don't think about widowed!simon as he learns to live his life without you. you were married, since he was a rookie in the military. he's a lieutenant now and he holds your dogtags in his hands, shaking. the cold in the metal necklace was unsettling, a stark contrast to your warmth.
widowed!simon who grieves for much longer than he wanted to. a month of bereavement, frequent visits from price, and an order to go to fucking grief counseling. widowed!simon who's just about ready to give up.
and widowed!simon tries so many things, he really tries everything in his power that he can live without you. he knew that even in death, you would want him to take care of himself.
so he tried.
difficult therapy sessions that left him tongue tied while he tried to explain his grief, seeing other people to fill the you shaped hole you carved into his lungs, going to bars to see how many drinks he could have until he stopped thinking about you.
he loved you to shreds, absolutely fucking adored everything you were. widowed!simon who takes a while to get over your passing. for a second he wants to just.. join you. maybe he'll get a chance to have the other half of his forever.
but.. in time and many tries, widowed!simon who does learn to move on. not to forget you, to cherish you. for his world to commemorate you rather than mourn you.
widowed!simon who incorporates you into his life without making you the center of it. he says goodbye to your picture that sits on the fireplace mantle, he buys your favorite tea to drink it sometimes, he goes to your gravestone to say hi. widowed!simon who finally starts living again.
widowed!simon who finds love again, in a man with a mohawk, blue eyes and a vivacious personality. widowed!simon who tells you about him, how he loves that man, and how you would have loved him too.
widowed!simon who learns to love again, to feel it all and still, never forget you.
Based on: “i miss you. even when you're here, i miss you." From @bookished's dialogue prompts found here.
Pairing: Ilia Malinin x reader
Word count: 1,646
A/N: I’ve suddenly been very into the Quad God phenomenon. Typically an spn writer, but finally exploring outside of that to stay creative. I might be messing around with different sources of inspo, but I’d love to get some requests or feedback!
*~*~*~*~*~*
It’s great—watching him take the well-deserved win at the World Championships, basking in the praise that should have been there this entire time, no matter the results of February 13th.
Because it had crushed him, undeniably so. The pressure. The expectations. The upset. The social media ruckus alone would have been enough to defeat most people, even if it wasn’t accompanied by the bitter absence of the second gold medal.
But it was, and that made it worse. He’d wanted it so badly, he’d confessed afterwards that he would almost trade his earlier performance to the singles, even if that had meant losing the team event. Almost.
You knew just how bad he wanted it.
So, that should have been it.
It should be great to watch him take the podium—it is great to watch him take the podium, hold on to the medal that declares him a third-time world champion, and watch him take back the accolades you know he’s earned.
Except it’s not.
Even if you’re grinning wide and staring adoringly into the rink, sensing the occasional cameras watching and zooming in on your reaction as the anthem finishes.
Even if they catch the way you dash over to him once it’s done, throwing your arms around his neck as he wraps his own around your low back. He’s crushing you against him with an elated energy you’ve missed, and follows up with a messy, thrilled-filled kiss. The kind of kiss that should dissipate all your doubts and confirm that this is great.
God, you’re beginning to get tired of that word.
Because, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter how amazing you thought he was, the tidal wave of praise that came flooding in again, the faceless accounts that now stayed silent amid the 3rd consecutive world win. It doesn’t matter that this is the off-season, the time for him to relax. No, he can’t relax when the falls still play in his head daily, and the imaginary chill of the ice stings on his palms and knees.
He doesn’t slow down. He thinks he’s got everything to prove—to himself, to the world, to you.
And you—you know he has nothing else to prove to anyone, least of all to you.
“You do realize the rink closed two hours ago, right?” you ask him as he glides to a stop by the bench you’re sitting on.
“They left the keys behind earlier. Perks of being an Olympic medalist and world champion,” he smirks, slightly out of breath.
“I see you’re not immune to fame,” you roll your eyes, standing up to hand him a water bottle that he accepts with a thankful smile. “Who knew you could be so arrogant?”
“Hmm, probably the president of the ISU. You know, when he personally handed me that world record and all.”
“Oh yes, how could I forget?”
He knows neither of you is serious—you like how he can be more egotistical around you, even if it’s all ironic and for a joke. That’s a side that he doesn’t show to anyone else—his family, the cameras, or his previous Olympic team. Truthfully, a side he doesn’t actually allow himself to feel.
You kind of wish he did, though.
Maybe then, you wouldn’t still be here on a Friday night, watching him push himself beyond the limits for the sixth night in a row, completely forgoing the plans you’d set earlier for a date. You knew that if you mentioned it, he would leave the ice rink in a heartbeat. That he’s forgotten the plans simply out of dedication to his practice and not out of any malice.
However, you don’t mention it then, thinking that perhaps he’ll soon realize he’s done enough for now, that he can take a break until the next competitive season.
If you’d done that, perhaps you wouldn’t be grabbing on to his pillow two months after the world competition, unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep as you stare at the bright, red 12:15 AM written in the alarm clock on his nightstand.
It reads 12:36 AM when the front door finally screeches open.
You can tell he’s trying his best to be quiet, thinking that you’re already asleep. He whispers something you can’t make out to Miu Miu, and you feel Mysti pick her head up in interest. She is curled up on the bed by your feet, but she must decide that the warmth of your legs is better, because she settles down again a few seconds later.
There’s a soft thump—that must be his bag, you think—and then the door of the bedroom opens slightly, just enough for him to squeeze in. It lets in a small glow of light from the lamp by the entrance before you’re bathed in darkness again as he shuts the door with a quiet click.
You shut your eyes, slightly unsure of why you’re pretending to be asleep, and stay still as you let him plant a soft kiss on your forehead. He’s rifling in his dresser after that, and then the bathroom door closes, muting most of the shower’s noise.
By the time he’s slipping into the other side of the bed, where you’d stolen the pillow from, your heart is beating hard. Mysti hops out of bed when he lifts the covers up, annoyed by the sudden shift underneath her. He sets down his watch to charge on the table, but you can tell that he’s not going to sleep immediately by the faint glow bouncing off your eyelids.
You open your eyes, frowning at the exposure of light coming from his phone, even though it’s turned down to minimum brightness.
“Hey,” you rasp out, moving the pillow back toward him.
“Hey, you,” Ilia whispers back, surprised to see you awake. He clicks off his phone and sets it on the table, next to his watch. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”
“Not really,” you admit, “I was kinda having a hard time sleeping.”
With the pillow under his head and out of the way, he reaches for you, and you gladly cuddle up to him. One arm wraps around your back. You lay an arm across his middle, reaching for his free hand. The rhythmic thump, thump you can hear, ear pressed up against his chest, is melodic.
You’re quiet for a moment, letting the silence stretch out as you bask in the scent of sandalwood and aftershave, so freshly clean, so comfortably Ilia that it hurts to realize how far away he’s felt the last few months.
“I miss you.”
“I missed you, too,” he says quietly, fingers running through your hair, not catching the extent of your words. “Obviously, you can’t be there all the time, but sometimes I think it’s lame to be at practice without you.”
“No, Ilia,” you correct, squeezing his hand. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, I miss you. Right now.”
“But I’m here now,” he says, frowning.
“I know. And I miss you. Even when you’re here, I miss you,” you say, closing your eyes. His hand stills on your head, and you hear his heart pumping faster.
“Is this because I came home so late tonight?” he asks, voice low.
“I mean, yes, but not completely. Lately…it feels like you can’t stop,” you sigh, tracing your thumb back and forth against the back of his palm. “I know that your career is really important, and what you’ve accomplished and continue to try to accomplish is beyond what I could ever do—”
“That’s not true,” he interrupts, but you keep going.
“Yes, it is. Because you are an Olympic champion, and you are a world champion,” you say. “I just… Sometimes I wish that could be enough, just for a little while. I’m not saying you’ve put me, us, on the back burner, but I… I get so afraid sometimes that you’re losing yourself in the process of trying to prove something you’ve already done.”
He’s silent for a moment. A moment that seems almost long enough for you to start questioning yourself, questioning if you said something wrong. But then he speaks, so vulnerable that you let go of his hand and instead hold on tight to his middle.
“I don’t feel like I’ve done enough,” he whispers into the dark room. “I don’t feel like I’m enough—like I deserve it, any of it, with the mistakes I made before. Like I don’t even deserve you unless I can be better, be perfect.”
“Oh, honey,” you shake your head, feeling a sharp sting of tears you’re trying to hold back. “Ilia, you’ve done more than enough. You are more than enough; I couldn’t ask for anyone better than you.”
“Even if I mess up beyond belief on international TV?”
There’s a hint of bitterness to his voice, although you can tell he’s starting to lighten up. You can’t see it, but it feels as though a weight is lifting, and his body is relaxing out of a state of tension he didn’t realize he was holding on to.
“You could be Bambi on ice, and I wouldn’t care,” you reply. His heart rate, like yours, was starting to settle back down. “I just want you here. Present. That’s all I need.”
“I will be,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. This one is different from the one earlier. It lingers, careful to assure you that he will be holding on to that promise. “I swear I will be. I love you.”
“I love you,” you say it back, lifting your head up to capture a slow kiss from him.
The night feels lighter now. You peek at the alarm again one more time before sleep takes over, 1:07 AM, and for the first time in weeks, you stop missing him.
Leviathan was absolutely giddy. Part of it was the celebratory demonus his brothers had pressured him into drinking for his birthday celebration. Nobody wanted to start drinking before the birthday boy, and just pushing a congratulatory glass in his hand was the quickest way to get the party started. The alcohol started flowing, the food kept coming, and then it was time for presents.
The second reason why Leviathan couldn’t stop chortling to himself: the latest and greatest limited edition Sucre Frenzy concert DVD, with bonus content. It even came with a companion book full of interviews, costume turnarounds, and choreography breakdowns. Only ten exist in the world. Lucifer wouldn’t divulge how he got it. When Leviathan pulled it from the gift pile, wedged between a pack of socks from Mammon and a fruity shampoo kit from Asmodeus, he screamed. Then he ran to the bathroom to wash his hands before touching it again, as the concert DVD was practically a legendary artifact.
Though he had been to the concert in person, seeing it again in HD with surround sound and a running commentary was an entirely new experience. The very first screening was to be a highly selective affair, reserved for the birthday boy himself and one VIP guest: you. That you were sober enough to actually set up the DVD player was a coincidental bonus.
The two of you had plenty of snacks and pen lights for Levi’s little after-party. The after-party that started while the main party was still winding down. At this point, it was practically expected that the guest of honor would sneak off with you while everyone else turned a blind eye.
Cushions and large plush toys were strewn about the floor for comfort. Some of them were freshly unwrapped presents. Others were your usual seat when you came to game with Leviathan. You dimmed the lights then rushed back over to the TV as he rapidly beckoned you. “Come on! It’s starting, you don’t want to miss- oh! That trumpet - that’s the opening cue!”
There was awed silence for around ten seconds. As soon as the idols descended to the stage, Leviathan jumped to his feet, stumbling a little in his inebriated state. He grabbed his trusty sticks. “Let’s goooo!”
You cheered him on with your wotagei knowledge, having accompanied Leviathan to enough karaoke sessions to know when to shake the lights in what manner. It was a workout. As the first song transitioned into a second, Leviathan pointed at the screen.
“This song was debuted at DeviFesta last year and instantly rose to the top of the charts!” he explained during the interlude. Light stick as his microphone, he belted out lyrics with flawless rhythm. On somewhat unsteady legs, he spun and waved at you, mimicking the fanservice the singers were performing on stage. This concert must have been seared into his memory. You clicked the pen lights to orange and egged him on.
“It makes my heart race - hey!
When I look at your face - hey!
'cuz I really really love you~
Chu! Chu! Chu!”
Mid-chant, Leviathan’s focus wavered. He never put much thought into the lyrics before. It was typical idol fluff, the cheap kind that every song had to tug on your heart strings. It didn’t really mean much because idols love all of their fans equally. But to sing it to you, to your face, when you were so close and cheering him on, gave the words actual weight.
You were no stranger to drunk Leviathan’s honesty. It was far from the first time he’d had a few too many drinks and started confessing his true feelings to you. It’s really the only way he can directly say how he feels without stammering through an uphill battle of nerves. The way he suddenly dropped to his knees took you off guard, though. The concert hadn't even been on for ten minutes. You scrambled over with a cushion, asking above the performance, “woah! Are you alright?”
Leviathan averted his eyes. He held his flushed face so low that you couldn’t see how red it was, but during special moments like these, he at least felt the courage to speak his mind.
No more singing. He shuffled forward to softly pick up your hand and give it a squeeze.
“I really, really love you,” he repeated. “I don’t… say it enough… because I’m…” Leviathan’s voice trailed into a mumble as he pressed your hand against his forehead. It was too strenuous to try and hear what he was saying. You expected him to fall asleep. Maybe exhaustion finally caught up with him. The day was long, there was a lot of excitement, the DVD could wait until tomorrow.
Instead, he proved you wrong. He was always proving himself capable in the most unexpected of ways. Leviathan slowly tilted his head to look at you with wavering eyes reminiscent of a sunset. “C-can I hold you?”
You nodded, glad that he was alright. “It’s your birthday. You can do whatever you want.”
Leviathan softly tugged at your arm, dragging you into his lap with clumsy coordination. He handled you like his brand new DVD, with the utmost respect and reverence, but he couldn’t decide if he wanted to look at face or turn you away and hug you from the back. He settled you sideways, with an arm curled around your back and your knees bent above his thigh.
Sucre Frenzy performed in the background despite no one facing their way. Leviathan had a more important fave to pay attention to. One that was live, not something pre-recorded. When the final chorus hit and the idols sang their bit, he placed three kisses on your cheek. Each perfectly timed to a “chu!
“You’re my number one,” he professed into your ear.
Now was your turn to be giddy. With a laugh, you snuggled against Leviathan’s front. His anime t-shirt was one hundred percent cotton. Super soft and Leviathan-scented. “You know I love you too, right?”
He pushed his face into the top of your head with a “gyaaah!” and squeezed you tighter. Too much emotion could easily overwhelm an otaku. “Why do you have to be so… perfect!? You’re the whole package.”
“I should have put a bow on myself, then,” you told him. “Then you could have opened me as your present.”
Leviathan rubbed your back. You could smell the demonus on his breath, sweet and fragrant, as he half hummed a tune, half whined knowing he was going to die of embarrassment in the morning. In the moment, though, this sounded like a pretty suave thing to say: “Then, maybe next year, that’s not such a bad idea... You as my birthday present.”
It could get cold on the tiled floor of Leviathan's bedroom, yet the two of you together felt nice and toasty. He lifted his knees a speck, tilting your body towards his. It made it easier for you to rest your chin on his shoulder. He flinched at every little touch, an uncontrollable gut reaction that sent cold shivers up his veins like lightning, but soon found himself craving more.
“It’s still not too late this year," you suggested.
Hi! I js want to say I really love your writing! Especially your stuff with Armand is so in character (which is so admirable considering how hard he is if pin down as a character!!) I just really want to read more Armand from you (if you would like no pressure lol) but maybe specifically some fluff??? Thank so much for writing enjoy your day :)
Thank you! I appreciate you saying so, and thank you for giving me feedback on my writing. I really have been hoping I have been writing in character for Armand, it can be difficult as he is a very layered character. I personally do not like out-of-character writing, so I am glad it reads as in character <3
I came up with a few fluff scenarios the minute I saw your request. You can feel free to request the release of a poll on those if you end up liking this one. Thank you for the request, and I hope you enjoy!
This is a big ass gif I am so sorry, but there are not many gifs for Armand that fit the vibe
Pairing: Armand x fledgling!reader
Premise: Daniel was supposed to be the only exception to Armand's self-imposed standards... A turning born out of a rage-induced mistake, proof that even over 500 years of existence does not make one immune to the influence of their emotions. And yet, in your eyes, he can see himself, the reflection of his eyes staring right back at him like a mirror. He cannot make himself distant; he decides to take responsibility for his creation...
Warnings: Armand, mentions of blood, mentions of feeding, baby's first kill, vampirism (Armand is a vampire... and so are you in this sooooo), fluff. Possible grammar errors, I am not a grammarian (shhhh, pretend they are not there).
Word Count: 1.4 K
You didn't usually walk home in the dark. It was far too dangerous to do so, but you lost track of time... a quite literal grave mistake on your part. He was so quiet, and your head hurt so bad. You didn't know he was the cause of your headache. Without you knowing, he slipped into your mind oh so easily...as if he lived there and paid the bills. As easy as a hand glides through water to check the temperature, as eyes follow the movement of its ripples that travel outward. He sorted through memories as he listened to the panicked ramblings of you trying to figure out the safest route home, all while walking silently towards your figure from behind.
"Are you lost?"
Every muscle in your upper body tensed, despite the words gracing your ears so softly. You were apprehensive, he knew this, he could predict it... Alone, by a street corner in Dubai, sundown, approached by a stranger with barely any ability to focus due to your temples throbbing. You were frozen, looking up into his eyes, searching for any hint of his possible intention... And the longer you looked, the faster your tension slipped away. Yet you still failed to speak.
"Let me help you get home, please... I know this city well," The words fell from him like a plea; he stepped closer. A nod and wordlessly he guided you home, somehow without you even realizing you never told him your address...he knew it already.
The headache slowly faded, practically gone by the time you reached your door. His hands slipped into your pocket for your keys, unlocked your door, and guided you in with his cold, gentle hands. You hadn't even noticed he had invited himself into your home...
He locked your door behind him before helping you onto the couch, his hand slipping from your back and away from you. His hands found his lap as he silently sat beside you.
"Thank you..." The words softly slipped from you.
"You're welcome," he replied, almost confused, his eyes trailed across your face. Wordless, a slow, careful hand reached across your face to tuck a hair behind your ear, eyes trailed down.
"Your hands are cold," you whispered, eyes stuck to the entertainment center in front of you.
"I know."
His hand moved from your ear to your neck, gradually easing you closer.
It was the equivalent of being thrown into a cold body of water. The trance was gone. You were sober now.
"Sir, what are you doing?" You asked, the tension was back, your eyes wide, you tried to turn to face him.
"Relax." It was a command. One you couldn't disobey, he was in your head. Slipped back in without notice the moment your trance was broken. Frozen again as his teeth grazed your neck before they slipped past the skin. Your vision attempted to fail you, lightheaded at the feeling of blood loss... his bite had burned before your nerve-endings severed, numb. Yet, you could feel everything, and to your surprise-- your horror faded. Soft, shaky breaths left your lips, and your head fell back as you melted into the couch. Those cold, gentle hands held you as though you were porcelain. His hand slid up to cradle your cheek, he pulled away, but something was wrong...
He took too much, and he didn't intend to. His hands gently cradled your face, his eyes looked over your condition, and assessed the damage with consideration. And before you could follow that light and fall into your final seven-minute dream, his wrist pressed against your lips as liquid garnet slipped over your tongue. His fingers gently carded through the strands of your hair as he held your head, supported it tenderly as you consumed the elixir of eternal life and exited the chrysalis of mortality.
You can now look back on the memory with a newfound clarity, an abrupt clarity, but clarity nonetheless.
Everything felt new, reborn from the death of a human form, and all you could do with it for... was nothing, you're locked in your apartment with your maker.
"Is this really necessary?" You couldn't help but ask him, looking at him as he sits at your kitchen table on his iPad, your chin resting on the back of the couch. You were hungry... and it was frustrating.
"Yes."
"Oh thanks, wow, that was so informative, Armand..." You were thankful he couldn't read your thoughts. Getting up from the couch, you walk around it and back towards the kitchen table, sitting across from him. He unceremoniously sets the iPad down, a faint thump being made against wood as he looks up at you.
"What is it, ma petite?" He asks softly.
"I'm hungry-"
"I have been feeding you; you are not starving. Save the theatrics, I do not want you to overeat," he reasons.
"I'm still hungry, and you're gonna leave to go get those stupid blood bags-"
"I have to leave to get those 'stupid blood bags', your diet requires larger and more frequent portions than mine."
"Why?" you ask, complaining still.
"I'm older than you."
You sigh, resting your cheek on your hand, your elbow propped on the table as you look at him. His eyebrows raise expectantly, but you say nothing.
"Would you rather hunt?" He asks. It's a hefty question that puts out a tension in the air the minute it dares to leave his mouth.
"Alone?" you ask quietly, briefly looking down, unsure.
"No, ma petite." He answers immediately, his head shaking in immediate rejection of the very concept.
"How?" You ask quietly.
"Leave that to me, I'll teach you."
...A few hours later someone was knocking at your apartment door.
"Some have their own tedious methods; I deem all that effort unnecessary. There are plenty of corrupt... unseemly mortals to choose from." That's how he put it as he spent barely a few minutes on his iPad to make arrangements with some poor guy headed to the location for Armand's promise of payment if he survived...
"They come not only for the payment but because their ego has been challenged and they're too naive to realize what exactly they're getting into."
"Well, what if he survives?" You asked as you looked up at him, head tilted. Amusement immediately colored his features, and a smile made its way onto his expression.
"They never do."
The conversation plays in your head as Armand opens the door, allowing the stranger into the space. The stranger's thoughts were loud... and ugly; they made you cringe enough to tune out the conversation Armand starts with the stranger the second the door closes. It isn't a long conversation by any means, and it's cut short by Armand's simple command, "sleep." An abrupt thump of weight hits the ground in front of you. Your eyes widen, and you look at Armand.
"Why'd you do that?" you ask him, eyebrows furrowing to which Armand does not respond; he merely crouches down and carefully positions the man to where he is sitting up.
"Come here."
You hesitantly crouch down beside him, looking up at your maker in close proximity.
"You've never had blood from the vein, I don't want this to be difficult for you, ma petite..." Your maker speaks softly, his demeanor encouraging as you move your hands to hold onto the man slumped in front of you. You scan his face for approval before you tilt the man's head to the side. You can hear the resting heart rate of him in front of you, his pulse beneath your fingertips... your mouth waters as you lean closer to the man. Armand's fingers sweep your hair out of your way as you lean down.
"That's it, ma petite," he whispers. Your fangs emerge as you sink them into the man's neck, carefully sucking at the punctures you made in the flesh. Your maker's hand gently brushes over your hair as you consume the blood; it smoothly glides down your throat as you swallow. Your lashes flutter as you close your eyes, savoring the taste. The sound of heartbeats slowing fills your ears as you continue drinking, and before the last beat is audible, Armand, with gentle, patient hands, pulls you back.
"Never from the dead, ma petite... pull away before they cease," He warns. Your eyes open, and his finger gently wipes away blood from the corners of your mouth with faint praise, "so good." He smiles.
genre: bf!au, fluffy smut, just a little drabble of y/n and chanyeol being in love 💕
1k words
it’s a friday night. the week was long for both you and chanyeol. having just finished your 8 to 4, you were feeling pretty lazy. you both agreed to a simple dinner which was code for “find what you can in the fridge and make it into a soup”.
the food was done in 20 minutes, record time, eager to just crash on the couch and watch a movie in each others arms. it was only 5pm and yet, the pjs were thrown on immediately after supper.
as if you couldn’t love him more, chanyeol surprised you with your favourite chips and soda. you thanked him with a big fat kiss and the tightest hug, feeling so loved by him.
you’ve settled down on the couch, your back against chanyeol’s, as you rewatch the first season of greys anatomy. chanyeols arm is draped across your waist, stroking your belly absentmindedly. your feet rub against his in an effort to warm your pair. it’s the calm you needed after a long week at work. being in your lovers arms, that’s all you could ever wish for.
you squeal when you see meredith and viper kiss for the first time and it’s revealed that derek was there to see it.
You make out with patients now?
you completely lose it in chanyeol’s hold, feet kicking his in excitement.
“hey, hey, small couch!!” chanyeol laughs at you, pulling on your waist so he was now above you. he smiles sweetly before giving you a quick peck on the lips. “you’re so cute when you fangirl.”
“it gets me every time.” you return the kiss, snaking your hand behind his neck and pulling him closer to you to deepen the kiss. his lips match your slow pace. your tongues wrestle each other unhurriedly like you have all night to ravish.
you nip at his bottom lip and pull at it slightly, earning you a slight moan. his hand massages your side while he nudges your legs apart. it’s your turn to moan when you can feel his growing member through his pjs as it lightly grazes your heat. he sneaks his fingers through your boxer shorts and swipes across your wet folds.
“so wet.” he hums against your lips, now using two fingers to circle your clit with your wetness. he’s applying the perfect amount of pressure but gosh, is he taking your time with you.
you don’t even care. you know chanyeol would take care of you all night if you asked.
“mm, you’re being so nice and patient.” he notices your efforts to be his good girl and rewards you with a bit of a quicker pace. you gasp in his mouth and tighten your hold around his neck, pulling him even closer to you if that was even possible.
you were craving him. your body has been aching to be in his hold like this. this was love you never thought you would ever get the chance to experience.
chanyeols pace grows quicker, rubbing your clit with such expertise. he knew your body so well. he knew which angle to apply the pressure and he knew counterclockwise was how to get you undone. As expected, your face began to show the fruits of his labour. your brows were furrowing. your eyes were squeezed shut. your back was arching.
chanyeol puts a hand to your cheek, urging you to open your eyes because this is his favourite part and you know it. to your best attempt, your lashes flutter open and look into chanyeols eyes. they’re encouraging and filled with love. he wants you to cum on his fingers and he wants you to be looking at him when you do.
“cum for me, my love.” he says like it’s the magic words to get you to finish. chanyeol watches as your eyes try their best to focus on him. your toes curl into the couch, a leg instinctively rising from the pure ecstasy you were feeling. he bites his lip, turned on by the way he has you, all of you, all to himself. “you’re so beautiful, honey.”
he kisses you so passionately, so deeply. you’re so overwhelmed by love. you end up making out for a little longer, completely enamoured with being in his touch and having his lips on yours. chanyeol continues to rub circles around your sensitive heat, just in love with how you feel in his touch. he’s not trying to make you cum again. he just loves to feel you. he slips a finger inside you, pumping in and out with no rush, just wanting to be in you and feel your gummy walls around his finger.
you squeeze around him, not expecting him to add another finger. he’s obsessed with you. he’s memorizing every inch of you, not afraid that he’ll lose you but purely because he wants to know all of you.
“my yeol, can i please have you inside of me?” you remove your lips from his and you both gasp for air. you just want to be filled by him, want him to be inside of you all night. he nods before turning you so you were now facing the tv again. he slides both your bottoms off and lifts your leg slightly. he swipes his cock against your fold, wetting his member with your fluids. you share a moan when he slowly enters you without a rush.
“you’re so perfect for me. we’re like a perfect little puzzle piece.” you giggle at his comment and rest a hand on his ass, pushing him into you and setting the deliberate pace. his hips follow your lead. he takes your chin between his fingers and turns it towards him so he could kiss you as he fucks you at a tantalizingly slow cadence. you move your hand to the back of his neck and run your fingers through his hair.
“i love you so fucking much. it hurts not being in you like this all day.” chanyeol is hitting that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. you squeeze him every time he hits it. he groans against your lips and you can feel his hunger when he tightens his grip around your thigh. his hips begin to move at a quicker pace. his fingers return to your clit and he rubs you in the way he knows so well. before you knew it, you’ve become an aching, pulsing mess around him, yelping against his lips from cumming for the second time.
chanyeol fucks you through it and explodes inside of you. but he doesn’t care that he’s cum already, he continues to fuck you until he can’t feel you pulsing around him anymore.
“my yeol,” you gasp. “i love you.”
“oh my love, i’m going to show you how much more i love you.”
chananyeol bong: lowkey highkey this is a self insert hahaahahah this was supposed to be pure fluff but then i saw that shirtless video oh chanyeol checking himself out. so that + not being able to sleep = this. anyways pls enjoyyyyyy like comment subscribe link in bio wtv wtv 💓🙆🏻♀️💕🍒
genshin impact, m/f, oc x oc, we yearning in the sumeru desert now, solomehr, sandstorm (?) their shipname ...
very self indulgent short drabble with me and my friend's sumeru jinni and valuka shuna ocs, solomon and mehr, ft. their 500 yr divorce (๑´ `๑)
“Grand Vizier Mehr, right-hand of the sun; seated at the side of Al-Ahmar, King of the Desert…”
The Jinni drawls, voice as smooth as milk and honey, low and rich like the riverbed of the Ardravi. Solomon laid on his side. His head rested in his palm and his elbow dug into the softness of his bedroll as he grinned, smugly, without revealing his teeth. His cat’s smile.
“...After all these years, you are still no fun.”
Suddenly, Mehr’s eyes snap back open in the darkness of their shared tent. He can see her shifting in place. The blanket draped across her lithe frame wrinkles, then collects itself in a heap on the floor. She has turned to him now, resting slightly on the side of her elbow; looking down on him with that unreadable expression he had come to be deeply familiar with. From her lips his admonishment was returned.
“Son of the Water Lillies, Keeper of the Silver Signet Ring… most beloved Prince of Ay-Khanoum.” Her ears pin back, smooth against her ruffled sandy hair as she inches closer, leans farther in.
And her eyes, burning gold irises that seared into the pit of his stomach. “Solomon.”
So close was she now that her hair was touching his forehead. His hand twitches at his side, fighting a long-buried urge. And yet he says nothing, allows her to continue chastising him with his decorated titles and his past; their shared past, dead and crumbling into dust the same as their old, forgotten temples and grand cities. He could make out the outline of her mouth in the dark. Feel her breath on his skin. “I have not forgotten your true name.”
Devastating– a killing blow if he were to be honest in their little game of mental sparring. Of course she could not forget. From the first taunt he had thrown at her, he had managed to leave out her accolades as scribe and archivist. A mistake that would cost him. He had made a similar mistake, five hundred years ago, in a situation like this one, where they were close as two reeds intertwined in a woven basket.
Mehr’s expression softens when she hears the hitch of his breath at such a revelation. If only for a split second. It was those fractions in time that Solomon had grown experienced in catching, or else he would have no clue at all what she was thinking inside that head of hers. Her ears twitch minutely. The long, slender make of her tail swishes behind her, Solomon barely being able to make out the change in her silhouette from their proximity.
Another languid swish of her tail to the side. Mehr narrows her eyes, pupils changing to slits. A whisper that hissed through his bones.
“...After all these years, I still know you.”
His hand twitches again– he could not suppress it –the back of his knuckles brushing the warmth of her thigh. Still, he recognized her lips in the night. Still there was a fire that prickled beneath his flesh hot and uncomfortable, that made his blood boil in his veins and his emerald green irises dilate against the blackness of his sclera– still he recognized the motions of what he dreaded would be a kiss.
A last lash of her tail, and she was gone. Her heat vanishes into the frigid desert darkness. A few seconds more and she had returned to her own mat, tucked herself back underneath her blanket, back turned. As if nothing had happened. His nails dig into his palm. The Jinni blinks and a hundred words die cold on his tongue.
He could not believe it.
A scholar of Haravatat, one noticed by Lesser Lord Kusanali personally, had been left speechless. What else could he have done? He could not come up with anything that would match her tender barbs. There was nothing else to say. So through midnight in the Desert of Hadramaveth, there is a silence thick enough to hear the sifting of sand as it is blown by the wind outside.
