between mike and dungeons & dragons. and mike hadn’t looked up in… a while. not that you minded, well, not entirely. you knew he’d be busy; he told you that. but wanting to be near him anyway, you were persistent, adamant about keeping him company. still, you hadn’t expected mike wheeler, the boy everyone in hawkins, indiana knew was wrapped around your finger and your finger only, to actually pay you no mind whatsoever. not that he had much mind to spare, you muttered to yourself, letting out a scoff and doing a cartoonish shrug, hoping maybe your exaggerated gestures to your inner monologue would earn a reaction.

nothing.

wow, he really could ignore you. 

mike has been muttering to himself for hours, and hours, and hours, and more hours.

“no, no—okay, wait, that doesn't make sense because if dustin rolls a perception check there, then lucas is definitely gonna—” he groans softly, dragging a hand down his face. “ugh, i should've made the corridor narrower.”

you tilt your head, watching him scribbling something out aggressively with a cartoonishly short pencil adjacent to the height of his thumb that you can tell he's been sharpening for at least a year at this point, the small point of lead scratching louder than necessary. all you could think is surely he has more pencils than this. his brows are furrowed in concentration, lips moving as he silently re-reads whatever doomed note he’s just written in the margins of the paper he's using to divvy up god knows whatever this campaign is about. but, you had to admit, there was something kind of endearing, dare you say even a little cute, about it; how serious he looks, how locked into his craft.

still.

you're bored.

and his girlfriend.

and being ignored.

if there was one thing mike wheeler couldn’t get away with, it was ignoring his girlfriend.

you slide a little closer to the edge of the bed, leaning forward until your knee brushes gently against his shoulder. mike barely reacts if he even notices. instead, he shifts just slightly toward your body, unconsciously closing the space between you, and goes right back to muttering to himself, completely absorbed in his own world.

“okay, but if will figures out the riddle too fast, then the whole thing collapses—unless i add, like… a false door?” he looks up at the ceiling like it might answer him. “yeah, false door.”

you hop off the bed, wiggling your toes as you shake off the sock that’s been stubbornly clinging like a tiny plunger at the edge of your feet. the cold bite of his floor presses against your bare feet, making you shiver just slightly as you pad over to him. sliding in beside him, you settle close, resting your chin gently on his shoulder, feeling the steady coziness of him beneath you.

mike pauses, pencil hovering mid-air from his compulsive writing.

“...you need something?” he asks, glancing sideways at you, tone casual for a question posed so stand-offish but eyes already softening upon landing on you.

you shrug, the edges of his blanket sliding off your shoulders with the motion, and hum softly, “not really.”

he squints at you, disbelief flashing in his eyes, because c’mon, he knows exactly when his girlfriend is teasing him. but before he can get a word out, you lean in and press a quick, soft kiss to his jaw.

the kiss is feather-light, your lips barely brushing against the curve of his jaw, the gentlest press guided by the tilt of your head. it’s quick, almost a whisper of contact; soft enough that it could be dismissed, yet enough to make him pause mid-thought. mike freezes for a moment, eyes widening ever so slightly, the faint tingle of lips lingering against his skin. you can feel the tension in his shoulders, subtle but telling, like a shockwave running through him.

it’s over almost before he can register it, a brief, sweet distraction.

mile clears his throat and looks back down at his notes a little too fast. “okay,” his voice cracks. “uh, false door. trapped…probably poisoned darts—no, wait, that's cliche.”   

your cheeks ache from smiling so much, and you can practically feel the effect it’s having on him, even if he’s pretending it hasn’t. there’s a quiet thrill in knowing you’ve captured even the tiniest fragment of your boyfriend’s attention. his pale ears are flushed a soft pink, his right foot tapping against the carpet to ground himself, and his handwriting has gone slightly messy, letters spilling across the page haphazardly. every little sign makes it clear: you’ve gotten to him, and he can’t hide it.

you lean back, watching him with that quiet, effortless fondness that’s become second nature. the room carries the faint, comforting pencil shavings and annoying fresh, sting to our nose like you inhaled sanitizer type of laundry scent, lingering around the blanket you’re curled into and his neatly made bed; a small sign he probably just changed the sheets before you came to have his room be in its best state for you. outside, a car hums past, and a lawn sprinkler clicks rhythmically in the distance. somehow, all of it makes the world feel impossibly yet romantically small and contained when you’re with mike.

he suddenly sighs and drops the pencil onto the paper, “...i’ve been doing this all day,” he mutters.

you let out a dry laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when he gives you that twisted, annoyed look, the one that always means you’ve struck a nerve. you couldn’t help it; did he seriously just realize he’d been doing this all day?

you raised an eyebrow at him, “yeah, you have.”

he finally meets your gaze, chocolatey brown eyes soft, though the puffiness underneath makes his exhaustion impossible to miss. “i just—if this campaign sucks,” he exhales, rubbing his face, “dustin is never gonna let me hear the end of it.”

“you say that every time,” you point out, rolling your eyes like you haven’t heard this exact line a dozen times before.

“and every time i'm right,” he shoots back, then hesitates. “okay, not every time… but still.”

he shifts to the side until his thigh settles against yours, head tipping gently to rest atop yours while he flips through his binder. he doesn’t seem aware of it at all; just drawn to you without thinking, embracing your presence the way he always has. like second nature, maybe even first.

“you’re… being really patient,” he adds quietly.

“michael wheeler,” you gasp, stressing his full government name for effect. “you say that like you’re surprised.”

his eyebrows pull up and together, worry flashing in his eyes as he overthinks what he said, and you can’t help but laugh.

you stretch your lips into a soft smile, "i know. i have been patient.”

that earns a small, breathless laugh from him; warm, fond, the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel like it just hung a “now open” sign for butterflies.

“give me, like, five more minutes,” he states. “then i'm all yours. i promise.”

foolish wheeler, he has no idea he’s completely yours. with that sentiment in mind, you move forward without missing a beat.

mike is completely vulnerable, sprawled on the floor with his binder open in front of him, eyes glued to his notes. his pencil teeters between his fingers, the eraser dangerously close to his mouth as he chews it like a shish kebab. 

you slide closer, careful not to disturb the papers, and lean in. the moment your lips brush just below his ear, the world seems to tilt. the warmth of your mouth hits him first, soft and immediate, and his breath catches in a small, startled hitch.

he shivers slightly, shoulders stiffening as a jerk of awareness shoots through him. you can feel the tiny pulse in his neck under your lips, hear the uneven rhythm of his breath, and it makes the back of your spine tingle.

your lips press again, light and teasing, tracing a slow line along the curve of his jaw. he freezes completely, his body suddenly aware of every inch of contact. the hot of your breath, the gentle pressure of your lips, even the faint scent of you, hits every nerve. 

mike’s head tilts slightly toward you without thinking, ear brushing your cheek, his brown eyes flicking up to meet yours with that delicious combination of panic, confusion, and undeniable thrill. his chest rises and falls faster, lips parting just slightly as if expecting… what? he isn’t sure.

he jolts, almost choking on the eraser as he inhales too sharply, shoulders jumping at the sudden spark of sensation. “—oh,” he stammers, clearing his throat a little too hard. “okay, wow.”

then you move again, letting your lips drift from the curve of his jaw to his earlobe, nibbling lightly. the skin there is soft and sensitive, and the furor of your mouth against it makes him flinch.

“—hey,” he mutters, voice catching mid-word, shoulder twitching involuntarily under your touch. “what are you—” he clears his throat, trying to sound stern, but the words come out uneven, faltering. “…are you doing this on purpose?”

his chest rises a little faster, fingers gripping the edge of his notes like he’s trying to anchor himself, but it’s useless; every nerve in his body is suddenly alert, every movement of your lips driving him utterly insane.

you smirk, deliberately slow, devilish, letting your teeth graze his earlobe just enough to make him shiver. “maybe,” you whisper, voice soft but teasing. your lips trail from his ear to the edge of his jaw, brushing so lightly it’s almost a ghost of a touch, but heavy enough to make him inhale sharply.

he freezes, brown eyes widening, a flush creeping up his neck. even though he’s trying to act stern, there’s no disguising the way his body acts in your presence. he swallows, and you can almost see the knot of nervousness sliding down his throat. finally, mike turns his head toward you, and his eyes catch a glint you haven’t seen all night: sharp, focused, and completely detached from anything d&d-related. it’s challenge and nerves, the same expression he wears just before a big roll. a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, restrained but defiant, like he’s trying with every ounce of self-control not to give in… not to react to you.

“you think you can distract me that easily?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s amused, or trying desperately to look that way. 

you shrug, innocent as a lamb, but you’re far from it. slowly, deliberately, you lean in, letting your lips brush the corner of his mouth. his lips part just a fraction, and his breath fans over yours, small but intoxicating. you can feel the quickening thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek.

“i can try,” you whisper, lips brushing again as you pull back just enough to let him catch his breath, but close enough that the feverish thrill of the contact still cling to him.

before he can even form a comeback, you lean in, closing the space between you, and press your lips to his properly this time. at first, he doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t kiss back either. his lips hover against yours, just the faintest pressure, like he’s teetering on the edge of a decision that could derail his work for hours or completely consume him. you feel the balminess of his mouth, soft and hesitant, and the subtle tremor of his lips as they brush yours.

a quiet, almost strangled whimper escapes him, barely audible, and you can sense the tension running through his shoulders, the way his chest rises and falls unevenly. he’s trying to fight it, to resist, but every fiber of his body is betraying him, drawn irresistibly toward you. 

your hand comes up, cupping his jaw, thumb brushing gently over his cheek. the skin is warm under your touch, tender and soft, and it grounds him even as his lips are still locked in that agonizing hover against yours. you press closer, letting the kiss deepen slowly, deliberately. his lips part just a fraction in response, the subtle give of them against yours making your pulse race. the faint taste of him, slightly minty, alive, hits your senses, and you feel him shift subtly, leaning toward you, every muscle taut with the tension of wanting but holding back.

it’s all too much: that lingering, teasing press, the brush of your tongue against the edge of his lips, the gentle pull of your fingers along his jaw. 

his resolve snaps.

mike exhales through his nose, a soft, almost defeated sound that makes your chest flutter. his hand drifts up to your wrist, not to push you away but to finally ground himself, closing the last inch of space as he presses into you, letting go of all pretense. 

then he sighs into it, melting just a little. “you’re—” he pulls back barely enough to speak, forehead resting against yours, voice low and fond, “you’re impossible… and kind of evil.”

“you like it,” you quip back, smile displayed on your oh-so-pretty face.

he lets out a small laugh, breathy and low. “yeah,” mike admits, voice softer now. “i do.”

and then, before you can even start teasing him, his hands slide down your thighs. the motion is quick, almost instinctive, like he surprised himself with it. his grip is firm but careful, lifting you slightly before pulling you down into his lap in one smooth, slightly awkward movement that somehow feels perfectly natural. you gasp as you land, knees bracketing his hips, your weight settling against him, chest pressing to chest, every inch of contact sparking a thrill you can feel straight through your spine.

“—okay,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to yours, wide and dark now. his mouth curls into something almost smug.  “that came out cooler in my head.”

you laugh, hands bracing against his shoulders as you settle there, knees on either side of him. he looks up at you now, really looks: eyes darker, more focused, mouth curved into something proud and teasing.

“thought you were calling the shots?” he murmurs, lips just brushing yours, teasing and daring.

you try to answer, but he leans in, closing the space between you, and presses his lips to yours.

it starts slow, a tentative brush of warmth over your lips, soft and exploratory. he tilts his head just slightly, and you mirror him, letting the rhythm build naturally. his lips are insistent yet gentle, testing, coaxing. he parts them just enough, and yours open instinctively in response.

your tongue flicks out, light and teasing, brushing against the seam of his lips. mike let’s his meet yours, slow at first, careful, almost shy. but as your tongues twist and glide over each other, exploring, the kiss grows bolder, more urgent. your knees feel weak, your breath hitching slightly, chest pressing against his, your whole body suddenly aware of his closeness.

his hands slide up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, fingers pressing lightly but firmly as he leans into you, chest against yours. you arch instinctively, letting the contact deepen. his lips move over yours with a surprising confidence, perfectly balanced with the familiar earnestness you’ve always loved in him.

you tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and he follows immediately, tilting his face to match yours. one hand cups your nape, thumb brushing your throat, fingers lingering just under your ear. the other drifts along your side, grounding him even as he leans in closer. every glide, every flick of tongue, every press of lips is deliberate, synchronized, like you’re moving in some unspoken thing together.

when he finally pulls back just enough to breathe, noses brushing, lips still parted, his hair falling messily across his forehead.

“you—” he exhales, a soft laugh escaping through his nose, warm and breathless. “you always do that.”

“do what?” you murmur, voice low, teasing.

“win,” he says quietly, almost reverently. his thumbs brush slow, absent circles over your sides, still holding you close, grounding both of you. “you always win… when you kiss me like that. you know that, right?”

you don’t answer, because frankly, you don’t need to.

instead, you lean in again, letting your lips meet his, slow and unhurried, savoring the moment, letting the world fade out. this time, there’s no hesitation as mike melts into it immediately, lips pressing, tilting, molding to yours. his eyes flutter shut, chest pressing against yours, hands lingering on your sides, fingers entwining without thought.

his breath mingles with yours, and the quiet little sigh that escapes him is all the surrender you need. you can feel him relax completely, leaning in, moving with you, a body and soul given over entirely to you.

behind him, the binder lies forgotten, the campaign abandoned, notes spilling in a careless heap across the floor. none of it matters anymore.

it’s just you.

it’s just him.

so yeah… mike wheeler. you really do always win.

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[primaviva]

pairing. sevika x fem!reader

synopsis. sevika always takes pleasure in enjoying the view or her pretty girl betore she gives ner what she wants.

warning. suggestive! humiliation, exhibitionism-reader masturbating, praise, dirty talk, description of smoking, read at your own risk.

it starts like it always does—with that look.

sevika’s sitting at the edge of the bed, legs spread like she owns the fucking place. like she owns you. her mechanical arm rests across her thigh, the other hand lazily bringing a cigar to her lips, smoke curling around her. the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth ruins the whole act though; like she’s trying not to enjoy herself too much, but failing miserably.

“needy tonight, huh?” her voice is low, rough, that perpetual rasp scraping over every word. she exhales smoke through her nose, eyes cutting down to you: already half-naked, flushed, squirming. “whined all goddamn morning, now you think you get whatever you want?”

you swallow hard, thighs pressed together. “please, sev,” you murmur, breath hitching as your hand trails down your stomach. “need you.”

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head slow, like she’s disappointed but so amused.

“nah,” she mutters, voice thick with smoke and something darker. “you need you right now.”

you shudder because you know this game. you love this game.

“touch yourself,” she orders, cigar bobbing between her fingers. “show me how bad you want it.”

her tone leaves no room for arguing, not that you would. your pulse kicks up, every nerve alight under the weight of her stare. you reach between your legs, fingers already slick, and rub slow circles over your clit, the kind of pace you know drives her wild.

the first moan spills out and sevika shifts: she straightens up, elbows on her knees, that grin sharpening. her pupils go dark and blown like she’s tasting the sound.

“good girl,” she praises, voice lower, more gravel than silk now. she taps ash off the cigar, then her metal hand comes down; gripping your thigh, heavy and cool. not where you want her, but grounding. possessive. like a reminder of who you’re doing this for.

“look at that,” she hums. “so fuckin’ wet already. thinkin’ about me all day, weren’t you?”

you nod frantically, eyes fluttering; your pace quickens, thighs starting to shake, stomach tightening.

“say it,” she snaps, voice firm, eyes cutting into you. “say who you’re thinking about.”

“you,” you gasp. “only you.”

she chuckles, deep and dark, the kind that coils low in your belly. “damn right.”

you’re close. it’s embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it, not with her watching like that. your hips buck into your hand, breath coming in shallow, and she sees it. she knows.

her grip on your thigh tightens: hard, bruising.

“eyes on me, baby,” she growls, smoke curling out from between her teeth. “wanna see your face when you cum.”

and that’s it. the knot snaps, your body going taut as pleasure crashes down, white-hot and dizzying. you moan her name, voice breaking, tears prickling your lashes from how fucking hard it hits.

she watches it all, like she’s memorizing every twitch, every sound. greedy. worshipful in the way only she could be.

when your body slumps, chest heaving, sevika grins. she stubs the cigar out with a click of her metal fingers before crawling up the bed, slow and heavy. her mouth brushes your thigh first, then your stomach, then your still-shaking hand, kissing each like she’s claiming them.

then she’s hovering over you, breath warm, her grin all teeth and promise.

“that was cute,” she mutters against your lips, voice dripping with cocky satisfaction. “real cute.”

her hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“but now it’s my fuckin’ turn.”

and you know—you just know—you’re not walking straight after this.

*re-uploaded for non dark mode users !

ib: grotesquevi (check them out)

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[primaviva]

WTF SHES BACK?? juicy fics are back again

AHHHH STOPPPP DONT HYPE ME UP im so out of practice and i haven’t written a full fic in so long i been getting by with headcanons and drabbles but i have something i been working on so… let’s hope i still got it! 😁