just thinking about wes bennett fucking you while your parents are at home. the sensual and loving type of way. his presence easing the nerves, his warmth filling you up. the intimate touches, soft groans, and quiet whispers. not to mention, those cheeky comments that make the slight red tint fade into your face, as well as the adrenaline rush through your body at the thought of your surroundings. and the marks on your neck from his lips, teeth gently pulling your skin, but nothing what soft kisses after can't sooth.
Aeon!reader x Sunday where Sunday is unexplainably, hopelessly in love with the reader and likewise for the reader who actually appears in person to listen to Sunday’s troubles and prayers- but it is impossible for a mortal to fall in love with an Aeon. in an attempt to find out how this is possible, the reader kisses Sunday and finds out, it is because in his future he almost fully succeeded at becoming an Aeon which made his life nonlinear and gave him the ability to fall in love with a god-like entity. but the reader leaves him upon this revelation (which they don’t share with Sunday) and doesn’t answer his prayers for the following years until Sunday fails to ascend to Aeonhood. and then when he just needs comfort while hiding in a hotel room, away from the authorities trying to punish him for his wrongdoings in Penacony, despite the years of no answer, he utters the name of the Aeon he used to pray to, the Aeon he loves in inexplicable ways, hoping to see them and… the Aeon appears in front of him once more.
A week, a month.. maybe even two? Who was really keeping score of the days anymore? Lucas certainly wasn’t.
Every day seemed to blur into one since that wretched night at the Creel house, and staring at the same four hospital walls which gave no indicator of what date it was, wasn’t helping clear up his brain fog either. But the date and time was the least of his worries.. in fact, how could he worry about anything other than Max Mayfield and the current state she was in— still recovering both psychically and mentally from the trauma of Vecna’s curse— but a warrior all the same, proven by how quickly she’d woken up after predictions she’d be comatose for months. Even adorning casts and a neck brace, she still somehow managed to make them look badass.
That was just the Max Mayfield charm.
At least she was alive, huh? More than what could be said for anyone else who’d been touched by the curse— perhaps why Lucas was so on edge every any time her heart monitor spiked suddenly— fearful that Vecna had come back to finish the job.
Still.. Lucas couldn’t shake the pending guilt of it all— that it was his fault she’d ended up this way when he was the one who’d promised to pull her out before Vecna could get his hands on her. It made his stomach twist into knots thinking back to that moment.. Max levitating in the air just out of reach as if Vecna was purposely taunting him, forced to watch helplessly and then.. snap! the sickening crack of her bones as her limbs bent in almost animatronic ways— like something straight out of a horror movie. The scene played out in slow motion in his mind on a loop, him mulling over what he could have done better and mentally cussing himself for letting it happen.. although deep down he knew there was nothing that he could have done differently thanks to Jason Carver and his untimely intervention.
If only he’d been faster though, more vigilant.. then maybe Max would be— no. No, he couldn’t keep on with this train of thought. Wasn’t he already punishing himself enough with lack of sleep and little to eat? Not that he had much desire to eat or sleep anyway. What was the point when sleep only brought the nightmares and food made him feel sick to his stomach?
Pulled out of his self despair by a low groan emitting from his right, coal coloured orbs shot up to glance upon Max who was apparently just waking up from a nap. Poor girl looked exhausted. No surprise there considering how many pain meds were in her system. “..Morning, sleeping beauty. I was starting to think you’d entered your princess era.” A crooked and tired grin spread its way across his lips as he gazed up at her weary face from the uncomfortable hospital chair.
How many times had he counted the freckles on her cheeks? Enough to memorise how many there were: 34 to be exact.
34 beautiful constellations..
Just 34 more reasons added on to the endless list of other reasons why he was still in love with Max despite all of their trials and tribulations.
summary: just a steamy scene that i’ve had on my mind.
playlist suggested to listen while you read this <3
“it’s so big” you say, looking at him with doe eyes. it always make renji flustered, you like teasing him. you lick your lips and you take him with one of your hands, and start giving his tip kitten licks. tasting the saltiness of his precum and then mixing it with your drool, to then spit on his cock.
making your hand slip easier through his shaft. making him groan at the soft pumps you gave him, and the way you bobbed your head up and down, taking every inch of him inside you.
“babe, just like that” renji said pulling your hair, with your other hand you played with his balls.
he bucked his hips making you choke on his shaft, enjoying you gag on it, tears running down your face. he loved the way he smudged your make up.
his moans and groans had you rubbing your thighs together, your panties getting wet. you stopped for a second.
“am i your pretty girl?” you asked renji, looking at him. his eyes filled with lust.
“yes, you are babe…” he cupped your cheek and with his thumb he cleaned a tear off your face.
you smiled and continued on sucking him off, lapping your tongue all over the veins tracing around his cock.
you took him all inside you, feeling him throb inside you, he was getting close to his orgasm.
“fuckkk, i-” he filled your mouth with his cum, making you swallow it whole, until you cleaned him.
Change. It had always been rapid, sudden, sharp and cutting in her life. Homes upheaved, moved from sea to wood to desert. People constant, then suddenly gone without a word, never to be seen again.
Even she herself changed just as rapidly, her days of infancy ending overnight. And then again, in two jumps over the years, she’d reached her current self. The self that stood before her in the mirror, with skin too pale, limbs just a bit too long, teeth just a few too many.
The rapidness of change had been jarring, but it had become her normal. Something she was used to, almost familiar in it’s abruptness, the way it kept her on her toes, challenging her adaptability. But this? This was scarier.
She was changing. She was changing slowly and she didn’t know how to handle it. Black-clawed fingers gently traced her reflection…. she’d thought it just a trick of the light before, but no. No, there were changes. Subtle, but they were there.
Sharper. Sharper. She was growing ever sharper.
Claws that now took daily filings to keep them within a ‘normal’ range to let her pass as normal day-to-day. Horns shedding the roundness, their gentle points becoming sharpened things that threatened her pillows if she wasn’t careful. Her primary row of teeth, which had always looked normal, were starting to grow in sharper with each passing week.
The hand against the mirror balled into a fist, the quickness of the motion sending claws scraping against the glass surface, small scratches in her wake. She’d thought….she had thought she’d have more time. Until her next growth. More time… looking like the others, or as close to them as she could without having to use the gods forsaken glamours she had to wear every time she left the house.
But now? Now there was more she was going to have to start hiding. Because now? Now she looked more like a monster. No, no, she looked more like what she really was. Teeth bit into her lip as she felt the familiar stinging of tears at her eyes. It wasn’t fair. It was an unwanted reminder of her otherness. As if she needed another one.
Her emotions swelled suddenly, like the waves of the ocean she so adored and equally as unstoppable as they crashed into her, tears turning to anger as that fist unfurled to grab the mirror, sending it and it’s unwanted truths crashing to the floor.
A small, spooky-season themed drabble for Shades of Magic. This takes place in a modern college AU (same as The Brightener) where Kell occasonally helps Ned Tuttle, an international student, with his a paranormal podcast “The Enthusiast”. Kell agrees to spending time with the other boy, but will not ever admit they might be friends.
Special thanks to @pinkcupboardwitch for building this whole AU and the whole premise of Ned Tuttle’s podcast dreams. Much obliged, friend; you’re the best :)
~*~*~*~
Kell crossed his arms tightly over his chest, scowling at his coat collar repeatedly flipped up in the late October wind. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. The. Absolute. Worst.”
“I told you you could wait in the car, Kell,” Ned called from somewhere behind him. The last Kell had checked, the other boy was stepping from headstone to headstone, checking each name with a flashlight. “And you didn’t have to come. You offered to drive.”
“Because you’re terrible at driving on the right side of the road.”
“It’s the wrong side of the road.”
“Right.”
“Wait. Right as in the right side or right as in I’m right?”
“Right side, Ned.”
“Oh… Wrong then.”
Kell let out a harsh breath and tucked himself further into his coat. He should have brought a hat. He should have worn thicker socks. He should have stayed in the car. He should have said no when Ned asked if he wanted to go on a research trip with him to Danvers on a Saturday night. Kell should have known better than to think it was for something class-related. He couldn’t count on one hand the times he had seen Ned Tuttle working on anything other than his podcast.
The Enthusiast.
Kell had given him the title after two drinks at the Stone’s Throw and he had regretted it from the next morning on. Ned had loved it. He even had a little logo for it now to go with the eight unpublished episodes he was waiting to put out into the world.
When Kell had given him the list of places around Boston that Ned could research, he had been humoring the other boy. Just feeding the obsession a little, adding a little fuel to the fire. He figured that as soon as classes started up in earnest, the Englishman would drop the podcast nonsense and they could be normal drinking buddies, maybe friends.
That was five months ago.
Now, Kell was standing in an asylum’s cemetery, freezing cold, in the dark.
“Why the fuck are we even here?” Kell whines, bouncing on his toes to try and warm up. It’d be fine if it weren’t for the wind, he told himself. It’d be fine if he had a hat, maybe gloves.
“Language, Kell!” Ned calls back.
No matter how much Kell groused and complained, Ned always answered in a polite, somewhat kind way. As if Kell’s bitching and moaning wasn’t ever going to be enough to get out of this sometimes friendship.
“Language for who? There’s no one here but us!”
“No one living perhaps! But how would you feel if you’d spent your last years in anguish only to be buried in the middle of the woods with no real marker, and the first person you get the chance to talk to in a hundred years is a redheaded wanker, yelling about how you aren’t there?”
“How would I feel?”
“Yes, Kell, how would you feel.”
“Probably nothing because death is the end and I will fight you on that, Tuttle,” Kell shouts back. The wind picks up viciously for a few seconds. Tree limbs shake and sway against the dark sky; leaves twist on the wind, smacking into Kell’s face and hair. He hears leaves crunching under shoes as, he assumes, Ned walks back to where he stands.
“Looks like you’ve upset someone,” Ned hums as he moves around Kell to inspect the other half of the graveyard. “You should apologize before things get really out of hand.”
“We are outside in the dark, Ned. What’s going to get out of hand besides wild animals?” Kell rolls his eyes.
Ned pauses and shoots Kell an irritated look. “Why must you be so impolite? You don’t talk this way to anyone else.”
“Because those people are alive.”
“They were alive once too!”
“Fine then! Because those people are real.”
“How do you know they aren’t?”
“What would you say if I said I just know?”
“I’d say you're deflecting and that I’d still like you to apologize, even if you don’t believe.” Ned stuffs a hand in his pocket, shining his flashlight in a bright circle between them. “Seriously, Kell. You could have done it nine times over by now. If ghosts aren’t real, you’ve wasted two words’ worth of breath. If they are, well… basic human decency.”
Despite the dark, Kell squints at him. He grits his teeth together and scowls at the circle of flashlight. Another gust of wind hits him in the face, shivers running through his skin, and Kell finally relents. “Ugh… fine. Fine! I’m sorry. I’m cold and tired--.”
“And generally have a bad attitude about most things.”
“Sure, Ned. I’m cold, tired, have a bad attitude, and am sorry if I offended you. It was rude of me,” Kell finished with a huff. He levelled an annoyed stare at Ned. “There. Happy?”
Ned smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I am, thank you.”
Kell sighs and steps forward. “Whatever. Here, let me help you look.”
“You want to help now?”
“Yes.”
“It’s because I have the flashlight right?”
“Shut up.”
“Kell?”
“Shut up and show me the name. The faster you find what you need, the faster I get to make you buy me Vietnamese take out.”
