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.
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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 comes home drunk and uncoordinated. Kit helps him to bed, despite his funny protests.
Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Self Insert (Kit) (Established relationship)
Word count: 1,553
Content Warnings: Alcohol mentions. Damon is very drunk.
Author's note: I had this in my drafts for a while and then I was talking about this with a moot yesterday (and I'm p sure I wrote about it on this blog too) so I decided to edit it real quick and post it bc it's been a while since I posted a non-serious fic lol. Doesn't take place during any specific part in the canon nor has canon spoilers. Apologies for any typos or grammatical errors, didn't really proofread this one much!
Divider credit.
The grandfather clock in the parlor ticked, the heavy, rhythmic sound echoing through the space of the boarding house. It was a little past two in the morning. The fire in the massive hearth had burned down to orange embers, casting long, stretching shadows along the room.
Kit was sitting sideways on the sofa, her legs tucked underneath her. She was tired. Her eyes were heavy, but going upstairs felt pointless. The bed was too big when she was the only one in it. The house was too quiet. Damon was out with Alaric, doing their thing that they do where they drink until they can't see straight anymore. Kit didn't mind. She was invited, but she didn't really feel like going anywhere tonight.
She just couldn't sleep without him. Her brain always found something to spin out about when the house was this empty.
Outside, tires crunched over the gravel of the driveway. An engine idled, then cut off. Kit heard the muffled sound of a car door slamming. Her shoulders dropped as she relaxed, realizing he was home.
The heavy front door shoved inward with a loud thud. The sound was followed by a loud "shhhhh" from Damon.
Kit smiled, getting up off the couch. She padded into the foyer to meet him.
Damon was a mess. He had his hand braced against the wall, trying to push the door shut with his foot and missing twice before finally making contact. His jacket was crooked, slipping off one shoulder. He took a step forward and pitched to the side a little.
"Woah, take it easy," Kit said, a fond, teasing lilt in her voice.
She stepped into his space, her body acting as a barricade. She pressed her hands against his chest to steady him. Damon blinked, his blue eyes hazy and unfocused. He looked down at her hands, then up at her face. His brow furrowed.
Kit smiled at him. She slid her arms up his torso, wrapping them around his neck, and stepped in close. She buried her face into his neck, breathing him in. His skin was hot.
She felt his body go rigid at her embrace. Damon let out a low, rough sound at the back of his throat. His hands came up, clamping on her shoulders. He wasn't rough, but he was firm. He shoved her back to arm's length, his jaw locking.
"Hey," he slurred, his voice gravelly. "Hands off the merchandise."
Kit blinked, her hands dropping at her sides. A small, panicked feeling began to form in her chest. Did she do something wrong?
Damon scowled at her. He swayed, then pointed a finger to her chest. "Can't do that," he grumbled. He narrowed his eyes. "Got a girlfriend."
It was silent for a few moments before a bubble of laughter burst in throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth, giggling. The panic evaporated immediately, replaced by a warm, swelling fondness in her chest.
"Yeah? Is that so?" she asked, tilting her head. She decided to play along.
"Yeah." Damon crossed his arms over his chest. "She's…" He paused, his brow furrowing again as he tried to find the words through the haze of the alcohol. "She's great. Best thing ever. Not interested. Tryin' to just go to sleep."
"Well, I'm sure she'd want you to make it to bed in one piece. Let me help you." Kit said.
She stepped back into his space, ignoring his grumbled protest. She ducked under his arm, pulling it heavy over her shoulders, and wrapped her other arm tightly around his waist. It was awkward due to their height difference. He felt like he weighed a ton, too.
"Come on," she murmured, adjusting her grip. "Let's get you upstairs."
Damon let her bear his weight, though he actively tried to lean away from her to preserve his sense of drunken fidelity.
"I'm telling you," he muttered, his breath hot against the top of her head. "I'm not interested. She's gonna be mad if she sees you."
"She sounds mean," Kit wheezed as they made it up the steps. Hauling a dead-weight vampire up the grand staircase was a workout. Her thighs burned with the effort of pushing them both upward.
"Nah." Damon shook his head. "She's not. Not really. She's soft." A goofy, lopsided smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Real soft. Everywhere. She's got these…" He tried to do an hourglass gesture vaguely with his hands, nearly knocking them both backward.
"Watch it, big guy," Kit grunted, tightening her arm around his waist. "What's she got?"
"Hips. Nice hips." Damon sighed reverently. He let his head drop onto her shoulder, though he still kept an awkward inch of space between their torsos. "Like… fits right here." He looked at the palm of his hand, flexing his fingers. "Love her."
Kit felt a hot flush climb up into her neck. Even now, oblivious to who he was actually talking to, he was obsessing over her.
"She sounds lucky." Kit said quietly.
"I'm the lucky one," Damon corrected immediately. "I'm a mess. She's… Not a mess. Won't let anyone touch me like that but her." He puffed out his chest. "So back off."
"I'm just helping you to your room," Kit laughed, shaking her head. "I promise I won't tell your girlfriend."
"Better not. She'll be so mad at me."
Kit nudged the bedroom door open with her hip. The room was dark, save for the moonlight spilling in through the large windows.
"Alright," Kit breathed, steering him toward the mattress. "Here we go."
She turned, meaning to sit him down, but Damon flopped forward onto the mattress, taking her with him. He flopped face-first into the center of the bed, sprawling out completely. Kit bounced beside him, breathless.
"Okay," she huffed, pushing her hair out of her face. She rolled onto her knees. Damon was already half asleep. His face was buried in the blankets, his arms splayed out wide.
Kit crawled to the foot of the bed. She grabbed the heel of his right boot, picking at the knot, working the thick strings loose. Damon grunted, but he didn't move. She pulled his boot off, letting it drop to the floor. She repeated the process with the left one.
She crawled back up to him. "Damon," she said, patting his shoulder. "Hey. Jacket."
He groaned into the blanket.
"Come on," she coaxed, grabbing the leather sleeve and pulling. "Work with me here."
He rolled onto his side, pliable, but still pretty useless. Kit worked the leather jacket down his arms, wrestling it off his broad shoulders. She tossed it blindly onto the chair in the corner of the room. He was left in a dark henley, the buttons at the collar undone.
She laid down beside him, her back settling against the mattress. Damon shifted and rolled over, throwing a heavy arm across her waist and pulling her flush against his side. His face found the center of her chest, his nose pressing into the soft cotton of her t-shirt. He breathed in deeply, then paused, registering. He took another deep, slower breath, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin.
He shifted. Damon tilted his head up, blinking his eyes open, focusing on her face in the dim moonlight. The hazy, combative distance from downstairs was gone.
"Kit," he mumbled.
"Hi, silly," she said softly.
He tightened his arm around her waist, dragging her even closer until they were perfectly flush. He let out a ragged breath, burying his face into her neck this time.
"Some girl downstairs," he grumbled against her skin, exhaustion finally dragging him under. "Tried to put her hands all over me. Why was she in our house?"
Kit rolled her eyes, looking up towards the ceiling. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." Damon threw his leg over hers. He nuzzled his nose right behind her ear. "Told her to back off. Said I had a girlfriend."
"Mmhm." Kit brought her hand up, her fingers finding the short hair at the nape of his neck. She dragged her nails lightly through the dark strands.
A low, broken purr rumbled deep in Damon's chest. The sound vibrated against her ribs. He practically melted into her, the last remaining tension draining out of his muscles.
Kit squeezed him, wrapping her other arm around his back.
"Well, thank you for being faithful," she said quietly, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
"'Course," he mumbled, so quiet she had to strain to hear him. "Only you."
His breathing slowed, evening out into a heavy, deep cadence. His grip on her loosened just a little as he slipped into sleep. Kit kept her fingers running through his hair for a few more minutes, letting the quiet of the room wash over her. Damon rarely fell asleep before her. It was something she cherished whenever it did happen.
She let her eyes fall shut. "Love you, idiot," she murmured into the darkness.
Damon didn't answer, but he shifted even closer in his sleep, his nose pressing firmly against her pulse point. Kit let her hand rest flat between his shoulder blades, letting his heavy, deep breaths and the quiet, unconscious rumble of the purr in his chest pull her down into sleep right beside him.
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.
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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.
