inspired by a post i saw forever ago that was something along the lines of "tell me about your book while i kiss your neck" | 1k-ish, reader w breasts, boyfriend!steve, steve is distracting af and such a tease, not quite smut oopsies | 18+ only!!! mdni!!!
“Hi, baby,” Steve says softly as he emerges from the bathroom, hair still wet, wearing nothing but his boxers. His knees land on the mattress, and moments later, he’s crawling up the bed towards you, “Whatchya readin’?”
“Hey, bub,” you reply after a moment, too lost in your book to respond to his question right away, still not giving him your full attention as you turn the page, “It’s, um…” Your attention is stolen by the book again and you trail off, not answering his question.
“Babe?” he asks as he flops onto his stomach, slinging an arm over your middle. Drops of water from his hair spray over you, sprinkling the page of your book lightly, enough to make you let out a noise of protest. He huffs too, fingers pinching at your side lightly, “Pay attention to me!”
You let out a shriek of surprise, batting his hand away as you finally close your book, dropping it onto the bed next to you, “Okay, okay, ‘m sorry!”
“Are you?” he asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow as he props his chin up on your sternum, fingers rubbing softly over the place he pinched you; a silent apology.
“Yes! I promise,” you reply, holding your hand out towards him, pinky outstretched.
Steve’s finger wraps around yours, pulls your hand up to his mouth to kiss it once, as he eyes you seriously, a teasing lilt to his voice, “You know how serious pinky promises are, babe.”
“You have my full attention, Stevie,” you reassure him, untangling your fingers from his to brush them through his damp hair and out of his face.
“Good,” he grumbles with a huff, even though he’s smiling, cheek pressed into the soft fabric of your shirt. Steve’s only there for another moment before he’s pushing up onto his hands so he can hover above you.
His face appears above yours, his smile boyish and charming as always. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, but his name isn’t even halfway out of your mouth before he’s dipping down to press his lips to yours, kissing you as if he hasn’t kissed you in ages. You’re a little startled by the suddenness of it, but you absolutely are not going to complain, and you quickly melt into his touch.
Moments later, Steve pulls back suddenly, just enough to look at you, hand cupping your jaw. Your brows crease in confusion at the abrupt change, and even more so when the question he had stopped kissing you to ask is, “What’s your book about, baby?”
You blink, not expecting such an innocent question after the way he’s just kissed you, but he’s genuinely curious, and it makes your heart swell, “Oh. Um, well, it’s about—“
Your boyfriend’s lips are on your neck a moment after he asks, and it’s distracting enough that the words die on your lips as your eyes flutter closed. Ever attentive, Steve’s lips pause at the crook of your neck as he mumbles into your skin, “‘M listening…”
“Right,” you say, shaking your head a little, like that’ll help clear it. Your hands push up Steve’s arms, resting on his biceps as he resumes pressing kisses to your neck, “It’s about, um, this girl who…”
Only moments later, your thoughts trail off again, entirely preoccupied with the way Steve is nipping at your neck, hands wandering your sides slowly, deliberately, his fingertips creeping underneath the hem of your pajama shirt. Goosebumps prickle on your skin in their wake, trailing up up up towards your ribs.
Your book is long forgotten, teetering on the edge of the bed. Faintly, you wonder if you did anything to mark the page before you dropped it, but the thought is gone just as quickly as it’d appeared. Steve finds the spot on your neck that makes you turn into putty in his hands, and he knows it with the way your breath hitches, your fingers curling around his arms more tightly. There will be a mark there tomorrow, you’re sure of it.
You can feel the curve of his lips on your skin, his knowing smirk as he mumbles, “Book must not be that good, huh, baby? Can’t tell me anything about it.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to reply with his teasing kisses and the way his hands drift up to your breasts, taking your shirt with them. And just when you think he’s going to touch you, to give you the attention you’re so desperately craving, his hands continue their ascent, pushing your shirt over your head.
Steve tosses it to the side, discarded just like your book, leaving you in only your underwear. You squirm under his heavy gaze, desperate for him to kiss you, to touch you, to give you anything. You sigh his name, sounding more like an impatient whine, “Steve… please…”
He grins down at you, collecting both of your wrists in one big hand and holding them against the pillows. Leaning down, his lips brush yours, nose nudging into nose as he says with a teasing lilt, “Make ya a deal, honey…”
A questioning hum is all you can manage in reply as you fight against Steve’s grip to kiss him properly again. Your back arches off of the bed, hips searching for friction against his.
“Tell me ‘bout your book,” he pauses, planting another wet kiss to the underside of your jaw, “and I’ll give ya anything ya want."
"Anything?" you ask shakily as his kisses dip lower, brushing over your collarbone, and lower again.
"Anything," Steve confirms with a soft hum, eyes flicking to yours, dark brown glinting at you. He's barely able to contain his smirk as his head drops back down, tongue flicking out over your soft skin.
hi there! this is my first smut request, and I like your writing, so could you pls you put me down as 🎀 anon??
so as of lateeeee, dom!Nanami talking absolute filth to his girls pussy while he eats her out has made my head spin for the last couple of days…
would you please indulge me?!
nanami talking dirty while eating you out
cw. oral (f. receiving), cunnilingus, teasing dom!nanamin — MINORS DNI 18+
note. hiiii ofc, hello 🎀 nonnie ♡ i hope this satisfies you! i don’t takes requests, but i really liked the idea of this bc o_o that’s so hot, so here we are. (not proofread & it’s really short, sorry!)
“shhhh, sweetheart,” he whispers, breath fanning against your overstimulated heat. “how can i hear what your pretty lil cunt has to say when you’re being so loud?”
you whine despite his soft command. you crave the feeling of his lips, his vicious tongue, yet he deprives you, almost like he wants you to beg for it.
“ken, pl-please–” you cry, feeling his stare and the tickle of his pants. “fuck, please.”
“hmm? you’re a needy thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles, fingers coming to toy with your swollen pearl. “tell me, my love, what is it you’re begging for?”
he rubs at your clit with such gentle intensity, as if he knows exactly how to drive you crazy. “need you,” you reply, weakly.
he just laughs, dragging his fingers through your sticky, sodden folds. “so fucking filthy,” he says, staring at the webs of arousal the connect you to him. normally, the undivided attention would make you cringe and attempt to hide yourself, but it’s nanami. the heat from his gaze does nothing but soak you further. “making such a mess, sweetheart…”
you silently scream as he plunges two fingers into you, curling them immediately. “this is what this pussy needed, huh? just needed some filling?”
it’s not enough, you fear you could never, ever get enough of the loving man between your thighs. you don’t want to be greedy, but you just can’t help it.
“your… your mouth… please. need your mouth, too.”
he smiles, “my spoiled girl,” he says before wrapping his lips around your clit, moaning at the taste. “tastes soo good, my love,” his words muffled against you, vibrating you to your core.
you tangle your fingers into his hair, rocking yourself against his face in attempts to get more. it’s futile, though. he never fails to remind you that he’s in control here, so when you try to get more, he just slows his fingers down and pulls his face away from you.
“silly girl, you should know better than that.” he caresses your thigh with his free hand. “‘m starting to think you’re letting your pussy do all the thinking, honey. have you turned off the brain in that pretty little head?”
you nod, dumbly, blinded by feral need. you tug loosely at the blond strands and pray he lets you off the hook this one time. you hope he can see you’ve never wanted anything more than his addictive mouth and thick fingers. though he just might see it as you being an attention starved slut, but you don’t really care much.
“ken, give it to me. please, i need you.” you say in a half pant, half sob, arching your back off the plush bed. “‘m sorry, please.”
he’s not sure what you have to apologize for; but he finds it strangely endearing that you would say anything for him to get you off.
and you love the man before you because he’s never denied you. yes, he’s made you work for it, but at the end of the day, nanami kento would do anything for his pretty, dearest wife.
but nanami can have a bit of a foul mouth when it comes to you and your pretty cunt.
“so fuckin’ sloppy,” he mutters while diving into your heat. his fingers resume their previous pace, quick in precise. “c’mon, tell kento how it feels, sweetheart.”
his words are muffled, but you hear him loud and clear. you moan out his name and tug at his roots, thanking him profusely.
he curls his fingers into your spongy g-spot, mouth wrapped tightly around your clit like a suction cup. his tongue flicks so skillfully like eating you out is what he was born to do. it makes your skin glisten with sweat, your head spin and it makes that all too familiar knot form in the pit of your stomach.
he spews countless stifled praises and comments about how nasty you are for him all the way until he has you hurtling towards your orgasm. your sobbing when that white hot pleasure courses through you and has your entire body going taut. he rides you out, finger fucking and licking you till you’re writhing and attempting to close your thighs around his head.
“k-kento–” you cry when he uses both of his hands to pin your legs wide open.
“such a dirty girl, look at the mess you made,” he says while coming up for air, face drenched with your sheen. “guess ‘m gonna have to keep going till you’re all clean, hmm?”
Makki looks at you like you’ve betrayed him, on his side of the couch with his half-full beer can in hand. “That’s the best part!”
You shrug. “Dunno. Just never been with the right person, I guess.”
“That’s some bullshit. Guys don’t even know how to kiss a girl right? We used to hunt, you know—“
“Makki sucks at it, too,” Issei chimes, leaning against the other end of the couch with his own can half-empty. He nurses it in one hand, lazily plays with a curl in the other. “Can’t say shit.”
“What the fuck? I’m such a good kisser,”
“You—“
“Wait, why do you know how good or bad he is?” you ask, turning towards Issei on your left.
Over your head, he and Makki share a grin.
“Actually? Forget I asked.”
“Don’t be green, friends kiss all the time.”
“Yeah, sure.”
You slide your back down the couch, crossing your arms over your chest as you focus back on the movie playing on the TV. Your cheeks feel hot.
You’re aware of their legs craned out to rest on the coffee table, a set on either side of you. You’re watching them out of your line of view, but when Makki’s head cranes back over the couch to look at the man to your left, you lose track of them.
They’re bickering, you can tell. Issei keeps breathing out little laughs and Makki’s making obscene hand gestures, shaking the cushions when he tries to reach behind you and smack him.
It’s the fifth time the couch jerks that you groan, pushing yourself back upright to break them up.
“Can you not?” you groan. “I’m trying to finish the movie?”
“I’ll stop when he admits I’m not a shit kisser.”
“Too much tongue, babe.”
“I was drunk!”
You swallow. “You’re probably both good kissers, okay? Settle it at that.”
They quiet after that.
The room gets quiet, save for the wind coming through the window and the movie playing still. There’s a steady picking on fraying cushion behind you, no doubt from Makki’s antsy hand.
“You think we’re both good?” Issei prods.
“Sure. Whatever floats your guys’ boats.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“How would I know, Issei?”
The three of you— you’re close enough friends by now that silence is rarely awkward, but you’re not dumb. You know what hole you just dug.
Dig your grave and lie in it, or whatever.
“You wanna find out, then?” he asks, maybe a little quieter if you’re paying close attention.
Makki is hot against your other side, leaning ahead to see the both of you as good as he can. You slink back a little into the sofa— you’re in deep literally and metaphorically.
Issei slips his hand up your leg, watching your lips part the second he sets his eyes on yours. It stays on the backside, coming back up to skip over your ass, resting on your back.
His other hand is hot on the side of your face, tilting your chin up so you’re almost touching him.
“Can I show you something?”
You huff a quick breath, and nod even quicker.
Issei takes you whole, it doesn’t feel like just a kiss. It’s not just lips, even though it starts that way— it’s a graze of his teeth against your jaw before he steals your breath away that makes you slump down the couch, an exchange of power that gives your all to him.
He’s languid and slow, tongue taunting yours and his hand dauntingly large on your side. Makki’s slips beneath his and then under your sweater, nails scratching beneath your navel as they span over your skin.
You forget to breathe. He tastes like espresso and a good time. You lose track of whose hands are which. You don’t know anyone but them. You forget any other lips who have ever tasted yours.
When you reach up into his hair, knotting your knuckles in his curls, Makki takes the back of your neck and pulls you back. You’re looking at Issei, but he doesn’t look mad.
He’s smiling. You blink. You’re looking at Makki, now, and he’s smiling too.
“My turn?” He says it like a question. He might be saying it like he’s begging.
Makki moves so he’s just about on top of you, coming from above when you lean your head back to see him from below. He’s quicker than Issei, hard against your teeth and against your thigh, dizzying in how he pushes and pulls, rutting against you like he’s always wanted this.
Issei tugs your leg over his, smoothing his hand up the inside of it, skipping over where you’re too sheepish to say you want it.
It rests on your stomach, fingertips dipping beneath your waistband as Makki groans so low it vibrates in your throat. They’re playing give and take with you, back and forth like magnets, closing in and giving you space again like a corset.
Issei’s hand cups your chest and Makki’s rests on your throat. You’re being swallowed whole, and all you want them to do is spit you up and do it all over again.
Then, the storm breaks, and when you come to, they’re starry-eyed and staring at you.
“What?” you gasp.
You turn your head back and forth, looking between them like you’re checking your blind spots. You still think somethings gonna come out of nowhere and hit you; bring you back to reality.
“Nothing,” Issei shrugs. But, he leans back. “Do you wanna stay overnight? Save you a drive in the dark.”
They surround you. They encapsulate you differently, like smoke and water. You’re hot and all too aware of the things you’d say yes to.
Makki’s fingers burn against your shoulder, dragging the collar of your top down your collarbone as you nod.
Damon, after being bitten by Tyler, is running out of time. Kit stays with him during what is thought to be his final moments.
Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Self Insert (Kit) (Pre relationship)
Word count: 2,484
Content warnings: Major character injury/near death, depictions of violence (referenced), suicide ideation, Damon is just not having a good time and Kit is there to comfort him.
Author's note: Been dying to start writing some canon-adjacent stuff for my selfship, and this scene is a significant turning point between the two of them, so I wanted to try to get this out. This takes place during the final episode of season 2, in which Kit is replacing Elena during the scene where Damon is dying from his werewolf bite. Therefore, the writing references the canon scene with a few of my own personal changes to it. :)
Divider credit!
The phone buzzed against the coffee table.
Kit stared at it for a second before grabbing it. Elena's name lit up on the screen. She'd been waiting for this call all day, pacing the boarding house, then pacing in her own apartment after Stefan had basically shoved her out so she wouldn't have to watch Damon get worse.
She hit answer. "Elena—"
"Kit." Her voice was shaky, like she'd been crying. "You need to get over here. Now. Please."
Kit's stomach dropped. She was already up and reaching for her keys. "What happened?"
"He's bad. He's really bad." She heard Elena inhale sharply, like she was trying to hold it together. "He got loose from the cellar. He was—he was hallucinating. He thought I was Katherine, he—Kit, he attacked me."
Kit stopped moving.
She knew Damon and Elena were complicated. Elena was Stefan's. Elena was also, in some bent, messy way, Damon's too. The fact that he'd attack her…
"Kit?" Elena's voice was small.
Kit snapped out of it. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. He was lucid enough to get back to the boarding house with me. But Kit—" A shaky sigh. "I didn't know who else to call. Stefan isn't answering. We're running out of time. Damon's—He's fading fast. I need you to get here."
Kit knew what Elena was saying without her actually saying it. Damon was dying, and it was happening quickly, and if Kit didn't get her ass moving right now she wouldn't be there when he—
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
---
The trip to the boarding house was a blur. She had grabbed her bike and pedaled like her life depended on it. Cold air cut across her face. Her thighs and lungs burned. She took corners too fast and nearly ate shit twice, but she didn't slow down.
Elena was at the base of the staircase when she shoved through the heavy doors. They stared at each other.
Elena looked pale. She had a bloody hand towel pressed to the side of her neck, and her eyes were pink and swollen.
"He's in his room," she said quietly.
"Elena—" Kit started. She wanted to ask if she was really okay. She wanted to, stupidly, apologize to Elena about the bite, even though it wasn't her fault at all. She wanted to offer to sit with her, get her water, do something, but Elena shook her head before Kit could even get the words out. She tilted her chin towards the stairs.
"Go."
Kit went.
---
The hallway to Damon's bedroom felt longer today. When she pushed the bedroom door open, the smell hit her first—It was wrong. Bitter. Like copper. Decay.
Damon was on his bed. He was on his back, on top of the covers, still dressed in the same black shirt he'd been wearing this morning when she last saw him. His sleeve was rolled up, and the werewolf bite looked awful. Dark, violent veins crawled up his arm, and she could see them spiderwebbing up his neck. His chest was rising and falling too fast. His face was soaked in sweat, plastering his hair to his forehead.
He looked… Small. Weak.
The sight hit Kit hard in the chest. Damon Salvatore never looked small.
Kit crossed the room and stopped beside the bed. Her hands hovered, useless. She had no idea if it was safe to touch him.
His eyes fluttered open. They were glassy. It took him a moment to focus on her face, and when he did, his jaw tightened.
"No." He sounded horrible, like he was gargling glass. "Kit, get—get out of here."
"Damon—"
"It isn't safe." Each word sounded like it cost him. "I already—I already tried to rip Elena's throat out. I'm not gonna—do that to you. Go home."
She sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'll take my chances."
"Don't be stupid—"
"I'm not leaving you, Damon."
He tried to glare at her, but it barely landed. She watched the tremors running under his skin.
Damon's hand twitched on the sheet like he wanted to reach for her. "If I hurt you—"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do. Stop—"
A rough, ragged sound tore out of him suddenly, cutting her off. A painful convulsion ripped through his whole body, his face screwing up, his teeth clenching. His hand flew to his chest and he gasped for breath.
The instinct to stay safe completely vanished. She climbed into the bed and slid behind him, scooting her back against the headboard, and pulled at his shoulders clumsily until he was slumped against her chest. His head dropped onto her collarbone. She wrapped her arms around him; soft at first, then tighter when he didn't fight her. He let out a shaky breath against her throat as the pain passed.
His skin was boiling. The heat bled through his clothes and into hers, burning against her skin. His hair was damp from the sweat.
"I've got you," she said quietly. "I've got you. It's okay."
His fingers curled weakly into her sleeve.
For a while, it was quiet. Damon tried to breathe, his chest stuttering under Kit's arms, every inhale catching somewhere in his ribs. Kit rested her chin against the top of his head.
"Kit?" His voice sounded different, like he was getting further away.
"I'm here, Damon."
"Tell—tell Stefan—"
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"—tell him I'm sorry."
"Damon, stop."
"No, I need—I need him to know." His words were slurring. "All of it. Tell him—tell him I'm sorry for all of it. Tell him he was right about—about me. I should have—I should have been better to him. I was a shitty brother."
"You can tell him yourself."
"C'mon." His head moved against her, a weak shake. "Please. Promise me you'll tell him."
Kit's throat closed up.
"Okay." The word came out thick. "Okay, sure. I promise. I'll tell him."
"Thanks," he breathed.
She felt her chin wobble and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Not now. She didn't want to fall apart on him right now. She could fall apart later, when this was over, when he was—when he was—
She cut the thought off.
He shifted against her side, a low, ragged breath rattling in his chest.
"This is pretty pitiful," Damon muttered.
"Shut up," Kit whispered. A teasing reflex. Her voice softened. "There's still hope. Stefan's out there. He'll find a cure."
Damon let out a scoff. "It's alright, Kit. You don't have to lie to me."
"I'm not lying—"
"I've done a lot of things." He cut her off and swallowed. "A lot of wrong things, in my life. Things that… Got me right here." He shakily exhaled. "This is my karma. I deserve to die."
Kit frowned. Carefully, she slid her arms out from under him, shifting down the mattress until she was lying on her side, eye-level with him. She needed to see his face, and she needed him to look at her.
"No, you don't," she said firmly. Her voice shook, betraying the strength she was trying to hold. She brushed the damp hair from his forehead. "Don't say that, Damon."
His eyes slid open again. They were swimming with pain. He was looking at her like he was trying to memorize her face.
"I do," he breathed. A faint, tired smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "It's okay. Because, maybe, if I had been good… If I had done things differently… I wouldn't have ended up meeting you."
Kit blinked. The words settled in her chest like a brick.
He didn't mean that. He couldn't. He was delusional. The werewolf venom was rotting his brain, dragging him through decades of regret and hallucinations. He probably thought he was talking to someone else. Elena, maybe. He probably didn't even know she was really here with him right now.
She scooted closer, nestling into his side, and pulled his arm over her waist. She grabbed his other hand and rested it on his chest, intertwining their fingers.
The realization crashed over her, cold and absolute. It came out of nowhere. Suddenly, she couldn't remember what her life had been like before she moved here. Before she met him. She couldn't imagine waking up tomorrow and not immediately bothering him.
She loved him.
She had for a while. Months, at least. She loved him, and she'd spent so much time being terrified of it, pushing it away, convincing herself it was just… Proximity. Or trauma. Or just the need to survive.
It took him dying in her arms for her to actually accept it.
A tear escaped. Then another. Her chest hitched. She tried desperately to keep the sob locked in her throat. Damon didn't seem to notice the tears. If he did, he didn't say anything. His eyes were half-closed again, and his breathing was growing shallower by the minute. His fingers squeezed hers weakly.
She had to tell him.
She couldn't let him go out like this, thinking he was a monster, thinking he deserved this violent, agonizing end. He needed to know. Even if it didn't fix anything—she wanted him to know that he was loved. That she loved him.
"Damon," she started, her voice cracking.
He spoke at the same exact time.
"Wish we had more time…" he murmured.
He trailed off, his eyes shutting completely. His brow furrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening as a fresh wave of agony radiated from the bite on his arm. He was trying so hard to keep it together, even now, as the venom literally tore him apart from the inside out.
"Will you…" He swallowed. Kit saw his throat move painfully. "Will you stay with me?"
She nodded instantly, squeezing her eyes shut. More tears spilled over her cheeks. She didn't bother stopping them now. "I will," she managed to choke out. "Of course I will. I'll stay as long as you need me to."
A small smile touched his lips. The tension in his face seemed to smooth out.
"Thank you," he whispered softly.
I love you, she thought. The words were right there, sitting on her tongue, heavy. She didn't even know if he'd hear her at this point. She didn't care. She had to tell him, had to—
"Well it's me you should be thanking."
Kit jerked. Her eyes flew open, her heart jumping into her throat.
She turned around. Katherine Pierce was leaning casually against the door frame.
Panic flared in Kit's chest. Her grip on Damon's hand tightened, her other hand coming up defensively. She expected an attack.
She saw Elena standing right behind Katherine. She caught Kit's terrified look, and gave her a small, firm nod. Her eyes were reassuring. Kit was still amazed at how different the two were, despite looking exactly the same.
Katherine pushed off the door frame, strutting into the room. She didn't even look at Kit. Her eyes were fixed entirely on Damon.
"I mean…" She stopped at the edge of the bed, holding up a small glass vial filled with what looked like blood. She smirked. "I'm the one who brought the cure."
The cure.
Kit didn't wait. She scrambled backward, untangling her legs from Damon's and slipping off the bed to give Katherine room. Damon's eyes cracked open. The hazy, pain-filled blue fixed on the vampire above him. He looked confused. Disoriented.
"You got free," he rasped. His voice was barely audible.
"Yep." Katherine popped the cork off the vial. "Finally."
She slipped a hand behind his neck, lifting his head from the pillows with a surprising gentleness. She tilted the glass to his lips. Damon drank, just a few drops of the blood in the vial.
He fell back as Katherine pulled it away.
"And you still came here?" he breathed, looking up at her.
Katherine trailed her fingers down the side of his face, caressing his cheek before patting it gently. "I owed you one."
Kit looked away, jaw clenched. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring down hard at the floorboards, trying to ignore the sudden, ugly spike of jealousy that warred with her overwhelming relief. He was going to live. That's all that mattered to her.
"Where's Stefan?" Elena asked from the doorway. Her voice was tight with anxiety.
Katherine turned around to look at Elena, her expression hardening back into that callous mask.
"He's paying for this," Katherine said, holding up the vial. "He gave himself over to Klaus. I wouldn't expect him back anytime soon."
Kit frowned, finally looking up. "What do you mean, gave himself over?"
Katherine let out a mocking little giggle. She looked right past Kit, locking eyes with Elena.
"He just sacrificed everything to save his brother," she said smoothly, her tone dripping with a cruel satisfaction. "Including you."
Elena paled, taking a small step back like she'd been physically struck.
Katherine didn't offer any more comfort or explanation. She didn't care. She headed for the door, ready to disappear as quickly as she had arrived. Before she vanished, she tossed the vial of blood over her shoulder.
Kit caught it and clumsily held it against her chest.
"Better keep that," Katherine called back. "In case you get another unfortunate run-in with a werewolf."
And with a rush of air, she was gone.
Silence rang in Kit's ears. A sharp intake of breath drew her attention back to the bed.
Damon sat up. His movement was fluid, not a struggle at all. The sickly color of his skin was faded, replaced by his usual, healthy color. The dark, pulsing veins creeping up his neck were gone. Her eyes quickly went to his arm. The werewolf bite was completely healed. It's as if it wasn't even there in the first place.
He was okay. He was alive.
He touched his chest and took a deep breath, almost as if he couldn't believe it himself. He looked towards the doorway and met Elena's eyes. A heavy, loaded glance passed between them—an acknowledgement of what Stefan had just done. What it cost them both.
Then, slowly, Damon turned his head. He looked at Kit.
It was hard to meet his eyes, now that he was completely lucid and actually looking at her. She had her arms crossed defensively, the vial still clutched in her hand. She had tear tracks shining on her cheeks. Her confession was lodged in her throat. The air between them suddenly felt tense.
Damon's gaze softened, just slightly, but it was gone quick. The world outside of them, outside of this room, demanded their attention. Stefan was gone. He gave Klaus his life in order to save Damon. Kit knew that Damon wouldn't let that slide.
Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Self Insert (Kit) (Established relationship)
Word count: 4,157
Content warning: Explicit sexual content, PiV sex, fingering, praise kink, brief body anxiety, creampie, uhhh it's just sex you know how it goes. It's their first time so it's nothing crazy!
Author's note: This is def too long and I could have cut some out and made it shorter but I think sex is a really important part of Kit and Damon's relationship and I wanted this fic to be special :) I was just in the mood to write this out because this moment means a lot to me.
Starting this under a read more from the get go because it sort of just throws you right into it!
Divider credit!
Damon's mouth was hot and insistent against hers, and Kit couldn't think.
She was in his lap, knees bracketing his hips on the bed, her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt. She didn't really remember how they got here, exactly—they'd been downstairs, and then he was kissing her against the wall, and then on the stairs, and now here.
Damon's hands were on her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft give of her belly. Every time she shifted he pulled her tighter to him.
She rolled her hips down and felt him. He was hard, straining against his jeans, the ridge of his cock pressed right between her thighs. Her breath caught against his mouth and he groaned, vibrating through his chest into hers.
"Fuck," he breathed. His head dropped back a little bit. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and the way he was just looking at her made her stomach flip. "Keep doing that."
She did it again. A slow, deliberate grind. His jaw tightened and his fingers flexed on her hips. "Yeah, baby," he said, voice rough. "Just like that."
Kit kissed him again because she needed somewhere to put all of this, the want that had been building for weeks, since the first time he touched her and she felt it light up every nerve ending in her body. His tongue slid against hers, hot and filthy, and she whimpered into his mouth before she could stop herself.
Damon growled and his hands slid down to her ass, grabbing, pulling her harder against him. The friction was devastating. She could feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing, the thick press of his cock against her center, and she was already so wet it was embarrassing.
He pulled back from the kiss, his lips slick with saliva and his breathing uneven. His eyes raked down her body, and she felt a flush creep down her neck and disappear under the collar of her shirt.
"Take this off," he said, tugging at it.
Her brain short circuited.
Kit's hands froze on his chest. The heat didn't go away—she still wanted him so badly that her whole body ached with it—but the familiar cold thread of anxiety wound its way through her ribs.
She knew what was under her shirt. A soft stomach, stretch marks, a body that definitely didn't look like the women he'd been with before. Before they got together she'd seen the women he hooked up with, and heard stories from the girls. He'd had a century of beautiful people, and then there was just… her.
Damon was watching her. His hands stilled and he tilted his head.
"Hey," he said. Quieter now. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere." She lied quickly, swallowing. Then, "I just—it's stupid."
"Probably." A teasing smile. "Tell me anyway."
She looked down at his chest rather than at his face, not wanting to make eye contact. "You've been with a lot of people," she said finally.
Silence. She kept talking.
"Obviously." She added, awkward and stumbling. "You've been with—I mean, you've had—you've been doing this for a while, Damon. You've been with people who look like—" She gestured vaguely at him. "You know. And I'm—" Her throat closed up. She looked away, her face flushing with shame. She was ruining this and they hadn't even started.
Damon sat up a little straighter, taking her chin in his fingers and tilting her face back towards him. She had no choice but to look at him.
"You wanna know something?" He asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"I've been thinking about this for months. What it would be like to get you out of your own head long enough to actually have you." His thumb ran over her lower lip. "I've thought about fucking you so many times I lost count. Every time you'd sleep over. Every time you kissed me. Every time you do that very deliberate thing where you bend over to pick something up and—"
"Okay! Okay." Kit laughed, putting her hand over his mouth to shut him up. His eyes smiled back at her. Her face burned for a different reason now.
Months. They'd barely been official for a couple weeks, and he'd been thinking about this for months.
Damon took his hand and took her wrist, pulling her hand from his mouth. "My point is, sweetheart, you think I don't know what you look like under there? I've thought about it more times than you want to know."
"Damon—"
He pulled back and stripped his own shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side. The firelight caught the lines of his chest, his shoulders, the defined trail of the dark hair that went from his navel down into the waistband of his jeans.
"Your turn."
Kit held his gaze, her heart hammering in her throat. With a shaky exhale, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.
The air hit her skin and she had to resist the urge to wrap her arms around herself. She was wearing a plain black bra, nothing special, she didn't plan for this. Her belly was soft and round, the stretch marks along her sides silver in the low light. She could feel every inch of her exposed skin.
Damon's gaze dropped. She watched as his eyes traveled over her. His hands slid up her sides, palms flat, fingers spread wide. They skimmed over her ribs, her waist, her stomach. He traced one of her stretch marks with his thumb, following the line of it.
"Fuck," he said under his breath.
Kit's breath came out shaky. She didn't know what to do with the way he was touching her. It was deliberate, intentional, like he was memorizing every imperfection on her.
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her collarbone, open and hot. His tongue traced the jut of the bone. His hands slid around to her back, unclasping her bra with practiced ease that she'd tease him about if she wasn't so turned on right now.
The bra came off and she let it. His mouth moved lower, kissing along the swell of her breast, and his hand came up to cup the other, his thumb brushing her nipple until it stiffened under his touch.
"Beautiful," he said against her skin, and her whole body shivered.
His eyes flicked up to hers—just for a second, something sharp and knowing flickering behind them. Then his mouth curved against her breast and he bit gently, and she gasped.
"My pretty girl," he murmured, soothing the mark his teeth left with his tongue. His voice had gone low, almost lazy, like the words were spilling out of him without thought. "So fucking pretty."
Something hot and liquid pooled low in Kit's belly. She could feel herself responding to him in a way she couldn't control. Her flush deepened, and her hips rocked forward against him involuntarily. He caught her nipple between his lips and sucked, and whatever composure she'd been clinging to dissolved into a breathy moan. His other hand moved back to her hip, pulling her down against him again, rocking her against the hard line of his cock.
"That's it," he breathed. "Feel what you're doing to me, baby."
The words landed like an electric shock. Her fingers curled tighter into his shoulders and she ground down against him harder, chasing the friction. He groaned, mouthing at her neck, her chest, anywhere he could reach.
"Need these off," he said, tugging at her waistband. "Now."
He helped her off his lap, and the separation from him was almost painful. She shimmied out of her jeans, graceless and clumsy, nearly kicking him in the process. He didn't make a comment on it, he was too busy just looking at her.
She stood there in just her underwear, hyper aware of how her thighs must have looked. The urge to fold in on herself was automatic, but she braved it out and let him look at her anyway. Damon reached for her. His hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back onto the bed, guiding her down onto her back. He hovered over her and leaned down, kissing her deeply. His hand skimmed down her body; her collarbone, breasts, belly, the crease of her hip. He traced the line of her thigh, fingers dragging along the inside.
His fingers brushed over the front of her underwear, and she jolted.
"Mm." It was a low sound from the back of his throat. His fingers pressed flat against the cotton, feeling the dampness that had soaked through. He dragged his fingers along the length of her, slow. "At least I know you're enjoying yourself."
"Shut up," Kit breathed, but it came out shaky and desperate instead of annoyed.
Damon smirked at her. He pressed his fingers more firmly against her, finding her clit through the wet cotton. He rubbed a slow, tight circle, and her hips bucked off the bed into his hand.
"There you go." His mouth found her neck, sucking lazily at the skin below her ear. His fingers kept moving, making her squirm. "Show me what feels good."
She couldn't help it. Her hips moved on their own, pressing up against his hand, chasing the friction. A high, thin whine escaped her throat.
"There she is." His voice was pleased. He kept rubbing, attentive—firmer when she pushed into it, lighter when her thighs began to shake, always just enough pressure.
"Damon—" She gasped out. Every pass of his fingers over her clit sent sparks up her spine. Her underwear were ruined at this point, soaked through.
Damon pressed a kiss to the hinge of her jaw. "My sweet girl," he murmured against her skin. "Getting so worked up. You sound so pretty like this, you know."
Another whine tore out of her. Her hands grabbed at whatever she could reach. She was writhing under him, past the point of self-consciousness, past caring what she looked or sounded like.
"Please," she gasped. "Damon, please, I need—"
"I know, baby." He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and tugged. "Lift up."
She lifted her hips and he peeled her underwear down her thighs. The cool air hit her and she shivered, her legs falling open. She felt his eyes on her, and the exposure was dizzying.
He settled between her thighs. His hand skimmed up the inside of her leg, fingers trailing through her folds. Two fingers slid through the hot, swollen heat of her, parting her, learning the shape of her.
"So fucking wet," he breathed. "All of this for me? Aw, sweetheart, you shouldn't have."
He was teasing her. Even now, he had to be an ass. She turned her head to the side, pressing her face into her pillow. Embarrassment and arousal tangled together until she couldn't tell which was which.
His middle finger circled her clit directly now, and her hips jerked up hard. He held her down with a hand on her stomach. "Easy," he pressed a kiss to her hip. "I've got you."
His finger slid down and pushed into her.
She gasped. He was careful—one finger at first, slow, letting her adjust. He watched her face the entire time, reading every expression. His thumb found her clit and started a slow, steady circle as he worked his finger deeper.
"How's that feel?" he asked.
"Good." Her voice was barely there. "Real good."
"Yeah?" He pulled out, pushed in, a little deeper. His voice dropped lower. "You're tight. Relax."
He added a second finger and she exhaled shakily at the stretch. His thumb kept moving on her clit, steady and sure, and she quickly relaxed into him. He curled his fingers and pressed against her g-spot, and her vision went white around the edges.
"Oh—fuck—"
"Right there?" He did it again, watching her arch off the bed. He set a rhythm. Slow, deliberate thrusts of his fingers, curling up on every push in, his thumb circling her clit in tight motions. She risked a peek at him. He was looking at her with dark, hungry eyes. His jaw was tight, like he was restraining himself.
"So good for me," he said, low and rough. "Taking my fingers so well. You're so fucking pretty like this."
Kit whimpered. She could feel the tension building, a coil winding tighter and tighter in her belly. Her hips were moving with his hand now, rocking into the rhythm he'd set, chasing it.
"Damon—I'm gonna—"
"Not yet." He slowed his fingers, easing the pressure on her clit just enough to pull her back from the edge. She made a frustrated sound and he laughed, the bastard. "Not yet, baby. I wanna be inside you when you come. That okay?"
The words shot straight through her. She nodded, breathless.
He pulled his fingers out of her slowly. She watched as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. Kit felt like she was going to die.
Damon sat back on his heels and his hands went to his belt. She watched him undo it, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet room. He pushed everything down and kicked his clothes off the edge of the bed.
He was hard. His cock was thick, flushed dark, a small bead of precome at the tip. The sight of him made her mouth go dry and she felt her cunt clench.
He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. "See something you like?"
"Don't be smug right now, oh my god."
"I'm always smug about this." He smirked. He was infuriating. He moved over her, settling between her spread thighs, and the full body contact nearly short circuited her brain. His skin was so warm, and the weight of him pressing her into the mattress made something primal and desperate light up inside of her chest.
He leaned down and kissed her again, deep and unhurried. His cock was pressed against her, hot, and every shift of his hips dragged him through her slickness.
"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured against her lips. He was being serious now, no longer teasing. "I mean it. I'll stop."
She nodded. "I know."
He reached between them. She felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, nudging, not pushing in yet. He held there, and his eyes found hers.
"Ready?"
"Yeah." She exhaled. "Please."
He pushed in.
He was slow, so slow. The stretch was a lot. More than his fingers, more than any toy she'd used on herself. She grabbed his shoulders, nails digging in as her body opened up around him. He paused every few seconds, giving her time. His forehead pressed to hers, and his breathing was ragged.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he gritted out. His arms were shaking on either side of her head. "You okay?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice. He sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against hers. They both went still.
"Breathe, sweetheart."
Kit forced air into her lungs. In, out. The stretch eased, the burn fading into something warmer, deeper and more pleasant. She shifted her hips experimentally and they both groaned.
"You feel—" He stopped and swallowed. "You feel perfect. Fuck, Kit."
He started to move. He pulled back and pushed in again, a slow, deep stroke that bottomed out and made her see stars. Her mouth fell open on a moan and his head dropped. His left hand found hers on the pillow and their fingers laced together—she was vaguely aware of the cool metal of his daylight ring. He sat up a little and his right arm hooked under her waist, his hand flat against the small of her back. He used the leverage to tilt her up slightly, changing the angle.
She cried out. The new angle had him hitting her deeper, sending sparks up her spine. He felt her clench around him, and his breath stuttered as his hips snapped forward a little harder. "Taking me so well. Made for this, baby. Made for me." He breathed.
The praise washed over her like warm water. She arched into him, her free hand sliding from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. It was messy, open mouthed and desperate.
His pace built slowly. He was controlled, starting slow, then gradually began to push harder, faster, reading the way her body responded and adjusting to it. His hand tightened against her lower back, pulling her up into him. The slap of skin filled the room alongside their ragged breathing.
"You sound incredible," he said against her jaw, his voice low. "Don't hold back. Let me hear you."
Kit hadn't been aware she was trying to stay quiet until he called her out on it. A soft moan slipped out in an exhale, louder than she intended, and he rewarded her with a hard thrust that had her dizzy.
"That's it." His lips dragged along her throat. "That's my girl."
Kit's hand squeezed his so hard her knuckles ached. He squeezed back just as hard, keeping her tethered while the rest of her unraveled.
He was picking up the pace now, the slow grind giving way to something more insistent. His hips drove into hers quicker, harder. The wet sounds of him fucking into her were obscene and filthy and Kit loved it. She felt every ridge of him dragging against her inner walls, and his hand on her waist felt like it was bruising in the best way.
"Shit," he groaned, his forehead dropping against her shoulder. His breath was hot and uneven against her collarbone. "You feel so good. Fuck, you have no idea. Been wanting this—been wanting you—" He cut himself off, his voice breaking on the last word.
Kit buried her face into the curve of his neck. The sounds poured out of her—moans and whimpers and his name, broken and breathless, muffled against his skin. She tasted the salt of his sweat on her lips. She pressed her mouth against his shoulder, his neck, anywhere she could reach, and she felt his whole body shudder above her. His responding groan reverberated through his chest into her body.
His thrusts were harder now, faster, a relentless pace that was knocking the headboard into the wall with a repeated thwack. Kit was thankful Stefan wasn't home right now. She wasn't sure she'd care if he was. She couldn't care about anything beyond the places their bodies were joined, the obscene slick sounds, the way his cock filled her up so completely she had no idea where she ended and he began.
"Damon—"
"I know." His voice was strained, barely holding together. His hand squeezed hers again before moving down between them. "Can feel you squeezing me, baby. You're close."
She couldn't even deny it. His fingers found her clit, slick and swollen, and rubbed tight, fast circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much. Her thighs were shaking, and every muscle in her body pulled taut. His mouth pressed against her temple, hot and open, his breath ragged against her skin.
It hit her hard and sudden. Her whole body locked up, and the sound that tore out of her was something she'd never heard herself make before. She clenched around him so hard his rhythm stuttered, and a groan was punched out of him.
He fucked her through it, his pace going ragged, and she felt the moment his control broke. His thrusts went deep and uneven, grinding into her.
"Fuck—fuck, Kit—" His hands moved to pin her hips down to the mattress. He slammed into her a few more times, burying himself as deep as he could get.
She felt him come—hot pulses inside of her, filling her, and the full-body shudder that ripped through him. His groan was low and long, transitioning into a growl, and his hips twitched in small, involuntary movements as it rolled through him. She saw the veins around his eyes pop out for just a moment before receding, and it made her breath catch.
He collapsed onto her and her breath came out in an oof sound.
They stayed like that for a minute, breathing hard. Her grip on him loosened as the aftershocks faded and they came back to themselves.
Damon moved first. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes unfocused but soft.
"Hey," he said. His voice was shot.
"Hi." Hers wasn't any better.
Her eyes burned. She blinked and felt the hot slide of a tear down her temple.
"Shit—sorry." She reached up to wipe her eyes but his hand got there first. He brushed the wetness away with his thumb, then pressed a kiss under her eye, her cheek, her forehead, the bridge of her nose.
"Sorry," she whispered again. "It happens sometimes."
"Don't apologize. You're fine." He kissed the corner of her mouth.
She could feel the trembling in her limbs subside, the deep, bone heavy exhaustion settling in now that the adrenaline was fading. Her body felt wrung out in the best way.
He pulled out slowly. She could feel the warmth of him leaking out. Part of her brain was embarrassed, but the louder part felt good about it. She felt claimed and full and his.
Damon rolled onto his side next to her. His hand immediately went to her hip, pulling her close, and she went without resistance. She curled into him, pressing her face against his chest, and his arm wrapped around her.
"You okay?" he asked. His lips moved against the top of her head, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back.
"Yeah." Kit closed her eyes. "More than okay."
"Good." He pulled back a little to look at her, scanning her face with that sharp, clinical attention thing he did that meant he was checking on her. His eyes dropped to her hips, where bruises were already starting to form from his grip. His expression flickered—something between satisfaction and concern.
"You bruise easy," he said, skimming his fingers over one of the darker spots on her hip.
"S'fine. I don't care."
He hummed. His thumb traced the bruise, gentle. "I can be more careful."
"Don't you dare."
She said it so fast that he looked surprised. That got a real laugh out of him.
"So," he said, and there was something in his voice that made her lift her head to look at him. The smirk was back, lazy and self-satisfied and entirely too pleased with himself. "How was it?"
Kit laughed. She couldn't help it—the audacity of him. He knew the answer, he just wanted to hear her say it. "You're not serious."
"Humor me."
She pressed her lips together, pretending to think about it. "Eight."
His eyebrows shot up. "Eight?"
"Maybe a nine."
"Maybe a—" He stared at her. "I just made you come so hard you cried, and you're giving me an eight?"
"Eight to nine. My last was like a five. That's a solid score."
"It's insulting is what that is."
She buried her face against his chest again to hide her grin. "I have to give you some incentive to do this again. I know how you are. If I say ten, you'll get complacent."
"I don't get complacent."
"You want to be perfect at everything." She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes bright despite the exhaustion pulling at her. "So prove me wrong next time."
Something shifted in his expression, the teasing edge softening into something warmer. His hand came up to her jaw, thumb brushing across her cheek.
"Next time. Sure." He murmured. He kissed her forehead again before beginning to pull back. "Stay here. I'm getting you water. And I need to clean you up."
"No." She tightened her arms around him, clinging. "Don't leave yet. Stay."
"Kit—"
"Five minutes. Please?"
He looked at her, and whatever he saw in her face made him concede. He settled back down, pulling her closer, tucking her head under his chin.
"Fine. Five minutes."
She hummed against his chest, content, already feeling the pull of sleep at the edges of her consciousness. "Damon?"
"Hm."
"For the record," she murmured, her words already slurring. "I've been thinking about doing that too. For a while. Just wanted you to know. In case you were... Wondering."
He didn't say anything, but she heard him scoff, and she could almost see his eyes roll. His arm tightened around her, and she felt him press his face into her hair. His breath was a little unsteady.
who said it's true that the growing only happens on your own?
Summary:
Evan Buckley gets a meeting request from Captain Deluca after he's already withdrawn his transfer request, and his curiosity gets the better of him. It seems Captain Deluca has a future opportunity for him if he wants it.
Buck can't turn the meeting down. He withdrew his transfer request weeks ago, and yet, Captain Deluca from Station 122 sent him a meeting request for that afternoon. He can't say no, his curiosity stronger than anything close to being shaped like self-preservation. So, he tells Chimney that he has a meeting with someone at HQ and ducks out before driving from the 118 to the 122.
He isn't sure what the expect, honestly, since he's never been called to another station for a meeting. He's covered before, sure, when flu or food poisoning wiped out a whole shift, but he's never done anything like this before. So he parks out of the way of the bay doors, and heads inside. There's a probie whistling a Chappell Roan song as he's wiping down the station's engine, and Buck approaches.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt, I'm looking for Captain Deluca?"
"Evan Buckley," a voice says, and Buck turns towards it. The face he's greeted with startles him because he knows this man, but from photos, from framed moments frozen in time and set on side tables and lining entryways. He's never met Sal Deluca in person, and until this moment, he's never registered that "my buddy Sal" and Captain Deluca from the 122 could be the same person. "Glad to see you made it."
"Thank you for the invitation," Buck says, and Deluca gestures him from the open bay towards his office in the back. It's a small space, unimportant and cramped, but somehow it's comfortable at the same time as Buck takes a seat in the open chair across from Deluca. There's a photo frame tilted just enough that Buck can see Deluca and his wife with three beautiful daughters who all have Deluca's full grin, and Buck knows that all three of those girls call Tommy their uncle and their godfather. "It was a bit unexpected, if I'm honest. I already withdrew my transfer paperwork, I'm not looking to change stations anymore."
"I was curious about that change of heart myself, but that doesn't matter much to me right now. I'm here to offer you not a transfer into your same position, but a promotion of sorts."
"Okay," Buck says, and he understands the hierarchy of the stations. He could become a driver engineer or operator, and in fact he should before looking for the captain rank, but he isn't sure why Deluca would want to hand that to him. "And, uh, wh-what, what would that look like?"
"See, I'm a part of a program, it's a leadership training program, a mentorship between senior and probationary firefighters designed to help create camaraderie and help the probies be able to find a spot of their own in their houses."
Buck isn't sure what to say to that, and isn't sure how Deluca has landed on him to talk to about this. If you asked Ravi, he'd been a terrible mentor at the beginning.
"I think you'd be perfect for it, and I think we're wasting your potential keeping you stagnant in one place, in one role. You're meant for more, and I know a lot of Captains were vying for your transfer when you submitted the paperwork, myself included. Howie is really lucky to have you on his crew, but I think for you, as a firefighter, you need something more than just being on a crew."
since the links feature still isn't working unfortunately (idk if it's just for ao3 or other links too or if it's just my tumblr that's acting up), guess we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way
Finally posted chapter 1 of my (purely self-indulgent) deith rr au fic!! ao3 link is down below, if you check it out, hope y'all enjoy!
(for anyone who wants context on my characterization of Keith, here is the link to the post I made abt him!)
Summary: For their own reasons, Keith and Dave have no interest in being around each other, nor do they wish to be involved in anymore reality shows, but thanks to Sky issuing an ultimatum, they’re forced to participate in the Ridonculous Race. What’s worse? They’re each other's team.
Racing alongside familiar and unfamiliar faces with the world watching what they do, say, and even feel, as the cameras see memories tugging at old wounds and cutting in new ones, a notion more daunting than being on a reality show together looms over them—one that neither of them expect to think: that they may be gradually veering from what’s been familiar between them for as long as they've known each other and instead toward an uncharted danger zone.
You know what they say, there is a thin line between love and hate, and Keith and Dave are about to find out firsthand, step by step, just how unique both are to everyone—including them.
Read it here!
Chapter 1: None Down, Eighteen To Go (Part One): in which Keith and Dave meet each other in-person for the first time, and meet the rest of their competition in a reality show neither of them wishes to participate in. Meanwhile, Sky fights with internal uneasiness relating to her time in Total Drama Pahkitew Island as she tunes in from her home.
I had so much fun writing my first Resbang this year! And even more fun working with my artists, jgartist916 and thatguyhedge!
Check out their art here and here!
Thank you so much to our mods, @resbangmod , for keeping us all in line and hosting again this year!
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Soul Eater Evans/Maka Albarn
Tags: Dark Alternate Universe, Canon Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Characters
Summary: Soul is fed up with Maka’s recklessness, and is convinced it won't get them closer to their goals; Deathscythe status for him and 3 Star ranking for her. Their conflicting feelings on the subject simmer under the surface until they are pulled for their Ascension Assignment—they must fight and defeat a witch.
