#+ those are just your fucking tags and i grin so stupidly every time I love it

[piningpercussionist]

(ooc)

I want you all to know that whenever you put sweet/funny tags on my art/posts in general, these are me, in no particular order:

[akoyaxs]

Warming by the Fire

✮ Pairing: Lo'ak x fem!na'vi!reader

✮ Tags: cockwarming, p in v, slight in public, soft dom Lo'ak, switch Lo'ak and reader, oh god so much kinkier than I usually write 😭

The firelight was hot on your body. The heat radiating from the flames rolled over you in sharp, blazing bursts, prickling along your skin, flushing your face, but you weren’t about to risk moving away. Not with Lo’ak sitting below you, arms looped tightly around your waist to make sure you didn’t go anywhere, head resting on your shoulder and watching with amusement as you shift and whimper and bite your lip half bloody in your attempts not to give yourself away.

One by one, everyone’s started trailing away from the fire, but not quick enough. Aonung and Neteyam have already left, and Tsireya went to bed early. Only Kiri and Rotxo are left across the fire, exchanging small, gentle conversation and shy, hidden smiles that each thinks is so conspicuous. Usually, you’re trying your best to just get the two cuties together, but you’re a little preoccupied at the moment.

You’re torn between a desire to snarl at them to get the fuck away so you can finally relieve your tension, or maybe beg them to stay so you won’t have to endure any more of this torture.

You shouldn’t have listened to Lo’ak, telling you he needed to have a chat, and when he told you he couldn’t hear what you were saying when you sat beside him, you let him pull you onto his lap.

And you’d been there ever since, sunk onto his length like some fucking mitten when your hands are cold, speared on that fucking monster between his legs and left to sit in torturous stillness while your clan, oblivious, laughs and chats around you.

You’re horribly aware of everything, every glance spared within ten metres of you, ever warm breath of Lo’ak’s on your neck and his little teasing praise for how good you’re being, how he’ll reward you afterwards, every vein and ridge and pulse of his length bullied between your thighs.

And you try to be good, for him.

You would do anything for Lo’ak, in all of his sweetness and desire and humour, and if that meant being edged for hours at a time in a public gathering that could very well ruin your life, then so be it.

At least your life would be ruined with Lo’ak nestled happily inside you.

But he felt so good, and every so often you couldn’t help those little clenches that have him hissing in your ear, teeth light grazing at the sensitive skin of the back of your neck, arms squeezing your waist tighter in an unspoken warning.

“Stay still, tanhì,” he whispers, warm breath fanning over the exposed skin of your neck. You can hear the smirk in his low, rumbly voice, feel the toothy grin spread across his face behind you. “You wouldn’t want to get caught now, would you?”

With those last words, he sinks his sharp fangs into the warm skin of your neck, and you unconsciously clench around him with a small, unrestrained whimper. Lo’ak rumbles a low chuckle against your neck at your fluster, and across the fire, Kiri and Rotxo look up at you.

“Are you alright?” Kiri asks, looking slightly concerned, and you tighten in agitation.

“Yep,” you say, far too quickly and far too restlessly to be believable. “All good.”

Kiri looks as though she doesn’t believe bullshit coming out of your mouth – which is understandable – but to your surprise, she smirks and rolls her eyes, smiling knowingly at Rotxo and standing.

“Well I’ll leave you two to it then,” she grins. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye!” you call, wincing inwardly at how stupidly chirpy you sound even when its obvious you aren’t.

Kiri and Rotxo fade away into the darkness, and it’s just you and Lo’ak left by the warm heat of the fire, ever-dimming golden light dancing across your bodies in artful unison of your glimmering tanhì.

“You really couldn’t play it off, could you?” Lo’ak asks amusedly once he’s sure they’re gone. “Were you trying to give us away syulang?”

“Shut up,” you huff, but you know he can see the lavender flush creeping up your cheeks. Lo’ak just laughs shamelessly in your ear, and you frown. “Are you going to fuck me – or are you just going to sit there giggling like a taunting skxawng.” When all Lo’ak does is shrug and grin in a way that, infuriatingly, has you tightening around him again at the friction, your eyes narrow and you say, “like Aonung.”

Instantly that does the trick.

Lo’ak’s lifted you bodily up off his cock, letting out a light groan at the brief sight of how slicked he is by your wet heat embracing him for the past however long, before he’s spinning you around on his lap and sitting you firmly back down with your legs straddling around his waist.

“You want to fuck that bad?” he grins, hands gripping your waist to grind your slick folds over his hard length. When you nod fervently, hands gripping onto his shoulders to steady yourself, he grins and presses a light kiss to your forehead. “Good girl, take what you want then.”

You look quickly at him. He was usually reasonably dominant – he liked things certain ways which usually involved the softness of your ass in reach and in view at all times – but you were more than happy to try something new.

And since you’d been tortured with his sizeable length buried inside you since he pulled you into his lap, you think you might as well return the favour. You roll your hips fluidly over his, feeling your whole body tighten at the new friction of your slick and throbbing clit sliding up along his hardened length.

Lo’ak doesn’t protest. He just lets his hands fall to rest on your hips, sliding your smaller body on his before bringing you down to grind harder. Usually, in the experimental, “casual” exploits the two of you get up to, he’s leading, and you’re glad to test the waters now.

You moan and he lets out a small noise in his chest, and it takes you a moment to realise he's purring. Surprisingly, he doesn't seem abashed by the sounds he makes, instead he just rests his head back against the pillows to watch your movements with eyes darkened with lust.

Despite having been stretched to accommodate his length, when your patience runs out, you quickly lift off his hips. With your legs stretching further to lower yourself onto him, you know it's going to be a stretch. But you're impatient, hardly caring how much you get hurt, just wanting him inside you, stretching you, marking you, ruining you. You sure as fuck didn’t just sit through all that teasing just to chicken out at a little pain.

When you drop down, you both hiss lowly at the press of the head at your entrance before he finally slips past the tight ring of resistance, and he slowly slides into your velvety, desperately tight heat. 

Lo’ak’s pupils are blown wide as he mumbles some indistinct praise for you, but you can’t find yourself bother to listen. You slowly rock against him, trying to adjust without waiting – because you hardly think you can sit still another second with him buried between your legs.

Lo’ak isn’t exactly a patient man either, and as you grow closer and closer to the edge with each carefree, desperate bounce on his lap, he finds his tolerance unravelling as quickly as you are. By the point your legs are trembling from the strain and the delicious pain of lifting yourself up and down, Lo’ak is bucking back up into you.

If he hadn't been holding you up, you think you may have just turned to jelly and flopped backwards, yet his hands are warm and present on your back. You shift slightly, up and down, trying your best to meet each of his thrusts, and there it is. The start of the knot, the one you begin to pull, to unravel.

You’re moaning like a whore, delighted to be out of the way of any nearby ears, and in turn, Lo’ak is letting out gentle praise to you.

“So tight,” Lo’ak whispers against your neck before sinking in his fangs once more, and your pleasure crests.

And then he knows just how close you are, because all of a sudden he's speeding up and thrusting deeper and rubbing circles on your clit, and you're a moaning mess, hands raking through his hair and over his back, gently caressing his face and digging sharply into his waist.

All it finally takes is one last nip at your neck, the soft whispered shower of desperately spoken words you can't even hear, and then you've tipped over the edge.

Lo’ak fucks you through it all, rubbing soothing circles on your back as you release well over an hours of frustration and teasing and whispering gentle praise amidst your soft whines and moans, while simultaneous rocking deep enough into you the imprint is extremely visible in your stomach.

He waits until you’ve come back down somewhat – at least enough to open your eyes and hold onto him instead of being limp in his broad damn arms – before he’s burying himself deep inside you, spilling and finally stilling with a satisfied groan, head resting comfortably in the crook of your neck.

The two of you sit like that for a moment, in comfortable silence folded so tightly into the other you can hardly tell who’s tail is who’s. Breathing heavily with stupid smiles on your faces.

“Satisfied?” Lo’ak grins, after he pulls his face away to study yours.

“Not in the slightest,” you snap back, feeling him already growing hard again beneath you. Lo’ak flushes. “Come on baby, where’s all your usual bite?”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Tagging my darlings:

@hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul @blue-slxt @neteyamssyulang @theunfortunateplace @lala-1516 @strongheartneteyam @kiskso @deadpool15 @vampirefilmlover @tysirya @universal-s1ut

[crazy-shits-post]

This was so much fun to write lmao. Tagging @icarusbetide and @fortheloveofgodletmein for the idea lmao. I had to get into my miserable HS experience so far to make this extra special lol

Alexander Hamilton was an immigrant who moved to America three years ago. He lives with Lafayette and Mulligan because apparently it's okay for two teenage boyfriends to live together and have another teenager live with them. He goes to American Revolution High.

"Mon ami." Lafayette said as they walked into their JROTC class. "Are you excited?"

"Yes." Alexander flipped his brown hair with his baby hands. He was 3'2 and probably four pounds soaking wet. Meanwhile, everyone else was seven feet tall and weighed as much as fucking buildings.

They walked in the class that was buzzing with excitement because nobody sleeps in jrotc. They sat down before Thomas Jefferson and James Madison threw paper at him. Those two were the bullies of the class and nobody liked them, but they stayed in the class for some reason.

"Alright, cadets!" Their teachers, George Washington, shouted as he walked around the room. "We have two new cadets. I'm sure all of you will be kind and treat them with the utmost regard."

Two tall students walked in. Immediately, Alexander and Lafayette acted bisexual. The one with the long golden curls, green eyes, and freckles was called John Laurens. The other one was brown-eyed, curly-haired, and stupidly muscular.

"Look, cadet Hamilton is blushing."

Alex played with his hair as birds flew around his head. "S-shut up Jefferson..."

"Why don't you sit next to my son?" Washington ordered as he pointed to Alex. "Mulligan, you sit next to Lafayette."

"Not your son."

Immediately, they hit it off and yap throughout the class because why not.

------

Alexander and John were making out in the back of Mulligan's car, where he was kissing Lafayette. This was all after John told them how abusive his dad is and they all decided they needed a gay makeout session to relax. But they all made a grave mistake: they were making out in uniform. Hiding in the bushes, Jeffershit got a picture.

"Wait until the program hears about this!" He shoved the phone in Aaron Burr's face, who magically became best friends with him and Madison in like two days.

He grabbed the picture. "This is great! With this, all those little shits will be thrown out. I'll be promoted!" He grabbed Madison's small shoulders. "We all will!"

"Let's him know what we know."

-----

When Hamilton walked into homeroom, someone pulled him aside into the unused staircase. There were they all there, his three bullies since Freshman year looking like they won the jackpot.

"We know your secret." They showed him your picture. His heart fell to his stomach. "Give us one reason why we shouldn't pass this to every single cadet in the program."

"Because..." sweat got on the floor. "It isn't true."

"What to do mean, Alexander?" Burr grinned. "We caught you lacking."

"I kissed another girl." Their eyes popped out their heads. "And I have proof!"

"Um-" Madison coughed up blood mid sentence like a little Victorian child, looking sadly into his handkerchief. "-no, there's no nee-"

Alexander showed them all a picture of him kissing Maria Reynolds, the hottest and sluttiest cadet in the program's history. "I kissed her with our covers on!"

"Um, bra listen," Jefferson said, smoothing out his magnesia uniform. "We won't tell anyone."

"You don't have to, I'll tell everyone before you tell them!" And just like that, he ran away like an anime girl, wind blowing his ponytail.

He ran into the bathroom and locked himself in the biggest stall. He pulled at his hair as the thunderstorm started. He began to hyperventilate.

"Mon ami?" Lafayette appeared because he always knows where Alexander is. "It's time for class, bonjour."

He got up and quickly walked to class. He saw the three mean cadets and broke down by the door.

"Son!" Washington cried as him and all of his friends rushed to him before he passed out.

-----

He woke up a day later in the hospital. John cried as he kissed his face. Washington walked up to him, wiping his big ass tears.

"Don't worry, son. I kicked out the three of them because they started to have sex together in front of the class after you passed out."

He hugged him like a sick little child and whispered, "Thank you, dad..."

Everyone exploded the end.

[jacaranda-bloom]

2022 IN WRITING

Thank you to @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @nouies @allwaswell16 and @chai-hat-tea for tagging me to share my year in writing xx

2022 was a bit quieter for me when it came to writing, and I definitely didn’t get to everything I had planned after work and life took over for the last half of the year. That said, it’s been a good year!

1. Number of stories posted to AO3 this year: 9

2. Total word count posted to AO3 for the year: 209,410

3. List of works published this year:

Jan - Mistletoe, Memories, and Mayhem (13k)

Feb - With A Little Kindness (33k)

Mar - Love On A G String (20k)

Apr - Best Snog Ever (13k)

May - From Dust To Lust (45k)

Jul - Truebonds (40k)

Aug - Moonlight Minx (15k)

Sep - Love On Air (19k)

Oct - Under The Milky Way (11k)

More under the cut...

4. Work I’m most proud of (and why): That’s a tough one, but it would probably be Truebonds. The world building in that story was next level - super complex and new territory in terms of the ABO trope. I love writing ABO and exploring the new dynamics with nesting and scenting was really fun!

5. Work I’m least proud of (and why): Sadly, Mistletoe, Memories, and Mayhem. This was entirely my own fault, but it did finally make me realise that writing for Exchanges is just not my jam, so it’s fests or standalone fics from here on out!

6. Share or describe a favorite review you received: I received so many lovely comments and messages this year and I appreciate every single one of them. I remember reading this one though and just stopping in my tracks because it made me laugh. This is the true nature of it all, isn’t it? I mean, this is why I write, because I enjoy it. So thanks to Jill on AO3 who is always prodding me with a stick for my next story and giving me a good chuckle along the way.

Under The Milky Way: “You enjoyed that way too much Dee.” Jdickson60

7. A time when writing was really, really hard: Work really took over a lot of my normally free time in the second half of this year, which was frustrating, but something that couldn’t be avoided. Then, once it eased off, my rhythm of writing every day was in disarray, so it took a while to get back into it. 

8. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Louis’ Omega character in Truebonds didn’t end up where I had envisioned. In the original story, he was far more subdued, but then once I started writing it, that went out the window and with it, a lot of the plot. I’m really happy with how he turned out though.

9. A favorite excerpt of your writing: From Dust To Lust (this is stupidly long - apologies - but I just loved their banter in this fic)

Harry twists around in his seat. “Ooohhh, you’re one of those people?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“A control freak.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“It’s fine. I’m just more of an adventure seeker. Like to let the road unfold before me and enjoy the journey.”

Louis’ blood boils in his veins. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? He’s about to rain hellfire down on him when he catches the glint in Harry’s eyes. Cheeky, fucking, shit. He fixes Harry with a challenging stare. “Oh yeah? Care to explain your behaviour back in the departure lounge then?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Harry asks faux-innocently.

“I mean, you’re full of shit. You’re just as much of a planner as I am.”

“How do you figure that?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “There were, what, seventy people in that lounge? And yet you and I were the only ones to work out what was really going on, what the implications were going to be, and then devise a plan to get out of there. What was your process?”

The self-satisfied grin that blooms on Harry’s face is one Louis can’t help but mirror, no matter how hard he tries.

“Well, I checked the weather app, then social media, and worked out what the problem was.”

“Same,” Louis says, nodding.

“Then I checked the car park and realised-”

“There was only one rental car left.”

“Yeah. Clocked you from across the room and assumed you’d made the same deduction, but I didn’t want to create a scene or a stampede, so I just hoped I could beat you to the rental desk.”

“Hmmm… shame for you that those stupidly long legs couldn’t carry you there a bit quicker.”

“Shame for you that your arse couldn’t bounce you over faster too.”

“Oi!”

Harry’s grin turns up into a full-on smirk. “Anyway, I thought we could just get on the road and sort out the other stuff as we went along. That’s the advantage of having two people in the car.”

Louis huffs out a breath and turns to look out of the open passenger window, trying to hide his own smirk and the hint of a blush he doesn’t think could be reasonably excused by the warm weather. “Yeah. Whatever. Let’s go, Harold.”

“It’s just Harry, actually.”

“Of course it is, Harold.”

10. How did you grow as a writer this year: I was so terrified that I wouldn’t get my mojo back after I’d had to take a break due to work commitments, and it did take longer than I thought it would, but I learned that if I trust myself I’ll always find my way back.

11. How do you hope to grow next year: The story I’m going to be writing for the next few months for Big Bang is a tough one. Louis is blind for the majority of the fic and that has presented some real challenges in terms of my writing style. I usually use visual descriptions to set the scenes, but that isn’t possible here, so I’m learning how do that in other ways. I’m interested in how that will come across to the reader and whether it will be at all successful.

12. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): I’m so grateful for everyone who has a positive influence on my writing, especially all the lovely writers on discord, but I’d like to give a special shoutout to @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @evilovesyou and @lululawrence for being so supportive and sprinting with me throughout the year and, of course, my amazing beta @parmahamlarrie who is always there cheering me on and giving so much of her precious time to polishing my ramblings xx

13. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: So, so much. I really doubled-down on the whole Australian thing this year. 6 of my 9 fics were set in Australia and I absolutely adored sharing locations and experiences I’ve had with everyone. There will definitely be more of this in 2023!

14. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: Listen to the characters and let them take you where they want to go!

15. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: Two in particular. My Advent Fic that didn’t end up happening this year that I will be writing for Christmas 2023, which is called 7 Decembers, you can read a bit more about it here! Also, my pack ABO fic called Unbonded, which you can read more about here!

16. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read: I’m not sure who has done this so far, but I’ll tag @kingsofeverything @zanniscaramouche @louandhazaf @evilovesyou @alwaysxlarrie @parmahamlarrie @bananaheathen @lululawrence @beanno28 @haztobegood @neondiamond @disgruntledkittenface @beelou and @justalarryblog if they’d like to share xx

[cosmal]

congrats on 500 lovie!!

ECLIPSE-

❛ you’re lucky that you’re cute. ❜

and

❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜

A good punch | James Potter

join the 500 follower celebration!

ECLIPSE — send me a prompt and a character from any of these lists and i’ll write a blurb/drabble for you!

thanks babe love u ahh

this is for all you james potter rugby player sluts. i know you’re out there!

summary :: james potter helps you punch scare off a creep.

warnings/tags :: not beta’d, fem!reader, blood, punching!!, mean pervy stranger

You didn’t know James Potter all that well. He was in the year above you at school; by default, acquaintances with your brother. But, you knew for sure he didn’t know you. Because, as sweet as he seemed, he was still James bloody Potter. Charming and intelligent. Willing to go along with anything.

Well, you’d hoped it was anything.

Half the men at bars were were one of the downsides of going out. Most women could test to that. So, when one of those down-sided men won’t leave you alone, even after three relentless attempts of trying to gently let him down, you do what any smart person would do. What every person is taught to do in these types of situations.

Find a friendly face.

That face just so happens to be James Potter. And in this moment you’re more grateful than you’ll ever be that you decided to let your friends drag you along to the grand final after party. Despite the fact that they had all ditched you for their partners. But, who better to choose than the star of the night?

You walk over to him, the pervy man hot on your heels and you hook your arm through his. He’s startled momentarily, almost spilling his beer all over you and you don’t have enough time to whisper any explanation.

“Hey, babe!” You smile crookedly, squeezing him close into your side. “This is my boyfriend. And he can throw a good punch.”

You try to stand your ground, a little anxious, but then James stands tall, shoulders firm when he throws an arm around you and you feel less nervous. Quick to act, you think.

James, too sad to see such a pretty girl upset, puts on a good act. “Yeah, mate. I’d suggest you piss off.”

You notice the guy doesn’t even falter. Standing taller, “There’s no way James Potter is your boyfriend! I’m sorry darlin’ but he wouldn’t settle for you.” He laughs, a pitiful, wretched noise that has your eye’s flittering in an attempt not to frown.

James, very much incensed, let’s go of your shoulders and stands in between the both of you. His frame blocks your view and you stand with your eyes trained on his back. He has a lovely back, you think. Poor taste?

“Who the fuck are you?.” James raises his voice slightly, now easier to hear over the thumping of some shit DJ music.

“Sorry, mate. But, that is not your girlfriend. She’s a three at best; you’re at least a nine.”

You snort. Not only five minutes ago had he been trying to take you home.

Then, James’s back is flexing under his white shirt and he’s landing his firm fist against the creeps’ cheek. You gasp, stumbling backwards slightly, very startled. But, you think you’re not that surprised. You’d seen him punch before.

You don’t have time to even think about what has happened, before the other is swinging back to punch James in his face. He barely moves an inch and his snaps his head back, grinning stupidly when blood starts to pour from his nose and into his teeth. Fuck.

“Mate, if you wanted to suck my cock instead, you should’ve started with that.” James fucking Potter, ever the rugby player.

Before you know it, the three of you are being thrown out of the pub and onto the cold streets of London. The creep scrambles off around the corner and you turn to James, placing your hands to his upper-arms.

“Shit, I am so sorry. I didn’t know he was that stupid.” You frown, squeezing his arms that are flexing under your grip. There’s drops of blood seeping into his shirt and you grimace.

“It’s okay.” He laughs, wincing under the twitching of his nose. “He was a prick, he deserved that.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to have to punch him.”

James guffaws, “This is my boyfriend. And he can throw a good punch.” He repeats your words from earlier, imitation very poor.

You poke him gently in the chest and he rocks backwards on the balls of his feet, grinning stupidly,“Yeah, well I thought he’d run away! I know I would’ve.”

“You did run away. Ran right into me, actually.” You want to wipe the smug smile off his face.

“I don’t know, you protected me pretty well.” You fake swoon, smiling until the apples of your cheeks crease.

“Knight in shining armour!” He places a hand to his chest and bows forwards theatrically.

You laugh, very much pleased, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“She thinks I’m cute!” He yells and you’d forgotten where you were standing up until then.

“She is regretting walking up to him in a time of need.”

Another rivulet of blood runs down his cupid’s bow, a smudge of red across his cheek. You can tell it hurts every time he speaks.

You reach down into your bag, ruffling through chapsticks and coins until you find your tissues. You pull one out and raise it to his face.

He’s giggling, very much happy with the situation he’s landed himself in, even though his nose is throbbing.

You miss his nose when he lowers his head to look at you, entranced at the shining of your lipgloss, “Keep still, this might sting a little.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He laughs and then flinches when you press the tissue to his nose, doing your best at gently wiping the darkening blood. While you’re still prodding, wincing every time he does, he wraps his large hand around the crook of your elbow. He looks like he could throw you around. You feel like you’d let him.

“You okay?” He asks and you stop your movements, suddenly remembering yourself when you lower your hand. There’s still a stain of red but it’s the best you can do.

“Yeah.” You smile.

“He didn’t hurt you or anything did he?” He can obviously sense your upset. Even though you’d been laughing at his antics. You shiver, hating being read for filth.

“No! No he- He was just really creepy.” You put him to ease.

He nods.

“I just feel kinda bad that I got you punched in the face.”

James squeezes your arm reassuringly, “It’s totally fine. Nothing I can’t manage.”

You roll your eyes.

“Besides!” He claps, “I got to meet you and that definitely makes it all worth it.”

You can’t help the creeping blush. You feel like a schoolgirl. “I guess it wasn’t too bad.”

“Too bad?” He faux gasps, his hand back on his dirtied shirt, “I’d say it was amazing!”

You look to the ground, stare at your shoelaces for a little too long and then look back up at him. Your cheeks ache from smiling. “Yeah, pretty amazing.”

When James gets to see you smile like that, he thinks he’d take a hundred bloody noses if it meant he could see it every day.

[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Lee Jaehyun (Hyunjae) - Intoxicated [Requested]

Request: dom Hyunjae + overstimulation

badboy! ceo! Hyunjae x PA! fem! reader

Warnings: petnames, dirty talk, slight degradation, a lot of grinding lol, some choking, Hyunjae is a narcissist here

Finally finished this one for @jaepocket ! Thanks for requesting, I hope you like it 💕hope you don't mind that I made Hyunjae an asshole lol

Work parties have taken a toll on your boss, and as the best personal assistant in the world, you help him home.

You kept a watchful eye over your boss throughout the Christmas party. Year-end parties were lined up back-to-back for the most influential entrepreneur under 30 in Seoul. Jaehyun was being extra charming tonight, wooing men and women alike with his dazzling smile, charisma, and powerful aura. He knew he was untouchable, and it showed in his walk. Long legs that could rival any model, perfectly coiffed light brown hair, and a designer tailored suit hugging him in all the right places, showing off his broad shoulders. He glances over to you, and shoots you a wry smile from across the room. No one else might have noticed, despite the fact that everyone who spoke to him couldn't take their eyes off him, but a subtle flush dusted his cheeks and there was a slight glassiness in his eyes that alerted you. Jaehyun has definitely had too much to drink. You stride over to him, and he politely excuses himself from the flock of older women giggling and sidling up to him, and meets you halfway on the dance floor.

He walks to you with a slight wobble, and reaches out to steady himself... by grabbing your hips. "Hey you," he grins, thumbs softly rubbing your waist through the thin material of your dress. You resist the shiver that runs down your spine, the warmth emanating from his hands a welcome sensation since the place was freezing. A mansion full of people and it was still cold? The hosts hadn't bothered to turn the heaters on. That's probably how the rich stay rich, you supposed. It definitely didn't help that you were wearing a skin-tight cocktail dress, with a little slit up the thigh. "Sir, I think you've had enough to drink tonight," you murmur, gently tucking a lock of golden hair back into place. Jaehyun grimaced. He had a glass of wine with every group that approached him that night, and he wasn't feeling too well now, considering everyone wanted to meet with the Lee Jaehyun™, one of Seoul's most prominent and eligible bachelors.

"Let's get you home then, sir, you really need some rest. Or rather, your liver does," you sigh, offering your arm for him to hold on to so he doesn't fall flat on his face in public, possibly ruining his reputation. He lets out a hearty laugh, and intertwines his arm with yours, trying to maintain a power walk out of the place, nodding at other party-goers that greet him in passing. He gratefully gulps the fresh air outside as you wait for his chauffeur to pull up in his stupidly expensive limousine, helping him to clamber gracefully into the backseat once it arrives. You're about to shut the door to book a ride home for yourself when he tugs on your arm, a blazing fire in his eyes as he looks up at you, and you know he wants you to come home with him tonight.

You glance around quickly, making sure no one is watching you get into the car with him, but really, who would question a PA ensuring that her drunken boss gets home safely? You quietly slip into the plush leather seats, leaving a space between you two just in case he feels stuffy or nauseous. Jaehyun roughly loosens his tie, and you can't help but stare at his large, veiny hands. Before you can snap out of it, he catches your eye and smirks, using those very hands to yank you closer, almost sitting on his lap. You yelp in surprise, your hands flying up to his broad shoulders. He smashes his lips onto yours, messy with tongue and teeth and a moan escapes you when you taste the sweet alcohol on his tongue. His warm hands roam all over your body, deftly pulling up the hem of your short dress so he can run his hands up your thighs and grope your plump behind. "Been staring at your ass all night, who said you could wear a dress like this?" he growls against your lips, squeezing the flesh tightly to prove his point.

You weakly push him away, and he stares at you, offended that you don't seem to want him, when you're usually so pliant and obedient for him. "I don't think we should do this, sir, you're not thinking straight," you stutter. Jaehyun barks out a laugh, startling you. "Am I? I'm not drunk, kitten, I only spoke and acted like that so we could get out of that damned party. And maybe I'm not thinking straight, because all I've been thinking about the whole time is ripping that fucking dress off your body, you fucking minx," he snarls, grabbing you again and manhandling you to straddle his lap, sounding completely clear and level-headed. He had everyone fooled; even you, and a crushing disappointment engulfs your heart.

You don't get to feel sorry for yourself though, because Jaehyun is pulling you close, grinding the obvious bulge in his slacks against your clothed pussy as he makes out with you again. You let him run his hands all over you, feeling his lips trail down the side of your lips and down your neck, smudging your lipstick everywhere. Jaehyun doesn't care, clearly, he just wants to make a mess out of you, and you gladly let him, both of you so absorbed in each other that you didn't feel the car roll to a stop. You hadn't even noticed the opaque partition had been pulled up until you heard the electronic buzz of it being lowered, and the indifferent voice of the chauffeur came through. "We've arrived at your destination, sir and miss."

Without so much as a thank you, Jaehyun flings the door open and tugs you into the building's lobby. He owns the whole building obviously, but he lives in the penthouse suite, swiping his keycard to unlock his private elevator. He wastes no time attaching his lips to the back of your neck as he presses you up against the walls of the elevator, grinding on your ass the whole way up. He leaves you panting when the doors open, and he goes to punch in his keycode. The lock beeps, and Jaehyun snarls when he's halfway through the door and you're still lagging behind, knees too wobbly to walk properly thanks to his earlier ministrations. "What are you waiting for kitten?" You shake your head, embarrassed that sloppy make-outs and grinding like lovesick teenagers is enough to make your head spin.

Jaehyun strides towards the bedroom, stripping his expensive clothes as he went, but instead of making a right turn to the master bedroom as he usually does, he makes a left to the guest bedroom. You don't have time to ponder, because he's pulling you in and shoving you onto the bed, dark eyes staring you down as he fumbles with his belt. The intensity of his gaze makes you tremble. Is it from fear, excitement, or a morbid combination of both? He finally gets all his clothes off, and his hard cock is swinging heavily with every step he takes towards the bed. He prowls, like a predator, and you're too petrified to even strip or prepare yourself, but apparently that didn't matter to him.

"You still on the pill?" Jaehyun demands, and you nod feverishly. "Good." And with that he rips your lacy panties off in one fluid motion, and hikes your dress up to bunch up around your waist. You hear the material rip, but before you could bemoan the hefty price tag, Jaehyun slides his throbbing cock inside you, making you arch your back as you moan loudly at the intrusion. He gives you barely any time to adjust, knowing how much you like taking it raw, and starts thrusting harshly. You can't help but moan loudly, almost going cross-eyed from the mixture of pain and pleasure. You clamp a hand over your mouth when a particularly shrill moan slips from your lips, but Jaehyun tugs it away, wanting to hear how good he makes you feel. It's nothing more than an ego boost for him, but you comply.

Jaehyun gets sick of missionary fairly quickly. He does enjoy seeing your pretty face contort with pleasure, and watch your makeup run. But he likes fucking you from the back even more, loves the way you get on all fours for him, loves the way your ass jiggles when he spanks you, and loves how your legs give way when he's done making you see stars. He pulls out for a moment, flipping you over onto your hands and knees easily, ignoring the surprised gasp you make when he shoves his cock back into you. He picks up the pace, hitting your g-spot dead-on with this new angle. He wraps a hand around your throat, the expensive gold bands adorning his fingers pressing delightfully into your windpipe. He squeezes lightly as he slams into your core, and you scream, climaxing without warning.

The sudden clench around Jaehyun's dick has him swearing lowly. "Did I say you could cum, kitten? You know you have to ask for permission," he grunts, fucking you through your orgasm, maintaining his relentless pace. Your head is foggy, and you try to apologize, but every sharp thrust Jaehyun makes cuts your words off. He doesn't let up, using you to chase his own climax, slightly aggravated by yours. He presses down the middle of your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the sheets so you're not holding yourself up with your hands anymore. You're grateful, because you can barely support yourself anymore, and you need a break. Except he doesn't give you one, hoisting you up by the hips to pummel even faster and harder into you, and your upper half is practically dragging along the sheets with every snap of his hips.

The delightfully torturous graze of silk sheets against your raw nipples, and the rough pads of Jaehyun's fingers relentlessly abusing your swollen clit sends you teteering close to the edge again. You can't cum, no, you won't cum until he tells you to. You want to be good for him, even though you're so close to climax again that it hurts. You hold out, gripping the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white, when a particularly hard press against your clit and a low growl of "Cum for me now, kitten" sends you screaming once more, vision turning white as your searing-hot orgasm rips through your body.

You barely register Jaehyun's groan as he continues grinding into your g-spot, your pussy clenching almost painfully tightly around him, milking his cock dry as he blows his load deep into your warmth. You collapse forward onto the bed, trembling from exhaustion, chest heaving desperately to replenish your lungs with oxygen. Your whole body is sore and you know it's probably going to be worse tomorrow, and dark fingerprints are going to decorate your skin too. Above you, Jaehyun is still holding your hips up, pulling out of you with a grunt, cock hanging limply as he pants harshly. He watches idly as his cum drips out of your abused cunt, trickling down your legs, and drops your legs unceremoniously.

He stretches his legs, and gathers his sweat-drenched, possibly cum-stained designer clothing off the floor as he walks towards the door. "Clean yourself up, you know where everything is. I need you in the office early tomorrow morning." Jaehyun utters without so much as a glance back at your naked body, and the door shuts behind him with a loud click that echoes through the suddenly cold room. You hear him humming to himself and drawing a bath, and you shut your eyes, trying to suppress a sob at how horrible you feel, both physically and emotionally. Sex with Jaehyun was always hot, rough and mind-blowing, but recently you realize you always felt empty afterwards. Because he'll immediately turn cold once he's gotten his fix, leaving you to clean up after yourself and sometimes even make you hail a cab to go home afterwards. At least tonight he let you stay over, even though it's in the cum-stained bed in the guest room, without any post-coital care.

As you lay there, fresh hot tears stream down your cheeks, and you wonder if all the alcohol in the world could wash away the pain you felt of being used as Jaehyun's personal fucktoy; manipulating you into catering to his every whim and then carelessly throwing you aside once he's done.

[monster-cock69]

little angel

Moodboard made by me and AO3 link here

Pairings: Peter Parker x Tony Stark

Pairings: Tony Stark x Peter Parker

Tags: Omegaverse, age play

Warnings: Underaged sex

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

The house was stupidly large. 

In the middle of a culdesac, it was far enough into Long Island that there wasn’t much noise but close enough to the city that a commute wasn’t too much of a hassle. The living room felt bigger than his and May’s entire apartment, the kitchen looked straight out of a magazine, and in addition to the master bedroom he’d share with Tony, he had a whole playroom to himself. 

And the playroom looked like a wet dream. 

Entire shelves were filled with toys, there was a reading in one corner, a bed shaped like a spaceship across from it, and a round nesting couch against the wall to his left. 

Then, when he looked at the little table to the right, he saw the Millenium Falcon lego set sitting unopened on the table, begging to be assembled. 

Turning to the alpha behind him, he threw his arms around his neck, “Holy shit Mr. Tony, can we build it?” 

Tony laughed softly, unable to hide his grin, “Of course, we can build it, babe.” 

It was easy to sit down next to each other and start assembling the set. They’d gotten familiar with the way they moved. Tony would call out instructions every once in a while, and they’d work on parts of the whole before joining them together. The set was too big to build in one sitting, but he hoped they’d be able to come back to it sometime. 

“I think it’s time to get you fed,” Tony said once they’d made some progress. Peter wanted to protest but held back. There was no reason to press boundaries this soon, and he was a little hungry from missing lunch.

Waiting for them on the kitchen table was a box of pizza, and Peter sat on Tony’s lap to eat.  

The alpha gave him a long look while he got comfortable – wiggling around told him why. Tony’s length was hard, pressing into him and the scent of barely controlled arousal was thick in his nose. 

It went ignored for the most part as they ate. After their bellies were full and greasy hands wiped clean by napkins, a hand snaked into the waistband of his sweats again. 

He’d been hard since scenting the alpha’s arousal and was eager to feel those thick fingers inside of him again. 

But he couldn’t tear his mind from the feeling of the alpha’s cock pressing against him and felt empty at the thought of only getting fingers again.

Decision made, he swung his legs around and grasped Tony’s shoulders to steady himself. 

Being face to face with the alpha made everything seem so much more real. 

He’d gone home with this man – this mob boss. And, when his heat hit in a month and a half, he’d be mating this man. 

He was looking at the person he’d be spending the rest of his life with – if it all went to plan – and he really wanted to fuck him. 

Peter initiated the kiss, and Tony was gentle in a way he hadn’t expected him to be. His lips were just as soft as he’d imagined, and under the light taste of pizza was a hint of the cigarette he’d had in the car. 

“I’m not taking your virginity here,” Tony stood up abruptly, holding Peter up by a grip on his thighs. 

Peter didn’t stop kissing him. His lips made their way up Tony’s jaw, behind his ear, and at last back down to his neck where he pressed gentle kisses to his scent glands. He wouldn’t get to bite Tony there until his heat hit, but he felt inexplicapbly drawn to that spot on his neck. 

The attention made his scent bloom like a flower feeling the sun for the first time. It was a strong, heady thing that encompassed Peter entirely. 

He rocked into Tony as much as possible from their position, cock almost painfully hard and hole dripping wet. 

Small pleas were falling from his lips, fruitlessly trying to make Tony get through the long halls faster. 

“It’s okay, I’ll knot you, baby, I promise, can’t fucking wait,” the words falling from Tony’s lips only made Peter feel emptier. He was aching inside in a way that he knew no toy could sate. 

Everything from the past few days had boiled over, all of the not-quite sated arousal making him feel like he was on fire. 

Tony’s hands were firm where they gripped his ass, and he sucked a hickey into the skin behind the alpha’s ear while he walked. 

When they got to the room Tony dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed, sending him bouncing into a mound of pillows. 

They stripped carelessly, clothes getting thrown every which way. Peter was the first to finish, cock bouncing against his stomach. As Tony finished undoing the buttons on his shirt, Peter trailed a hand down his torso and past his cock. His fingers thrust inside, and the sound of Tony’s belt hitting the floor reverberated through the room. 

“None of that now,” he scolded gently as he crawled onto the bed – nude at last, “you don’t touch yourself when I’m here to do it.”

A firm yet gentle hand pulled his fingers from his cunt. Tony sucked the fingers into his mouth eagerly, groaning at the taste of Peter’s slick. 

Emboldened, Peter reached down and grabbed the alpha’s cock for the first time. It was hot to the touch and thick enough that Peter almost couldn’t wrap his hand around it. He thumbed the bit of precum that was beading at the head, swiping back and forth in fascination. The scent of Tony’s lust was mouthwatering and infinitely better than what had been on the scent patch.

“I need it,” he confessed, wanting to taste the alpha nearly as bad as he needed to feel him inside. 

Tony soothed him with a low rumble, moving to push Peter flat on his back with one hand and grasping the base of his length with another. 

The feeling of Tony’s cock entering him had him clenching on the intrusion. 

He started a fast pace and kept it, hurling Peter toward orgasm at a rate he didn’t think possible. He was whining and pleading to cum, for Tony’s knot. Above him, Tony was chanting praises into his neck between kisses. 

Tony’s breath started stuttering as the knot started to inflate. The increase in pressure made Peter see stars and he came with a shout. 

The knot locked as his orgasm crested over him. 

Carefully, they shifted so Tony was on his back, Peter’s limp form draped over him. 

Tony was speaking, soft words that Peter was too close to sleep to understand. His fingers played with the thick hair on the alpha’s chest. It was damp with sweat and a sign that they’d both need a shower. 

A shrill ringing made Peter jolt from his position. The knot tugged painfully inside him, and Tony tried to settle him with one hand and reached for his phone with the other.

“It’s just Stevie baby,” Tony answered the call with one hand and shifted it to another to pull a cigarette between his lips.

“You’ll probably meet him soon," he told Peter as smoke fell from his lips, "here, say ���hi’ to him.” 

He huffed, eyes growing heavy now that the ringing had stopped, “Hi Mr. Steve.” 

Thankfully, he took the phone off of speaker and let Peter go back to his state of near sleep. The alpha’s voice was low and soothing, and he kept rubbing a hand on his side. 

By the time the phone call finished, he was completely asleep.

[hollandsmushroom]

could i request a boyfriend!peter fic where reader comes out to him as bi and genderfluid, but they're so nervous to do so cos they havent told anyone else and he is rlly supportive? and helps them get new clothes and cut their hair? and its fluffy and hugs and stuff?

if u dont feel comfy writing this, its ok i totally understand :) i just love ur writing so much <3

Be True To Yourself || P.P.

Peter Parker x afab(previously using she/her pronouns)Genderfluid!Reader

Word Count: 1375(I am pretty sure this is my fave thing I have every written)

Warnings: Fluff, the pain of coming out, fear, anxiety, brief mentions of break up(in passing not with intent) and I swear to fucking god, if anyone comes in my inbox angry that I didn’t trigger tag this for lgbtq content i will scream so loud your ear drums burst. 

A/N: So I don’t really talk about this much on here but I am a mostly gender nonconforming They/she, I come from a very very lgbtg family, I am a safe place, I promise!

♡✩♡✩♡✩♡✩♡

It was something about yourself that caused turmoil, it turned in your stomach as you tried to grapple with who and what you are, you knew that there was nothing wrong with your feelings, how certain forms of gender expression didn't feel right at certain times. Your mind floods with anxious thoughts as you sit on Peter’s bed, waiting for him to get back from patrol, to finally share your true self with the person that you love. Your hands twisting around each other, ringing out in a corporeal demonstration of your gut wrenching worry. 

“Y/n?” Peter’s voice breaking through the metaphysical walls of your disquietude. Your eyes drawing upwards, trailing up the black webs of his red spandex, reaching his face in time to catch as his gloved hand tug at his mask, the eye lens blinking as he pulls off his face covering. The moment seems to soften as you glance at his hair, soft locks expanding from the confines of his secret identity. “What are you doing here?” His speaking again brought you back the reveries of your hands in his hair as you laugh giddily, his body holding yours tight to his as you ignore a movie you were supposed to be watching together. 

“Hi Petey” you smile at him, tenderness in your gaze as you pat the bed next to you, signalling for him to take a seat next to you, a silent queue that he followed with much complacity. “Um, I need to talk to you about something” your eyes ducking down, an action that made Peter’s heart stop, a nervousness spreading through him rapidly as he began to feel much as you did, off kilter, as if his world was tilting beneath him. 

“Y/n, you’re kinda of scaring me” he utters, reaching out for your hand only to find it already entangled, fingers linking with fingers in a never ending exhibition of unease. 

“It’s nothing to be scared of, Petey, well I might need to be scared but it's something, well it’s something about me that I need to tell you and I haven’t told anyone and- well, Peter I am scared, I am really fucking scared” you let a tear you didn’t know you had spill, letting it fall down your cheek as you contemplate your words, silently reeling through every option you have on how to voice your being and identity to the person you love with the possibility that it could change how he loves you. 

“My sweet, you know you can tell me anything” he assures, desperately trying to get a grip on the conversation. 

“Peter, I...I can’t be your girlfriend” you murmur, quickly realizing you had chosen your words wrong as you see him freeze out of the corner of your eye, his body going rigid as the beautiful dusted rose drains from his cheeks. 

“Wha-” he starts but you cut him off immediately. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I want to be with you, I want to be yours but I can’t be your girlfriend because I-I’m not a girl, well I am sometimes and I can be your girlfriend at those times but I’m not that all the time, honestly I am whatever I feel like whenever I feel like it and well, I don’t just like boys, I like girls too, but not just girls and boys, I like everyone but not now obviously because I am with you and I would never ever do anything unfaithful to you no matter how many genders or orientations I am attracted to. Peter I can’t keep pretending to be something that I am not and I don’t want that to change us but I understand if it do-” you start giving him the spiel about how it was okay if he didn’t know how to be with you now that you have become fully yourself but his lips didn’t give you the chance, cutting you off before you could manage to put into words how easy it would be for him to leave when that was the last thing that he wants, no matter what your pronouns or who you found attractive because that didn’t change who he fell in love with, he fell in love with you, not how you expressed yourself, you, his partner, his love. Pulling away your eyes remain closed, processing the amount of emotional knowledge had been lifted from your shoulder, your chest still tightened with the love at the amount of lack lecher passion Peter had let flow into your lips. 

“Nothing could change the way I feel about you, Y/n, nothing in this world” he assures, lips still ghosting over yours as you finally manage to pry your eyes open to meet his chocolate honeyed gaze. “Is there anything that I can do to help you feel more comfortable in your own skin?” He was soft, so gentle a presence that you felt like warm milk on a cold night, he was calming your soul of your innermost turmoil. 

“I was,” you drop your eyes, examining Peter's fluttering pulse that beats at the juncture of his collar bones. “Well I was hoping to go shopping and get a haircut cause how I currently have my hair and how I currently dress doesn’t always make me feel the best” he watches you with an attentive adoration, wanting to learn how to best be your partner and ally while you learn and grow into being fully and comfortably you. “Sometimes I don’t mind it but sometimes isn’t always and in the times its not I feel like my own existence makes me itch” 

“Well we can’t have you being itchy” Peter squeezes your hips softly, tugging you closer to him as you fall back on the bed. “So I guess we shall have to go to the mall this weekend, get you a haircut, some new clothes, sound like a plan?” Peter offers and you smile unabashedly.

“The best plan” you nod sleepily into his chest, forehead grazing the emblem on his suit as you let your eyes fall shut, absolutely exhausted from the emotional strain of baring your soul to the person you love most with a possibility of getting it spat back at you, but Peter would never, he loved you more than he could understand, more than he cared to, not wanting to taint the complexities of his adoration for you with the binary idea that he could ever understand something so powerful and all encompassing. 

---------------

You stood in front of a rack of t-shirts, hangers dawned with fun patterned graphic tees as you, searching for something new to complete your style, something that felt more true to you when you didn’t feel like wearing any of the clothes that you already owned, something that would go along well with the way your hair was now styled. Peter was not standing with you, having wandered off minutes before to go find something that he thought you would enjoy. The feeling of someone near you making you turn to face where the sensation was coming from, your eyes finding your grinning boyfriend. I

"I have an idea!" Peter smiles excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he fiddles with a pack of bracelets in his hand. "So um, I was thinking we could assign each bracelet pronouns so I know which ones to use when to use which pronoun" you felt like you were glowing, fully understood for the first time in your life and there is nothing more valuable than that, than feeling totally and completely seen and accepted for who and what you were. Tears flood your eyes without your consent as you smile stupidly back at Peter whose face was falling, hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "Baby, did I say something wrong?" you shook your head, nuzzling deeper into his palm.

"No, no Petey, I just feel good in my own skin for once in my life" you blubber.

"I just want my partner to be happy" his thumb brushes over your orbital bone, wiping away a fallen tear. "Because I love them with everything I have”

“I love you too Petey, so much”

let me know what you thought

♡Taglist♡

@iluvdeja @quaksonhehe @lovehollandy12 @thollandneedy @prancerrparkerr @parkerpeter24 @hollandsour @evermoreholland @harmqnia @thehumanistsdiary @samaraaaaa @itscaminow @alinastarkrovs @marvelsbitch8 @celestialholland @kasidy409 @parkerdarling @scarletspideyy @capital-koreasofia @marvelhasmyheart235 @hackerholland @tom-softie @hollandsjen @tomhollandsbitch8 @bi-lmg07 @reawritesthings @tomsholland2412 @lowkey-holland @cocoamoonmalfoy

[1kook]

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags;  jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either  the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away.  His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

Copyright © August 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[bokugaos]

Perfection

pairing: Bokuto x f!reader

length: 4.3k

summary: You are taken away and kept as the yakuza head’s trophy toy in exchange for clearing your father’s debt.

tags — traditional yakuza AU, dubcon, breeding, spanking, overstimulation, cum bulge.

a/n: (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ this is a secret santa gift for @kuroos-babygirl​! it’s also my first fic of 2021 and we’re starting the year right!!~ HAPPY NEW YEAR <33

You look so petulant and angry in your defeat and sink down on your knees as soon as you are dropped off to your own feet inside the walls of the estate. Still you press your clamped hands against your lips, and murmur encouragement for yourself.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Your mouth is trembling in frustration—it makes Bokuto’s victory all the sweeter. He can tell that you haven’t heard him approach because you flinch back when his shadow suddenly falls across you.

Your pupils become little pinpricks of fear, then dilate again when the first confusion settles as you stare up at the yakuza boss, remembering why he is standing there now, tapping his foot impatiently.

He is slightly hunched over, yet still towering so high above you. A menacing grin slowly stretches his mouth. He looks a lot less tired when he smiles—and a lot less creepy. It doesn’t keep your heart from throbbing. You stare up at him quietly, your thoughts running across your face clear as day—so when you try to flee, he already knows about it long before you even move the first muscle. His arm shoots out to grab your hair and keep you right where you are.

“A deal’s a deal.” he murmurs into your grimacing face. You reach up and curl your hands around his wrist, but… it appears that he doesn’t even feel your fingers around him.

Bokuto doesn’t do deals with just any commoners, but your father is in too much debt, one that he wouldn’t even be able to pay back in an entire lifetime. Your father knows that, and the yakuza lord does too. Hence why he very kindly offered to clear the debt in exchange for, well, you. And of course, your parents agreed in a heartbeat. If there was even a slight hesitation or remorse of the fact that you were practically being sold to the city’s lord, your parents didn’t show any of it. You clench your thighs together, belly tight and prickly, tears ready to spill from your eyes.

Bokuto’s smile widens. The fist he has in your hair tightens and as you wince and whine, he pulls you closer to push your face against the growing bulge beneath his hakama.

He moves his hips, fucking against your face while you make choked little sounds and half-heartedly try to turn yourself away despite you becoming stupidly excited at the heat and smell of his dick through the fabric. You could use your hands to push him off of you, but you don’t.

“Take all your clothes off. The maids will take care of them.”

You pause at that. You’ve forgotten that you’re not alone.

You start to glance around as much as possible while he distractingly keeps smearing his bulge against your face. There are shadows slinking around the edges of the buildings.

You know that none of them would be able to help you.

—

It is rather embarrassing to admit this, but Bokuto takes care of you better than your parents ever did. He makes sure the servants make you good food, drapes you in lavish clothes, have you bathed in the finest of flowers; practically everything you’ve ever dreamed of about being in the higher class in the society.

And yet, you still spend your time as if you’re counting down the days to your release from a place so godforsaken. At this rate, and with the way you are behaving, you are quickly becoming more of an embarrassment to him than something he can show off.

Hurriedly spreading out the futon and sitting on the edge of it, he pulls you into his lap, only slightly sated by hearing your small yelp of surprise. He quickly locates the hem of your kimono and pushes it up to bunch at your waist, not even bothering to untie your obi. You try to get a word out at the same time his open palm comes down hard against the flesh of your exposed ass, and any would-be protests die in your throat.

Silently fuming, Bokuto holds you in place with a firm hand on the small of your back. Holding you close like this while also getting to take out his disappointment on you satisfied several needs at once, save for a particular need he only becomes aware of when the feeling of your belly against his crotch becomes too good to ignore.

However, his conscience sternly urges him to hold back. You are not perfect yet. This is not the right time.

If you are not responding to his graciousness, maybe you are the type who learns from being punished.

Once that thought crosses his mind, Bokuto feels like a man possessed as he hoists you off of his lap and onto the futon. You fall on your front with little more than a muted sound of surprise, and he pins you down with his own body before you can even attempt to find your bearings. In his haste to fulfill the desire that has finally been fully recognized, he begins tearing away your intricately wrapped kimono. You are in no position to refuse his grabbing hands, though you do become bolder in your soft cries of protest. You are becoming confident enough to use your words.

So Bokuto holds you in such a way to force you further against the sheets, quite literally taking your breath away. He is much, much bigger and stronger than you, holding all of your struggling limbs at once with ease.

He pins your arms behind your back and moves on to your legs and seizes you specifically by your ankles to spread them open in a humiliating pose. The position left your pussy open and vulnerable to him, and he can’t rid himself of his hakama fast enough. He catches sight of you glancing over your shoulder just in time to see his hard, leaking cock, and the look of fear on your face practically has him throbbing. When he grabs your thighs and aligns the tip with your distinctly unaroused entrance, he shoves in as deep as your body will allow.

You can no longer keep your pain silent, the pathetic cries bubbling out over your quivering lips as he holds you tight and prepares to spear in further. Your walls are beginning to grow slick from what he suspects is not desire but necessity, as the experience would have been much more painful than it needs to be if you were not at least a little wet. Every thrust slowly becomes easier, but the delicious resistance of your tight body remains dominant.

Bokuto buries himself within you and only moves his hips slightly at first, before starting a pace that wrings out the volume you are still holding back. You are crying out like a bitch in heat and it only encourages him to fuck you harder.

Bokuto hoists you back up just enough to arch your back towards him. This way he is able to look into your eyes, brimming with emotion and the primal fear of prey that felt its flesh being torn apart by a predator. He groans as his hand moves to your throat, holding you tight so he can feel you tremble and gasp for breath.

“I’ve been very patient. I gave everything you needed to adjust to living here with me. Yet you still refuse to fulfill your purpose,” he murmurs harshly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear with every word. “If you continue to refuse me, you’ll be sorry.”

With little more than a grunt of exertion, he spills himself directly into your abused womb. His hand slowly lets up its grip on your throat and you are able to breathe, though each breath comes out ragged and pitiful. Your body falls slack against the futon as soon as he lets you go, and he moves in to catch your legs and lift them up. Then he shifts to move closer to you, pulling you close and slipping a hand downwards to scoop up his release and push it back inside of you.

He feels you shiver against him when he presses his lips to the back of your shoulder. The hand that is not between your thighs is idly rubbing your belly, and his voice came out smooth as silk. “Don’t disappoint me again, you hear me?”

You are quiet, but Bokuto knows better than to read this as hesitation. It is more like you are tired and trying to catch your breath, or to find the proper words to say.

You are not yet in love with the idea, but rather, it’s as if you are at peace. Like you are finally coming to terms with what your life is now. The thought brings a bright grim to Bokuto’s face. Acceptance constitutes progress too, and it brings you one step closer to perfection.

—

There are many days where he is rough with you. Bokuto has taken over leadership at a very young age, and oftentimes, he takes his aggravation with him and takes it out on you. Part of him is dimly aware of this, but not aware enough to make him stop. Today is one of those days, and he is in a sour mood, desperately in need of both an outlet to pour his anger out and consolation.

You are shivering when Bokuto returns to the room, his steps heavy even on the carpeted floor. It is not exactly cold but you are naked, without even a single strand of hair out of place and your slender neck is on display just as the rest of you, and so nothing gets caught within any straps and hinges.

It is more the trepidation—and anticipation—that has you nervously dancing in place despite the thing he has carefully strapped you into a few minutes earlier. The wood is polished within an inch of its life, cinched around your neck and wrists, keeping you forced to bend over, ass to the door—just another little twist to his games that will keep you nervous and whiny because the thought of someone else stumbling in and getting an eyeful of your cunt is getting you tingly all over.

His little slut.

For the first time, Bokuto stays quiet. He is known as loud and boisterous young yakuza boss across the land, so to experience this silence is extremely unnerving for you. He does not even address you as he makes his way over with slow, heavy steps, but the thick air in the room makes his labored breathing all the louder.

It’s as if your cunt is glowing like a stop sign between your thighs, beckoning him closer. He wants to drag his fingers through the soft gape of your lips and pay some attention to your plump clit; torture it with some mean pinching like he knows you’ll go crazy for, but first, he slowly rounds to the front to have a look at your expression.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, anticipating his every move. You try to look up at him but his height and your position makes it impossible. He reaches for your chin, and you try to turn away from it but he grabs you anyway and slowly leans down, bringing his face very close to yours. You jerk away and abruptly avert your gaze elsewhere when you remember that you’re not supposed to look at him—not yet, not until he gives you the permission to—but he can see your face: bright and every bit scared as is excited.

He breathes slowly and measured, staring at you a bit longer just to unsettle you—then he lets go of your face and carefully tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear. Some of the nervous fear seems to vanish from your expression after that.

Satisfied that everything is back in order, Bokuto stands back up and rounds you, watching the sway of your tits hanging down, and how your nipples are already swollen and needy. He pinches one—hard—and you cry out in surprise, your hips jerk as you automatically try to get away from the pain and realize you can’t go anywhere.

“No!” You whine, but it sounds weak. Your voice is trembling. He ignores you and pinches again, slower this time; increasing the pressure bit by bit until you start whining louder and louder, your knees bending then stretching again as you try to somehow mitigate the pain radiating off the tip of your breast.

He pulls down slowly, stretching the tissue until your whining becomes a short, rough cry of real pain, then he lets abruptly go.

When he leans over, he can see your cunt clench and relax desperately, slick already starting to glisten at the opening. You’ve always been a slut for pain.

He rounds you slowly, making a show out of letting his belt jingle loudly so you know he’s getting his cock out. You start whining again but a sharp two-fingered slap to your cunt has you shut up quickly.

Bokuto presses down with one big hand on the small of your back until you bend for him to have a comfortable grip on your hips as he drags the wide head of his cock through the valley of your ass.

Finally, it catches at the pouty rim of your pussy, pressing against it and forcing it to start spreading for the massive intrusion. He can hear you gasp for breath and he smirks in triumph.

“Squeal for me,” he murmurs, deep and ominous, then presses forward in earnest.

You do, because there’s no way you can keep quiet when Bokuto is fucking you open on his dick. You spread your toes against the carpet and curl them, trying to twitch out of the way but being held in place by his huge hands and his heavy weight on your back.

You are pinned in place, made to take his cock—basically letting him use you anyway he wants—and you couldn’t be more happy that he’s not hurting you too much, even though it is so very scary. You trust him, deep down. Of course you do.

But when you are like this, deep in your head space and reduced to a breeding sow gagging for dick, it is difficult to remember that you are nothing else but a trophy for him.

Bokuto tells you to squeal—and you obey. Simple as that.

His cock digs into your hole, spreading you so wide you are sure you are going to tear right through the middle. You don’t know when he stops existing as Bokuto in your mind and becomes your owner; domineering, possessive and belittling.

“Gonna put some little babies in you, yeah? Get your belly so swollen you can only waddle around.”

The words settle like hot coals in your belly, burning through you and sparking electric and delicious at the tips of your nipples. Bokuto can be really mean to you when he is angry. And while you are scared of his wrath, his words only serve as the fuel for your slippery slide down the slope. “Have to piss standing up because you’d not be able to get back up by yourself.”

You groan low—more a gurgle, really—and helplessly clench down on the big fat dick fucking into you. With everything compounded, you feel hot and suffocated. He’s fucking destroying you from the inside out, starting at your poor womb that will get massively dilated by the time he is done with what he is going to put into you.

Because that’s what you’re meant to be. He wants you to be waddling around with your holes sloppy and gaping from that massive dick of his you regularly get. Think about the others seeing you like that and knowing exactly that you’re nothing more than a disgusting breeding sow, made to be pumped full of his cum.

He fucks you like a beast and you grunt with every filling of his dick you receive. You can feel his balls swinging between your thighs; full and ripe, ready to fill you up until your belly is distending and your guts are gurgling with the cum he’s filling you with.

He increases his pace and you’ve never felt more animalistic; he groans deep and drawn-out, his hands cupping your belly to feel it starting to bulge with the sheer amount of cum he’s flooding your with while your eyes roll up into your head and your tongue is lolling out, drooling onto your chin, undignified and animalistic.

When he pulls out, it is not smooth. Even the head of his cock is big, and despite the massive spread of your pussy lips, it gets caught behind it anyway and needs to be dragged out with a humiliating wet pop like a plug getting pulled.

His cum immediately starts flowing as you can’t help but bear down, knees bending and clit pulsating needy and ripe between your thighs when the warm mess slides down your thighs as if you had pissed yourself in your excitement.

You don’t notice much of what is going on around you, not when he unclasps the thing from your neck and wrists, until big hands carefully touch you and turn you around into his big arms.

He carefully pats your cheek with a wide fingertip until you blearily blink open your eyes that feel glued-shut from the tears.

His anger should have dissipated by now, because there is a spark of affection in his bright, gold eyes and he nods before cradling you closer to his wide chest with one arm as the hand of the other descends between your thighs.

He’s gentle as his massive fingers slide into your cunt, fucking you slow and gentle while his thumb presses just this side of pleasurable against your swollen clit, dragging painfully tight circles into it until your body is strung tight as a bow string again, your teeth clenched together, sharp little nails digging into his huge forearm.

He keeps at it until you come, messy and loud, crying out as you jerk in his secure hold and gets everything wet as you squirt and he fucks you through it all.

Afterwards he holds you close, warming you with his massive body as he gently rocks you and leans his cheek against your forehead.

Bokuto can be awfully affectionate like that.

And that’s the only sign you need to see that he adores you just as much as you trust him… so far. But trust and security is different from love, and you’re not sure if you will ever be able to. He’s your owner and nothing more, and you’d be naive to think otherwise.

—

Even though you’ve grown accustomed to his presence as well as your new life in the estate, you still tense at the sound of his footsteps as they draw closer and closer over the floor.

You are still not sure about just how much you are allowed to see—your every question in that regard is easily ignored.

By now, you are more eager—as much as that makes you loathe yourself to admit it. You begin to anticipate his visits, lying on your back on the lush mattress he equips your room with and fucking your hole with your fingers as fast as you can without getting a cramp in his arm.

Your loud whimpers suffuse the air and bring an indulgent, broad grin onto Bokuto’s face as soon as he finally emerges in the doorjamb.

“So eager, my feather,” he purrs, slowly collapsing the stick in itself. He strolls casually to where you are wriggling on the sheets, and you turn your face away from him, subsequently baring your throat. Predictably, a large hand finds it without problem as if that’s the only thing his eyes are focused on.

“Are you ready this time?” he rumbles, the deep voice making you shiver and your nipples tighten into sensitive, little nubs. You wet your lips with a quick tongue, legs spreading wide for the hand stroking down his throat, between the valley of your breasts and down your abdomen, in order to vanish between your legs. A soft whine escapes you as he circles your hole, sensitive from getting fucked so often, before one of his fingers dips inside alongside your own fingers, making you strain and gasp.

“Is this… is this going to be the last time?” It is your standard question—almost like a ritual by now. It’s familiar to you like the broad length of Bokuto’s cock was, spreading you open and fucking you breathless. “Are you going to let me go after this?”

His lips stretch into another smile, his free hand stroking over your hair like a parent consoling their child.

“I told you I will breed you full,” he coos—just like always, seems like he’s in a good mood today. “Can’t let anyone see my little toy if she’s not well-bred now, can I?” He seems to take amusement in your predicament, setting you on edge, the humiliation driving ever deeper because you know you could do nothing against it.

You huff, ready to turn around and present your ass on all fours, but…

“Not this time. Stay just like that, beautiful.” Bokuto leans down, his voice—impossibly—dropping even lower as he slides onto the bed and between your thighs; still clothed.

He huffs a laugh, his tactile fingers sliding along your inner thighs, gently rubbing on the lips of your puffy, stretched hole, then curling two fingers inside you.

Your body is moving on its own—hips curling up into his stroking hand. You hate it. You love it.

“Have you been waiting long?” Bokuto asks in amusement, opening his own pants and drawing out that length that makes your mouth water and your hole clench in anticipation. Endorphins rush through your body, making you tingly and needy to be filled with nothing but his cock and cum.

You’ve already been trained so well by now… and from Bokuto’s triumphant grin, he is obnoxiously proud about it. Can’t wait to show you off and brag to his friends about his sweet little plaything; his trophy toy.

He leans down, his deep breaths ghosting along your collarbone. The fact that Bokuto likes your scent the most—he told you himself—and he likes to breathe you in while sucing on your neck, the artery there, feeling the pump of your blood there—is just as arousing as it is intimidating.

“You are... exquisite,” he whispers against your bare neck, dripping the words onto you like they were poetry even as the head of his cock slowly breaches you. You gasp—every time surprised at the fact that you could prepare yourself as much as you liked… Bokuto’s cock will still split you open and make you feel so fucking vulnerable.

“I will groom you to perfection.”

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as his hips snap forward, driving himself in deep with the first thrust. He could feel tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but whether from how much it burns (it still does, and you love it) or from the fact that he so casually tells you about his plans to corrupt you… you cannot tell. You don’t even want to tell.

You whimper, arms and legs curling around him, drawing him closer as he leisurely fucks you, his tongue and teeth scraping over your throat and collarbone.

“You are going to be the best there is.” Bokuto raises his head, mouthing along the line of your jaw. “Everyone else is going to wish that you’re theirs,” he sounded entirely too smug for that sentence, “but you’re mine. I own you. ”

You can feel Bokuto’s muscles flexing where your calves lay on his sides. He is so broad, so huge that you can barely wrap your whole body on him and yet… and yet…

Fuck, your whole body is primed to him. To this man brimming with strength and vitality and intellect.

Bokuto is the perfect owner to breed anyone… and your body welcomes him greedily—needy hole opening up despite the burn of the entry; just swallowing that cock again and again, clinging sweetly as if it loathes to let him out on every second stroke.

He laughs—low and painfully happy as if he has read your thoughts. The sound rumbles through his chest and directly into you, your toes curling and feet scrabbling at the backs of his thighs, fingernails scratching along his back as your lust spirals higher, soft sounds of satisfaction spilling out of your throat, no matter how hard you try to hold them back.

“Open up for me,” Bokuto whispers right into your ear—his voice sweet and deadly like poison. “Open up, sweet thing. Take it… take me.”

The last word is rasped in a low rumble—more carnal than human as he thrusts more harshly, grinding deep into you and making you cry with your head thrown back. You hear the breathy, rasping chuckle of him filling you up good and proper.

You love how satisfied you feel at being a good bitch for him.

—

Afterwards, when Bokuto is gone, you realize your face is wet. You think you must have been sweating more than you thought.

Yes. That’s it.

[gallavictorious]

I saw your tags and I think you might need to write that fic of Ian and Mickey recreating their first time when Ian gets a tire iron. 🧐☺️

Okay, so this took me a hot minute, and I did it as a kind of speedwrite so it's rather short and not exactly thought out. I also went off (my own) script a little bit and it got unexpectedly sappy there for a moment... But! Have 1,4k very silly words of Ian and Mickey roleplaying their first proper get together because Mickey gave Ian a tire iron. I hope you enjoy it, dear one – thank you so much for the prompt! I had unexpected fun with it. ❤️

(Oh, and tags in questions are the ones on this post, so all credit to @jenatte for providing the original inspiration.)’

ETA: It’s on AO3 now too.

---

Ow. The fuck?

Reluctantly, Mickey blinked awake. The bright light suggested it was already near noon, but that wasn't what had woken it, that wasn't–

It came again: a hard poke to his back. Not the good kind, either, of Ian pressing his hard-on against Mickey's rear while they were snuggled close, but something cold and sharp. Insistent.

”What the fuck?” Mickey groaned, rolling over on his side and peering up at–

–his husband standing over him with... a fucking tire iron in his hands? Not just any tire iron either, but the one Mickey had gotten him as a gift for their anniversary as a mix of a joke, sentimentality and practicality; it was how they started, sure, and meaningful for it, but also a damn good thing to have, no home was complete without it. He thought that maybe Ian had overlooked the practial aspects, though, in favour of going a little misty-eyed before he started dropping half-assed quips about hard lenghts and Mickey had to roll his eyes and punch his husband in the arm a little bit.

Now Mickey's brow furrowed further as he tried to make sense of the scene. For a brief, terrifying moment, apprehension siezed his gut: was Ian having a manic episode, seeing enemies where there was none? But no; though he feigned a fearsome scowl, there was that glitter in Ian's eyes and a small quirk to his lips that spoke little of mania and everything of being a fucking dork and a tease.

”Give me the gun, Mickey,” he intoned, and Mickey was about to ask again what the hell and what fucking gun and maybe are you feeling okay man because perhaps Mickey didn't have quite as good a read on his husband as he thought he had–

–and then he got it, memory reasserting itself, and he could feel the fucking grin growing on his face quite of its own accord. He'd have felt stupid for not immediately catching on, but give him a fucking break, he'd been sleeping two seconds ago and his days of waking up with a start and ready to fight were slowly and thankfully becoming a thing of the past.

Ian's faux frown broke, as he was unable to contain an answering smile. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and with Mickey for getting it. Mickey would tell him he was a fucking idiot, but Ian looked so expectant that Mickey decided to play along instead. No harm in a little weird roleplay to make his husband happy, right?

Besides, it wasn't like Ian standing over him and looking vaguely threatening and very hot didn't do it for Mickey on several levels.

”Okay, fine,” he said, climbing to his feet while doing his very best to appear drowsy and uninterested. It had been instinctive back then, the plan of lulling the irate kid into a false sense of security before pouncing on him and kicking his teeth in for having the fucking gall to march into Mickey's room and demand things.

Mickey made a show of slowly turning towards the nightstand, just as he had all those years ago. He could feel Ian's eyes track his every movement, ready to react to the sneak attack he knew was coming. There'd be no taking him by surprise this time.

His face turned away and unseen, Mickey smiled. Or would it?

He grabbed hold of the bottle of lube on the table and spun around to throw it at Ian's head, took a quick step up and to the side, and as Ian gave a short yelp and involuntary raised his hands to protect his face, Mickey rushed him from the side to push him down on the bed. Ian went with a thud and an oof and Mickey didn't hesitate; he was on his husband in a second, straddling his chest and wrestling the tire iron from him grip.

”What the hell, Mick?” Ian demanded, not bothering to struggle but glaring up at Mickey with wide reproachful eyes. ”This isn't how it went!”

Mickey grinned. ”How it went is I kicked your scrawny ass,” he said smugly. ”Now, how am I gonna do that if you know which way I'm gonna move?”

”I was going to let you win!” Ian protested.

Mickey's eyebrows rose. ”Oh, you were gonna let me, huh?”

”Yeah,” Ian said slowly, eyes narrowing, ”I was going to let you.” And with that he grabbed hold of Mickey's arms and pushed him to the side while using his greater body weight as leverage to flip them around.

”Fucker,” Mickey spat, kicking at Ian's shins. He dropped the tire iron – not like he was actually going to hit Ian with it – to have both his hands free for a renewed assault on his sneaky little shit of a husband, but Ian had already wrapped his his stupidly big hands around Mickey's wrists and was pushing him down into the mattress, grinning triumphantly while Mickey struggled and squirmed beneath him.

”Guess I had a change of heart,” Ian said.

Mickey stilled, biting at his bottom lip as he considered. He was pretty sure he could still take Ian if he really wanted to, mostly on account of him being a ruthless motherfucker with no interest whatsoever in fighting fair. However, that required a level of playing dirty and pulling nasty jabs that went far beyond what he felt comfortable doing to his husband these days.

”Uh-huh, and what's the plan now, genius?” he demanded, opting for snark instead of violence.

Ian didn't answer. The look in his eyes had shifted from triumphant to something thoughtful, and softer.

”Do you think it'd have gone the same way if it'd been me on top of you instead of the other way around back then?” he wondered aloud.

Mickey made a face. It fucking figured that his sap of a husband would turn a promising round of foreplay into a game of sentimental what-if.

”I dunno,” he said, wriggling his hips a little to remind Ian that there were otherstuff they could be doing right now, stuff way more exciting than having a goddamn conversation. ”Does it fucking matter? It didn'thappen like that, and it never would have happened like that either, 'cause back then I didn't give a shit about fucking you up too bad, so I'd bashed your fucking brains out before letting get on top of me.”

He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as he'd said it, but it was too late: Ian's eyes had lit up and his thoughtful look transformed into a smirk. ”Well, I mean,” he drawled, leaning down to put his mouth to Mickey's neck, just for a moment, just a little bit of teeth in the brief touch.

”Fuck off,” Mickey said, but he was laughing. Ian's weight pinning him down was as exciting as it was annoying, as it was grounding.

Ian just hummed. He'd straightened again and was gazing down on Mickey with a look that was so damned fond it made a small blush work its way up Mickey's neck.

”I think we'd have ended up here anyway,” Ian decided. ”Somehow.”

”Oh yeah?”

”Yeah.”

Soft smiles then, as something warm and happy bloomed in Mickey's chest. For a moment, they just looked at each other, eyes resting on the face each of them knew best, loved best.

Ian let go of Mickey's wrist to put his hand on the side of his head, fingers tangling in Mickey's hair as Ian ran a thumb over his husband's cheek. He bent down again, but this time to capture Mickey's lips in a long, lingering kiss.

”I think I was always going to have you,” Ian murmured as they broke apart, forehead pressed against forehead.

A second later he yelped in surprised outrage as Mickey took advantage of his lapse in vigilance to grab hold of his hair and yank his head sharply to the side while pushing up to get Ian off him and halfway down onto the floor. Mickey followed him with a snicker, and off they went again, tousling and laughing and absolutely heedless of any noise they might make.

[yinses]

meticulously

| you just needed him to do this one thing … then you wouldn’t ask for anything more | sukuna ryomen rating: 18+

a/n: we only accept au sukuna in this nandos. my second longest work to date and its sukuna.

maybe it was because you were tired of hearing it all.

about how you were such a good girl. so ambitious and focused on your studies. they made it seems so honorable that you were willing to put boys on the back burner in order to achieve your goals.

as if you had a choice.

as if you weren’t a timid little thing who incidentally teased the edges of something before falling back the recesses of your comfort zone. how many apps had you applied for only to waste the time of yourself and others. those sites were never meant to find true love- just conveniently hook ups to release pent up stress.

and you had a lot of it.

so maybe that's why you decided that it was okay to have a little more to drink tonight- to wander further from your friends into the wilderness. you could have one day to make a bad decision and face the consequences for it.

clubs were never your thing which was likely another reason why you were in this drought.

it wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, as old habits die hard. every so often you were approached with promises of drinks and suggestive conversation. and each one you shied away from and earned a scoff before they already started in pursuit of their next challenge.

it was possible that you were doing it wrong. you lacked the confidence to just ask for what you wanted, mostly because you didn’t know.  play coy, they told you, make them do the work for you.

so you find yourself on the dance floor instead with a new strategy. lost among the masses with the bass thrumming in your veins. here there would be no room for talk.

it only takes one song for you to feel him behind you. he doesn’t whisper sweet things in your ear. instead, his hands start at your hips, just a brush of touch to see how you react. when you don’t move away, he pulls you close and moves your hips in slow circles.

you’re immediately attracted to his confidence. in the way he guides your hand upward, instead of lower, encouraging your hand to grip at the short of his hair. the angle it provides is an open invitation for him to begin placing open mouthed kisses up the length of your neck. when he reaches your ear he pauses, and you hear the dark timber of his voice.

“i saw you turning away all those little boys earlier. what are you looking for, kitten?”

kitten. you shiver at the name.  main characters in novels always turned into a giddy mess over the pet name, losing themselves to the velvety whispered promises and underlying possession. the name brought more of a thrill than anything else; to know that he had been watching you in the distance.

you fight the urge to turn, wanting to stay in the moment for as long as you could. for some reason, like this, you think you could become the person he thinks you are. someone who knows what she wants and doesn’t accept anything less. back at the bar, men asked you too many questions and allowed the opportunity for your insecurities to bleed through.

like this, you only needed to admit one thing.

“i want you.”

its stupid and reckless. he could be a list of anything dangerous yet you advanced him to the top of the list. it was too early to tell but you hope he could be the one. then all of of the little details wouldn’t matter. you were here to lose your first time, not remember it.

you don’t expect him to use the grip on your hips to turn you, the sudden shift and lingering alcohol leaving you disoriented for a moment.

he was tall, though you had judged so from the reach it took to curl your fingers into his nape. the hair you had been blindly acquainted with turned out to be an unusual pale shade of pink. but it worked for him, and the interesting accompaniment of vermillion eyes. you were just starting to account the black lines of dark ink peeking from under his sleeve when his voice drew your attention back to his face.

his grin was telling. he wanted you to take him in because he knew you’d like what you saw. he doesn’t even need to ask. it was too early to tell if he was calling your bluff or enabling it.

he brings his mouth down to hover above yours, lips brushing as he speaks,”so your place or mine?”

this is what you needed, no thoughts beyond what your bodies could offer. this was the man who would take your virginity.

the first sign of hesitance you show is when offering your home. it was close enough to the campus and your neighbors would hear your scream if your ignorance turned out to be your undoing. he agrees, naturally, because why would he turn down a willing lay?

your fingers fumble quickly and shakily as you quickly text your friends that you’re bringing someone back. the answers vary from concern, to disbelief, to excitement and back to apprehension. ultimately, your roommates agree to leave the apartment to you for the night but vow to turn up first thing in the morning.

all the while, his hand is at the small of your back as he guides you towards the entrance. the icy cold air that hits you when you step outside is unkind to the thin sheen of sweat you’d accumulated. the price paid to look good rarely came cheap. the heat radiating from behind you was less of a comfort and more of a reminder as you shift from foot to foot in wait for a taxi.

“ names’ sukuna.”

it came as a jest rather than to inform. the way your eyes widen in realization proving that you’d skimmed over that step unintentionally. the men prior had offered it up without prompting as if it as their key trait in the introductions. while you’d grinded on this man for nearly two songs and hadn’t even thought to ask.

you stumble over your own name and his grin widens further.

he leans close enough for your visible breaths to mingle.

“you’re so fucking cute, kitten. i can’t wait to unwrap you.” 

and then he was kissing you senseless.

he tastes of whiskey and menthol, a savory smokiness that would be a lingering flavor for hours to come. there was a unique sense of excitement that came from kissing a stranger. the anxiousness blurred the lines between your thoughts and emotions. his tongue met yours and swept it into a fast, claiming pace.

just when your hands rose to find purchase on his shirt, the incoming headlights fanned against your joined bodies. sukuna, the apparent level-headed one, pulled away for you.

“don’t worry, we’ll have plenty to explore soon.”

sukuna surprisingly does not encroach on your space in the back of the taxi. his arm rests comfortably along the back of your seat, but his fingers don't chase the easy access to the back of your neck there. it makes you annoyingly anxious as your knee jumps in place. you refrain from looking at him in the corner of your eye already knowing what awaits you on his lips.

the remainder of the drive is short and uneventful.it takes less than ten minutes between the club and the arrival at your front door. you impress yourself with the lack of tremors as you fit your key into the door and welcome you into your home.

the light from the kitchen highlights only what you need to make it to your bedroom without injury. too many had happened before that became habitual prior to any night out.

there is a rattle in your spine as you carefully pull one shoe off than the other. its an action that you take your time with as you gather your thoughts. when you look back at him, he hasn’t wandered a step from the entrance, though his gaze travels where the light allows. at the feel of your gaze he cocks a brow,”i’m waiting on you kitten.”

right.

this was happening.

you’d made it this far.

tilting your head, you lead him to your bedroom without another word. you’re thankful that your widow sits in view of the night sky, taking the place of any artificial light you might have to provide.

every muscle is as stiff as a board as you toss your shoes into a corner. your mouth opens to stupidly point out that this is your room.

sukuna laughs, because why wouldn’t he after learning the mysterious vixen not only had a name but was a timid little thing. still he didn’t cater to your anxiety nor did he allow it to slow his pace.

his arms flex as he reaches behind himself to pull at his shirt from the tag. you’d caught glimpses of his tattoos in the darkness of the club without really looking, but you haven't been able to connect the lines of a pseudo sleeve. the double bands circle both wrists and biceps with encompassing circles swirling around his shoulders. it was a simple yet uniform pattern. you could just see the beginning of another figure curing from behind his neck as well.

“i’m starting to think that i should just be flattered when you get quiet like that.”

his hand makes itself home again at your waist as he walks you backwards until the edge of your bed knocks against the back of your knees. sukuna keeps you from falling back while his fingers go to curl at the hem of your dress.

“it’s only fair,” he says in your ear, as if the removal of his shirt was any kind of equivalence.

he helps you along the way, or maybe makes it worse as he starts to kiss your neck. his hands slide along every new available inch of skin from your thighs to your navel. he shamelessly cups your bra, squeezing the mounds in appreciation.

sukuna pulls away to rid you of the dress entirely. before you can adjust to the loss, he leans back in to unhook your bra as an afterthought.

he grins when you immediately bring your arms over your exposed chest,”don’t be shy. this is what you wanted, right?”

you don’t miss the implied probe behind the tease. it's faint but it’s comforting to know he’s still seeking consent and it eases a bit of your anxiety.

it makes you pliant enough for him to cup the backs of your thighs and lie you back against the sheets. though the moment your bare skin comes in contact with the sheets with his broad form hovering over you, all the brief conviction shrivels up.

your hands curl into the bedding for leverage when his weight is suddenly there to ease you back down. his arms slip around you to anchor you in place, pinning you under the hard warmth of his chest. his lips meet your ear, tongue sliding along the shell,” these mixed signals are going to get old real quick, kitten. “

there is a warning there but you don’t know what exactly it alludes too. how could you when you’d invited a complete stranger into your home.

but sukuna seems to know what to look for, eyes carefully watching the way you shy away from his touch yet draw yourself back on your own. he’s attune to the push and pull, seeming to understand the paradoxical conundrum that you’d drug him into.

you can just barely catch the cut of his smile in the darkness,”are you a virgin, kitten?” he asks, voice light and cool.

the way his body is keeping you in place makes it impossible for you to curl in on yourself, your embarrassment left on display.

“oh baby, if you let me, i’ll take good care of you.”

and how could you not agree to that?

he swallows your affirmation, tongue pushing into your mouth and making you groan.

“ ‘m gonna make you feel so good.”

his hands slide between the apex of your thighs to cup you, digits gliding along your covered slit. two fingers from his other hand press against the aperture of your mouth with the single command to suck.

you only hesitate briefly, tongue flicking out to taste the salt from his fingers. his impatience grows in the moment, idly feeding you a few inches until your lips hollow to stop him before he can reach the back of your throat. it feels more like a sloppy mess than anything remotely sexy as you drool around him, sucking harder to contain the wetness.

but sukuna seems to eat up the attention, idly thrusting in and out when he can. “you’re such a good learner,” he praises with hoarseness.

a garbled squeak manages to leave you as the elastic of your panties is pulled from your hips. you can feel the stick trail connecting you to the fabric, but seeing it is a whole new wave of mortification.

sukuna is able to tug them down to your ankles before your legs can lock up. “don’t be shy. i love filthy girls like you.“ your nerves jump to attention when he presses his thumb against your throbbing clit. “i can work with this.”

you gasp, lips losing their grip on his fingers, as you press your head back against the pillow. heat rises in the low of your stomach, a sensation that you’d never been able to achieve on your own. he starts with a single digit, easily making its way through your passage with the slick provided. his fingers crook in search of an ideal angle, making a sound of encouraging praise when you keen and rock your hips down for more.

your lashes flutter with the effort of keeping them open as he manipulates friction against your sex.without warning, he adds a second finger in alongside the first,”kitten you have no idea how happy i am that you grinded back against me on that dance floor.” the introduction allows for a scissoring action as he tests the stretch of your walls.

you’re happy to have the flat to yourself as the next whimper shatters your coherency, snapping any restraint that you had on your volume. sukuna chuckles at your cry, flexing his touch to reach new depths.

“i really wanted to see what you could do with your mouth but i don’t think i can wait.”

he gives one last swipe against the tackly mess before he fumbles with his belt. you don’t get offended when he only drops his pants far enough to free his cock. its distracting enough watching him stroke himself idly to fullness. sukuna harbors no shame as he cants his hips, fucking into the tight circle of his fist.

he pulls his wet fingers from your lips and you swallow around the absence.

you’re immediately grateful when he pulls out a condom, uncaring when the empty foil packet gets lost on your floor.

sukuna can feel the tightness as he palms your hip and positions himself at the stretch of your entrance.

“don’t go getting all nervous on me. i went through such a great deal to prepare you for this.”

his hand slides past your naval to grip your breast, rolling the hardening peak with his thumb. the lack of attention they’d received thus far acts as enticing interference.

he still doesn’t go for the unanticipated approach, keeping you vaguely aware by running the head of his cock up and down your dripping cunt.

it’s still easier said than done as all the reddit and gossip forums come reeling back the the forefront. you hadn’t even thought to get a towel, what if there was a lot of blood- too much? should you have gotten painkillers ?

above you sukuna tsks and you jolt from the sharp pain of him cruelly pinching your nipple. when you go to protest, he merely gives you a look, holding your gaze while his head drops take the abused bud into his mouth.

when he gives a particularly hard suck you know what’s coming as his hips roll up against you.

he’s big. of course he’s big given that he’s your first and all that you’ve had prior to your own fingers are his. sukuna expresses a show of kindness that you weren’t expecting with the initial push, as he uses his grip to ease himself in slowly.

it still burns; the uncomfortable stretch as he drags the friction of his cock past the slick barrier. but its not thee sharp punch you were expecting even before the base meets your pelvis. your hand darts up to smack against the hard flat of his stomach to stop him there but the centimeters separating you were barely negligible.

his mouth pops off of your breast with a wet sound as you pant, squeezing experimentally around the width of him. it was more manageable than you were anticipating, and you adjust your hips in another trial. the movement pulls a sharp hiss from his lips and his fingers clamp down tighter at the curve of your waist.

his vermillion eyes are no longer slits of concentration, now blown wide to contain the depth of lust simmering there. there is a shudder a he holds himself back from fucking into you. “if you’re done playing, i’d like to fuck you now.”

instinct drives you to reach around him, nails gripping traction around his shoulder blades as he grates his hips. the motion starts the first thrusts of many as sukuna introduces you to the truest definition of fucking.

its gradual, the way he picks up speed, introducing each part of you to himself before overpowering the nerves with a firmer touch.you should be embarrassed by the broken sounds leaving your mouth, but you can hardly remember your own name let alone decency.

sukuna on the other hand, relishes in the way he fucks you stupid, taking each bite of your nail and shattered speech with pride. “you have the prettiest fucking mouth for a virgin.”

it was impossible to accept the praise with the way he was knocking the sense from you with each thrust. he made it feel so good. all of it. from the inclination to the way he filled you up.

he continues to slam inside, breathing barely affected by the effort of pulling you apart at the seams. god he just doesn’t shut up. and you don’t want him too. they way he can make you hang from each word. 

you don’t know how he can handle words with all the smugness oozing from is lips, “i know you wouldn’t know the difference. but they’re typically so quiet- biting their lip and shit as if they’d scare away their own orgasm.”

“but not you baby. you fucking speak to me.” its not the kind of praise you were expecting but you latch on to it anyway. his arm comes around your waist and brings you forward to pin against his frame.

you don't know what possesses you to do so, mayve its the new proximity,  but your hands cup his face and bring his lips to meet yours. sukuna doesn't fight the action but his attention is elsewhere as your head bobs with the effort of keeping your mouths attached. ultimately it's the sharpness of your teeth against his bottom lip that prompts him to participate.

his tongue shoves past your lips to twist with yours. then he angles his hips just so and you sob. its an epiphany for you but its exactly what sukuna was looking for as he aims there again, and again, abusing that little patch of tissue that makes you witness nirvana.

sukuna drops a hand between your bodies to pass a thumb over your clit. he smirks when you jolt, still managing a perfect enunciation of your name even as his hips lose rhythm.

“all i need you to do tonight is come. can you do that for me, kitten?”

and you can, even without his instruction as your legs come up to squeeze around him despite the tremors. hot pleasure radiates up your spine from the source, washing over you in waves as you spill around him. it feels incredible to finally be able to let go. fuck, you don’t know if anything else will be like this first time. but you’re damn sure not going to forget it anytime soon.

even as your body falls pliant, sukuna keeps the pace as he chases his own release. the beginnings of bruises protest at your hips as he pounds a fragment tempo until he stills. the groan he lets out nearly brings you to a second orgasm as the sound shakes your body.

you’re thankful that he has enough energy to unhinge your legs from his hips, laughing to himself at the little trembles they give off. the act of him leaving you is a strange sensation to describe. despite the beating it took, your cunt still tries to hold him in.

it naturally earns you a crass comment as he uses the edge of your comforter to wipe himself down,”kitten, i don’t think you could handle another round of me.” you don't want to think about where he tossed the condom, just hoping that it was within the vicinity of the trashcan. but that was something future you would have to worry about.

you don’t offer him a place to stay and he doesn’t give you the opportunity to do so.

present you was starting to learn a new type of soreness as you gathered your legs against your chest and bring the blankets around your body. there wasn’t much of a delay as sukuna got dressed, tracing back his steps easily to his discarded shirt and tucking himself away long the way.

when he looks back at you, you must look like a child snuggled away for the night.

his looks at you with silent consideration. it was finally time to conduct the awkward ‘thank yous’ before the two of you parted ways forever. but at least it wasn’t you taking the walk of shame. though you don’t think it will be sukuna either with the swagger still linger in his step. 

it’s the blatant admission that you weren’t expecting, “ i like you. so i’ll leave my number for another time.”

that is not how a one night stand should end.

sukuna assumes you can’t handle the basic technological skill of adding his contact to your phone and proceeds to write it instead on the planner board posted by the door. it’s written so big you can just make out the numbers from the bed.

“be sure to call when you think you can handle me at my best.”

you wait, listening for the front door to click shut in his departure before you fall back against your bed. you should really be changing the sheets but you cant bring yourself to do more than roll onto your side.

you did it.

finally experienced all the gossip and jazz everyone talked out. 

and now you could focus and get back on track.

without prompt, your gaze drifted over to the dry erase board. sukuna had completely disregarded the individual squares dedicated to different days and messily scrawled his information between two weeks. it was a direct representation of the chaotic energy he gave off.

you would just clean it up in the morning along with any other remnants of this night.

...

or perhaps you could save as a sort of emergency contact.

you’d just discovered a new source of therapy after all. 

[reinvent-and-believe]

my blood is singing with your voice

Written for, but not posted in time for, @thewitchertransweek​

Ship: Jaskier/Regis

Rating: E

Tags: Trans Masc Jaskier, Smut, Body Worship, Oral Sex, Marking, Desperation, Secret Relationships, Very Mild Power Play, Jaskier and Regis Both Figure Out They Have a Vampire Kink, explicit and gendered language around Jaskier's genitals, referenced top surgery scars

Summary: Jaskier is lithe and beautiful in the moonlight, marked up from collarbone to hips.

Regis draws back to survey his handiwork.

A crimson abstraction on pale canvas turned pink, a dozen bloodred constellations just beneath the skin, so close Regis can feel against his tongue the very moment the blood vessels burst. It’s intoxicating, so close he can taste it. Just the slightest scrape of teeth, the most natural thing in the world to expect from an ardent lover, the gentlest pressure from too-sharp canines and the dam would give way, flood his mouth with the sweetest wine.

“Please,” Jaskier whimpers beneath him. He tries to press himself closer against Regis but he’s utterly at the mercy of the iron grip on his hips. “Mark me up.”

“That might not be entirely possible, I’m afraid.” He’s fixing the panting boy with a look that he imagines quite like a predator salivating over its prey. Jaskier’s moan confirms the suspicion. “It seems as though someone has marked you rather thoroughly already.” He returns to that same still pink patch of skin, one of the few places across his bare chest not mottled in various yellows and purples and greens. He kisses the hot flesh, sucking at the thin skin against his collarbone, dangerously close to the clear, unblemished expanse that remains visible when he’s clothed. “If we venture much further up, this clandestine affair will quickly become public knowledge, my dear. After all, your penchant for leaving your shirt open for the world to see has nearly taken care of that for us already.”

“Are you shaming me for the way I dress?” There’s a giggle in his breathy voice. Jaskier digs a toe playfully into Regis’s side. “Well, deepest apologies, darling, I didn’t mean to inflame your delicate sensibilities.”

“On the contrary, I’m quite certain that’s what you meant to do.” Regis grins, not bothering to cover his fangs. He runs his hands indulgently over the bard’s broad chest, memorizing the defined pectorals, the raised, rope-like scars, the soft, young tufts of hair. “Goodness knows I appreciate the view. I’m simply pointing out that it makes it a little harder to keep things, well. Discreet.”

They haven’t told Geralt.

Nor any of the others in their little band of companions. Regis is fairly certain Geralt’s sussed it out regardless, but he’s not spoken a word, taciturn as ever, and Jaskier seems to get a bit of a thrill from sneaking about, so Regis is more than willing to humor him. It’s new, and it’s exciting, and it’s…

Gods, it’s good.

Jaskier flirted with him idly since that first night with the mandrake spirits, touching his arm and fluttering those long lashes and knocking their knees together and dipping his eyes slowly across Regis before getting inevitably pulled back to Geralt with that lonely, distant expression. Regis couldn’t help being flattered by the bard’s attention, distracted as it may be, but had no intention of taking him up on his unspoken offer.

“Are you planning on fucking me or just looking?” Jaskier quips. Regis ignores him, spreading cold fingers as he continues to caress every inch of the flushed, blotchy torso. Patience is a virtue.

It had changed when the boy was wounded escaping the Nilfgaardian raid. Then Regis admitted quite stupidly that Jaskier’s blood smelled nice when he found no infection, because it had smelled nice and because he found himself horribly worried over Jaskier’s injuries, unexpectedly distraught at the thought that he might not again hear that flirtatious laugh or gaze into those eyes so endlessly blue. And suddenly the vampire found himself cleaning Jaskier’s wound and bandaging his head twice a day with deft and tender fingers, even though it meant defying the witcher who’d told him in no uncertain terms that coming back would mean death.

The revelation of Regis’s vampiric nature took an understandable toll on the budding relationship, of course; he heard the way Jaskier’s pulse raced at his approach, noticed the new edge to the nervous ramblings around him, the distracted fluttering, the awkwardness and stress and fear. This torture last nearly a week until one cold midnight, Jaskier slipped into Regis’s bedroll, eyes hooded, and asked, “Did my blood really smell nice?” with a flushed, curious expression, breathless and wanting.

“Regis.” And if the long, drawn-out whine weren’t enough to pull the vampire back to the present, Jaskier grinding up against him hard with a pout on his kissed-red lips certainly is. “Any minute now one of them will wake up and notice we’ve gone. Stop thinking and get on with it, if you’d be so kind.”

Regis tuts, slipping down his body. “You’re awfully demanding tonight.”

“As opposed to what night?” Jaskier lets out a contented sigh as Regis unties the overly ornate trousers and runs his cold fingers down their front, raking through dark hair and ghosting over everywhere warm and wet and delightful. He pulls the trousers down creamy hips and off, sitting back on his heels to take in the sight before him.

Jaskier is lithe and beautiful in the moonlight, marked up from collarbone to hips.

“Appreciating the view some more?” He’s wearing a sly, flushing smirk as he slides a hand between his legs. For all his talk of haste, he’s adopted quite the leisurely pace.

Regis rocks forward, catching him in a kiss full of heat and something else, something soft and unspoken. The bard’s practiced hand surges between them. Regis cradles Jaskier’s jaw, stroking his thumb against a stubbled cheek. “There’s quite a lot to appreciate,” he says. It sounds painfully sincere in his own ears.

Jaskier beams.

Regis can’t help taking his time. He luxuriates as he works his way down: the feeling of soft, blazing skin and silky hair against his lips; the smell of the boy, juniper and sage and sweat and need; the gradient bruises perfectly marring gorgeous flesh; the little skips and jumps of the boy’s excitable pulse.

He settles between Jaskier’s thighs, sliding his hands beneath to knead him and pull him close. The moan Jaskier lets slip is rich and full and lusty as he wriggles into the cold, careful touch. Regis leans in, savoring Jaskier’s little anticipatory gasp, and kisses the sharp hipbone, long and thorough. He chokes back a groan as he feels the blood rushing toward the surface of the skin, and he desperately follows the sensation.

Lust and bloodlust swirl together in every bracing breath, in every brush of lips and fangs against perfect searing flesh. It’s intoxicating, dangerous. It’s far too much and nowhere near enough, an absolute tease.

Regis mouths at him desperately and can’t help the little whimper that escapes as he wets his tongue through the bard’s folds. He’s not sure anymore if even blood ever tasted so sweet.

“Gods, Regis, your mouth.” Jaskier’s breathy voice carries an unexpected hint of a rasp. “I don’t know how I’ll ever survive it.”

He shouldn’t moan at the reminder of how vulnerable, how truly powerless the boy beneath him is. Shouldn’t revel in it, shouldn’t have to stop himself from rutting against the ground beneath him at the implication. A better man wouldn’t get off on it.

And yet...

“You look positively monstrous, love,” Jaskier moans, his heels against Regis’s shoulders urging him closer, harder. “As though you mean to suck me dry.”

Jaskier’s wet lip is trapped between his teeth. A delicate blush lights his face, but there’s no shame when he meets Regis’s glance, and no fear, only arousal and trust.

Regis kisses and sucks his way to the juncture of Jaskier’s thigh and groin, eliciting a most delightful cry when he carefully drags his fangs across the delicate skin. His long, cold fingers move to stroke Jaskier with deft, familiar motions.

He can feel the blood flowing through the femoral artery just beneath the pale, unblemished skin. And without thought or plan, Regis sucks, hard, until white skin throbs purple in his mouth and the boy beneath him is shaking and whimpering, and it’s too much, the skin threatening to give way and Regis tears himself away to mouth desperately at Jaskier’s cock.“Please,” Jaskier begs, “so close, darling, please...” His listless fingers find purchase, roughly tugging at silver locks of hair.

And it isn’t that it hurts, not really, but that shock of pain-pleasure is enough to stir something deep and primal that has him moving on pure instinct until he’s snarling down at the wide-eyed boy, pinned to the ground with an icy hand on his throat, a thumb just barely pressing down on the carotid artery.

After centuries of restraint, Regis craves nothing quite so much as indulgence.  

“Beautiful.” He lowers his head to brush his lips against the racing pulse.

Jaskier chokes back a sob. “Please, Regis.”

“Please what?” The slightest graze of his tongue, a cool wet trail following the artery several inches. He feels how close Jaskier is, would feel it pounding within them in tandem even without the thick, heady arousal carried on the night breeze. When the boy doesn’t answer, Regis looks up to him.

Jaskier’s staring at his mouth. “Suck me dry,” he breathes, flushed all over.

And when Regis moves back to his neck, he covers his fangs carefully with his lip before leaning in to taste him, to suck at the boy’s sweet, smooth skin, feeling the quake of each tiny blood vessel burst with the pressure. He slides his fingers on either side of Jaskier’s cock, rubbing him off desperately as he sucks at his throat, never quite enough, never the perfect pleasure of the skin parting, melting away between…

Jaskier comes with a cry, clutching the back of Regis’s neck as he rides through the aftershocks. Regis pulls away, grimacing yet reveling despite himself in the deep crimson bruise, so prominent, obvious. “Apologies,” he murmurs, tracing the splotchy skin. “I’m afraid I got a little carried away.”

Jaskier waves away the apology with a lazy gesture, still blissfully drifting in an exaggerated post-orgasmic haze that Regis finds utterly endearing. The vampire allows himself a few tentative touches, and when Jaskier leans into them eagerly, Regis indulges, kissing down his body until he’s back between the boy’s thighs, nuzzling gently against warm, wet folds until he’s licking him open again, a starving man, ravenous.

Jaskier holds Regis’s hand as he eats him out, the utter romantic.

Regis adores him.

[starlightinhumanform]

24/7: Chapter One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Platonic Demus, Platonic Logicality 

Summary: James (aka Janus) works the graveyard shift at a open-all-night convenience store. Logan is a college student who stays up way too late, way too often. While pulling all-nighters, he often visits the store James works at. As time goes on, James begins to care about Logan as more than just a customer. 

Warnings: Moderate Language, Some suggestive jokes, Mentions of ignorant/negative sentiments regarding vitiligo, Mentions of intoxication— some implied to be underage (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: College AU, Coffeeshop AU but weird (that’s literally the best way i can think of describing it), Mutual Feelings, Fluff 

A/N: — Janus’ name in this AU is James (mostly because when I began planning this, his name hadn’t been revealed). I may still include his name by writing in a name-change but we’ll see lmao — I do not have vitiligo and do not personally know anyone with vitiligo; Janus’ experience with the condition is based entirely on my research. That being said, I did my best to give an accurate representation but I do not claim that it is flawless in anyway. If there are any improvements you think I can make in this area, please please let me know 🖤🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3   Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

James’ first shift started normally. That is, as normally as he could assume 24 hour convenience store shifts could be. It’s not like he had much experience with it.

Being his first day, he had assumed that the manager would’ve at least stuck around for a while. Instead, the woman had pointed out the bathroom plunger— advising him to not let anyone steal it— told him how to use the slushie machine, and said that if someone tried to rob the store, let them take the money; she even showed him the quickest way to open the cash register. Then she left within the first hour of James’ shift.

James didn’t mind being alone but he couldn’t fight down the frustration at his manager for abandoning him without actually telling him anything useful. He kept worrying that someone would ask a question that he couldn’t answer. What if the customer got angry and then he got reported and lost his job on the first night? Not to mention every time someone walked in, he was ready to bargain for his life with the $225.67 and a random condom in the cash register.

The adrenaline was getting to his head, stirring up usually dormant worries. He couldn’t stop glancing down at his hands. They were warm tan, patterned at random with lighter splotches. He had a condition known as vitiligo which made areas of his skin lose their pigmentation. For the majority of the time, it wasn’t a big deal; the worst part was the weird looks people gave him and even then, he could usually brush them off. Still, there was always the occasional idiot who felt the need to say something rude or inform him that he showed signs of demon possession. He hoped beyond everything that one of those incidents didn’t occur while he was alone in the store.

Thankfully, the only customers for the next few hours were a couple groups of teenagers at varying levels of intoxication and a traveling family made up of two parents suffering from highway-hypnosis and a small child who tried to climb into one of the drink refrigerators.

By one in the morning, the flow of incoming patrons had completely stopped. By that point James had already thrown back an entire 5-hour Energy drink and reorganized the chip rack— twice .

When the entry bell finally rang again at around two, James’ head was buzzing so badly he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the sound or not. A young man walked in— college aged with messy hair and glasses. He disappeared into the rows of brightly coloured plastic bags without a word and so quickly it made James once again question whether or not he was hallucinating.

It wasn’t until the man had made his way back to the counter, setting down a bag of chips and a couple energy drinks, that James was sure he existed. The man’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in two days and his dark circles were so deep they could be seen from beneath his squared glasses. Yup, definitely a college student.  

Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, the man was undeniably pretty. Counter to his tired scowl, his eyes were bright and alert, framing a sharp nose. The way he kept his strong chin tilted slightly upwards and walked with purpose gave him the appearance of someone who actually knew what he was doing with his life— so basically, the opposite of James.

James was hardly ever self conscious about his appearance but this man— this stupidly pretty, oddly perfect man— made James squirm just a little bit, made him wonder if he was living on one side of some scale while the customer lounged on the other side. James tried to shrugged it off, focusing on the items in front of him instead.

The man spent the entire interaction at the counter muttering to himself and never once making eye contact. It was a little strange, but he was cute and James was bored so he decided to just appreciate the entertainment while it lasted.

It wasn’t until James went to hand the man his receipt that he seemed to even become aware of James’ existence. James held out the thin slip of paper, apparently causing the man to flinch backwards. His reaction was strong enough to make James wonder if he was one of those people— the type that thought vitiligo was some sort of deadly, contagious disease.

His eyes darted up quickly, his gaze sharp as it scanned over James’ face, “You’re not the normal cashier.”

He was taken aback by the accusing tone in the man’s voice, “No, I guess I’m not? I just got hired; the other guy got let off… something about trying to steal the plunger.”

“Oh,” His face transformed into a noncommittal scowl that James simply could not read, “Expect me regularly.”

The man turned on his heels and walked briskly to the door as James stood frozen and mystified behind the counter, “Oh, uh… see you soon then.”

——————

James woke up to the smell of something burning. He didn’t even remember dragging himself home and collapsing in his bed but based on the smell bothering him he evidently had made it back. No one could burn food quite like his roommate.

“Remus what the fuck are you doing?” James shuffled out to the kitchen where his roommate was poking at something on the stove.

“Making lunch.”

Based on his bed head and near-complete lack of clothes (Remus always slept in booty shorts and nothing else) James could guess that he had woken up only a few minutes earlier himself, “Dude that does not smell like anything humans should eat.”

Remus gave him a wicked grin and James decided not to push the subject. He walked out of the room with a sigh and hoped that the smell would clear up soon.

He made his way into the living room, sitting down and flipping open his laptop. James groaned at the lack of new email notifications. No new emails meant no new job acceptions.

“Guess I’m working the night shift again.”

James was grateful he got the job at the convenience store— no question. Getting a job as a college dropout was both necessary and nearly impossible at the same time. He was lucky to get a job at all and being a graveyard shift, he got paid nearly double the normal wage for his position. For now, his sleep schedule would just have to suffer.

——————

The weeks drifted by and James fell into a dull, but easy rhythm. He would go to work every night, spend the hours rearranging chip bags, guarding the plunger, and— if he was lucky— the pretty college boy would come in for a few minutes to grab salty food and a caffeinated drink.

James wasn’t sure when it became “lucky” for the man to come into the store. Maybe it was lucky because he was entertaining, always preoccupied and wandering around the store like his mind was a hundred miles away. He had this odd sort of duality— somehow both spaced out and intensely focused at the same time. It was like he was concentrating on the dimension beyond the one James was living in. He floated through this world, always preoccupied with world in his head. It was endearing and intriguing and James found himself looking forward to seeing the man. James wanted to see the world inside his head, to know what was so captivating that he had no use or interest for what was outside of it.  

The student was quickly becoming his favourite customer— something James never thought he would have— and he genuinely enjoyed having a chance to talk to the other guy. He was handsome, obviously intelligent, and, if given the chance, James definitely would’ve asked him out for a drink.

As it was though, James looked awful in his uniform so he would never have the confidence to make a move the only times he ever saw him.

James started to watch for him. The man came at least once a week, always between midnight and four in the morning. He must have lived nearby because he always walked over instead of taking a car like most of the other patrons. Either that, or he lived further away and walked all the way just for a bag of chips and an energy drink.

It was a Thursday like any other when he walked into the store and James’ curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” James leaned across the counter as the man sat his items down, “you come around here often?”

He tilted his head quizzically, “Yes? I do come here often? You’ve seen me.”

“No I— it was a joke,” James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was… not going the way James would have hoped, “What’s your name? We might as well get on first name basis since we see each other all the time.”

“I’m Logan,” Logan seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m James.”

Logan gave a curt nod, “I know.”

“But— how? I—“

“It’s on your name tag,” And with that, Logan turned and marched out of the store.

——————

Logan laid on his back, arms and legs spread over the entirety of his bed. The only leftover space of the bed was occupied by Patton, one of his housemates.

“So how did the all-nighter go?”

Logan groaned, “Well… it sure as hell did go all night. I’m so fucking tired.”

“This is what you get for viewing the entire American university system as a challenge.”

He squinted up at Patton. With his blond hair and round, smiling face he looked like the direct inversion of whatever pale little zombie Logan currently felt like, “I gotta stop staying up so late.”

“I don’t know, you kind of seem to like it,” His housemate patted his leg and stood up to walk out of Logan’s room, “By the way, where do you keep going? I hear you leaving the house, like, super early all the time.”

Sunlight was streaming through his partially open blinds. It was probably quite pretty but to Logan it just looked like a headache-inducing glare. He threw a pillow over his face, muffling his voice as he answered, “Booty call.”

Patton laughed as he stopped walking, “Yeah right. The day you answer a booty call is the day I will shave my head.”

Logan shifted the pillow slightly to look at Patton again. The man’s hair was his prize possession, like a curly fluffy cloud that he kept as a pet on top of his head. Logan didn’t know how Patton could afford the time and money he put into his hair. What he did know, however, was that Patton would never risk its safety. Logan frowned in (mostly) fake insult, “You really think there’s not a single person who would send me a horny text at three in the morning?”

“Nah I think there are quite a few people who would do that. I just doubt there’s anyone you’d actually find worth answering.”

Was there anyone he would actually answer? Logan stared up at the dark fabric above him. The pillowcase was a deep navy blue and if he really squinted, he could see the weave of the thread, a thousand random threads coming together to make a greater whole. The way the individual pieces created something far larger than themselves was fascinating to Logan. He had never given it much before, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find a random individual worth making something together.

In the darkness covering his eyes, a vision of the convenience store cashier flashed across his mind. The face he saw was light brown and across that warm canvas, lighter portions sprawled. For the first time, Logan began really thinking about that face. He had sharp features, tired eyes, and when he smiled with lips sloped upwards at a lopsided angle. His skin reminded Logan of the glossy photos of nebulae in his astronomy textbooks— bright splashes breaking up the sameness of the night sky. How had he never noticed that before? What was his name? James.

He heard the creak of their old floors beneath Patton as he walked out of Logan’s room. He probably thought Logan had fallen asleep as he lay there in silence. He was far from asleep, though. His mind was racing, trying to find the missed connections and continually finding new ones in the process. His eyes flickered as previously unrecognized thoughts began surfacing. And they didn’t stop. How had he never noticed?

“I’ve been going to that convenience store down the street,” Logan called as Patton walked away.

James.

Maybe there was someone for him.

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General Sanders Sides Taglist: ~ @centimeter-tries-to-communicate @bee-syndrome @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words@mossdeemo @im-actually-ok @softnic@catolicabuena @queer-disaster106 @lunawolf89 ~

24/7 Taglist: @imma-potatoo

[andypantsx3]

war paint | 4 | encounter

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

After that, Nishimura wouldn’t stop antagonizing you.

He seemed to blame you for his loss on the training pitch, growling loudly to Hasumi about how slow you were, how you stumbled around like a defenseless lamb, how you refused to meet Bakugou’s blade with your own until threatened with discharge. He wasn’t wrong, but you still felt like his loss was his own doing - if he were as good at swordwork as he claimed, he wouldn’t have needed a partner to best the captain.

This didn’t stop him from ratcheting up his hostility, however. The bugs in your bed soon became small animals, and it seemed that every time Captain Bakugou’s back was turned, you found yourself tripping over an ankle or stumbling from an elbow in your back.

You’d borne his antics quietly up until now, for fear of Captain Bakugou finding you out and delivering on his threats from the mess hall. But when Kaminari and Sero began tossing you anxious, worried looks, you knew that Nishimura’s actions had to stop. If other soldiers were catching on, it would only be a matter of time until Captain Bakugou took notice, and then both of you would be done for.

One evening, you pulled back your covers to find a rat splayed in your sheets, and that was the moment you snapped.

“Nishimura,” you growled, using a shirt to grab the rat and throwing it at him in disgust. “Outside, right now!”

You stalked out of the dorms, out into the still evening air of spring. A warm breeze blew around you as Nishimura exited the dormitory after you.

“This stops now,” you said, seething.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and pinned you with a disinterested look. “Or what? You’ll run to Captain Bakugou?”

You gritted your teeth. “Bakugou is the last person we need finding out about this, which is why you need to knock it off. What happens if he conducts a random bunk check and finds those?”

Nishimura smirked and your temper flared. “Scared, L/N?”

Your hands balled into fists. “Nishimura, you’re going to stop this right fucking now or I’m going stop it myself.”

Nishmura raised a dark eyebrow. “I look forward to you trying. You do anything to me, and I’ll do much worse to you.”

A frustrated noise escaped you and you opened your mouth to reply, but you were cut off by the soft tread of a boot nearby. Swearing, you shoved Nishimura back through the door, following him quickly and pulling it closed behind you. Soldiers weren’t allowed out of the barracks after hours and you had no doubt you’d be subjected to a punishment worse than extra training if you were caught out fighting with Nishimura after dark.

Nishimura scoffed and turned his back to you, striding back down the hall to your shared bunkroom. You lingered near the door, listening closely for any sound of the person outside. Silence rang in your ears, and as long moments passed, you finally felt yourself relax. You took a steadying breath and leaned heavily against the wall.

Suddenly, the door handle was ripped from your grasp, swinging wide open.

“Going somewhere?” Captain Bakugou smirked down at you, his crimson eyes bright even in the dark. Even a step down, he still stood half a head taller than you, and again the power of his presence rolled over you like a thunderstorm.

You felt your mouth drop open and you scrambled upright. “N-no, Captain! I was just...uh…”

He raised a blonde eyebrow, and the shift of his features distracted you. You were suddenly struck by the ridiculous thought that he was so terribly handsome - or would be if he wasn’t so utterly terrifying. You wondered dumbly why this man was unmarried, shouting after a battalion of guardsmen when he could just as well be tucked up in his marquisate with some count’s pretty daughter.

You doubted he could be so horrible to his fellow noblemen, not if he didn’t want to start an armed conflict, so surely his personality wouldn’t be such a deterrent to the ladies of the court…so why then was he here?

“Sure are taking your sweet time to come up with an excuse, pretty boy,” Bakugou leered down at you. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about two people arguing outside just now, would you? Something about not wanting Captain Bakugou to find out.”

You gaped at him. “S-sir?”

Bakugou leaned down, smirking, his mouth hovering by your ear. This close, you could feel the heat of him, and smell something sweet and smokey. Your brain emptied in a combination of fear and, stupidly, the thrill of a man so close.

“You have five seconds to get back to your bunk, soldier,” he said softly, his breath whispering over the shell of your ear. Your thoughts slammed back into you with a sudden urgency and you scrambled back from him.

“Yes, sir!” you yelped, turning tail and sprinting back to your room. You stumbled over to your bed in the dark, climbing into it with your heart hammering. Your mind raced and you strained your ears to listen for him, wondering wildly if he would follow. He’d overheard your conversation, or part of it. He couldn’t know what you were hiding from him, though, could he? Otherwise he would have followed up on his threats from the mess hall, wouldn't he?

Silence settled over the dorm, however, and you sat there, staring into the dark. The only sound was the puff of your own nervous breaths, and after what seemed like hours, your heartbeat began to slow again. Minutes more and you finally released a sigh, letting your body relax into your sheets. Exhaustion washed over you like a warm wave, and despite yourself, your felt your eyes flutter shut. You turned your head to the pillow, and let yourself be tugged carefully into sleep.

As you finally drifted off, you thought you noted the soft snick of a door closing.

You left the barracks late the next evening to begin your patrol, glad to see Sero’s friendly face waiting for you in the palace courtyards.

If anything, Nishimura had been more unbearable the day after, hovering over you incessantly and tracking your every movement with a hawkish eye. Similarly, you felt like Bakugou lurked behind every corner, ready to spring closed like a trap over you and Nishimura, a discharge on his lips and an explosion building in his hand. As the day passed, you felt the tension mounting at your temples, and when evening finally rolled around, you were unbearably relieved to finally be separated from Nishimura, both of you assigned to separate patrol routes within the palace.

“Why do you look like this patrol is the happiest moment of your entire life?” Sero wondered as you approached, grinning widely.

You scowled up at him, knocking into his gangly arm. “I can’t be happy to walk the castle with a friend?”

“Aww, we’re friends,” Sero cooed, patting your head condescendingly. “Thanks, little guy.”

You brushed him off. “Ugh, I take it back. Don’t talk to me for the rest of patrol.”

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. His choppy bangs fell over his forehead in dark spikes. “Something on your mind?”

You sighed, fingers picking absently at the end of your sleeves. “Nishimura’s been more awful than ever and Captain Bakugou’s on to us. I think he overheard us arguing outside last night.”

Sero nodded thoughtfully. “He hear anything specific?”

You bit your lip. “I’ve been running the argument over in my head. We didn’t explicitly talk about fighting. I think he just overheard that we didn’t want him finding out,” you let out a heavy breath, “which could be worse…”

Sero gave you a sympathetic look as you rounded the corner into the castle proper. “You’re still here, though, aren’t you? Maybe he’s giving you a final chance.”

You snorted. The day Katsuki Bakugou gave anyone a chance, you would strip naked and announce your gender to him yourself. A snowball had better chances in the inner circles of hell than you did of receiving Bakugou’s mercy.

“He’s probably waiting until he can think of the most painful way to slowly torture a confession out of someone,” you said and Sero winced.

“It was nice knowing you, L/N,” he said. A silence fell over you after that, both of you contemplating your unfortunate fate at the hands of your captain. You trudged companionably through the halls, peering into offices and saluting nobility as you passed them.

You couldn’t help but notice the nobles within the castle looked a different class from Bakugou altogether - their clothes bright and their faces round with good food and easy living. Bakugou, however, seemed to live in well-worn boots and the starched collar of his captain’s uniform, and the angular planes of his face spoke to years of hard training and meticulous service. The only thing that seemed to put him on equal footing with these nobles was his natural aura of incredible command.

You were wondering again what drove him to become the commander of the castle forces when you and Sero peered into a darkened office. The room belonged to the master of coin, and even in the dim light you could see it was lavishly appointed, with a huge oak desk that dominated the center of the room, vaulted ceilings, and ornate gold molding creeping along the walls.

You gave the room a cursory once over, then turned to make your way back to your route, until a quiet rustle disturbed the silence. You halted, grabbing Sero’s lanky arm.

He gave you a wide-eyed look, and you both turned back to the desk. There was a quiet sound, like a careful breath.

“Hello?” Sero said. “Is anyone here?”

Silence pressed down on you.

“Come out and we won’t hurt you,” you tried, feeling your hand sliding over the hilt of your sword.

There was another rustle, and a dark shape materialized from behind the desk. You bit down on a swear.

“Who are you?” Sero asked, but the figure stayed silent, simply standing there.

You unsheathed your sword, wincing at the loud ringing slide of the metal cutting through the ominous silence. “It could be the spy. Get the captain, Sero.”

Sero looked at you nervously. “I’d rather not leave you.”

You brandished your sword. “You’re faster, and we need to take them in. Be quick.”

He regarded you for another moment then took a step back, slipping out of the room. You heard the loud slap of his boots as his pace picked up in the hall, leaving you alone with the figure.

You peered closely at them, noting the way their dark hood fell over their face. It completely covered the figure, revealing no detail except their height and general shape. They were reasonably tall, and you thought they must be a man, judging from their square shoulders and imposing stature.

“Who are you?” you asked again. They stayed silent and still before you.

“Why are you here?” you tried again. They said nothing, but they took a slow step out from behind the desk, the dark fabric of their cloak swishing softly.

You took a step back. “Stay where you are.”

The figure paid you no heed, taking another step toward you. You held your sword out in front of you, feeling your pulse jump in your throat.

Almost faster than you could see, the figure’s cloak moved. There was a flash of something bright red in your vision, and then they were whipping out a sword, striking out at your own blade.

You gasped as the shock of their strike rang up your arm and you pushed them off with all your strength. They took a step back then raised their arm overhead for another blow, coming down on you fast. You parried, ducking out of the way.

You tried to force them onto the back foot but they were just slightly too quick, catching the swipe you aimed at their side. There was a clatter from the hall outside the room, and the figure’s head raised, angling towards the door. They whipped their sword up, slamming into yours with unbearable strength, and knocked you clean to the floor.

You scrambled onto your hands, grasping at your sword to defend yourself, but they were already whirling around, the tails of their cloak snapping the air behind them.

“Stop!” you shouted, but they had already raised themselves onto the desk, leaping onto the sill of the large window behind it, kicking it open and breaking the lock. Then they leapt, disappearing off the ledge into the dark night.

Swift footsteps sounded in the hall and Sero’s gasping breaths came at the doorway.

“L/N!” he said and you whirled around, breathing heavily yourself. A head of unruly blonde hair appeared at Sero’s shoulder, and Bakugou's eyes darted quickly around the room before narrowing in on you.

“The window!” you shouted, gesturing at it. “He knocked me down and jumped out.”

Both their heads whipped up to look at the clattering window panes, the latch hanging loosely from the left side, flapping limply in the breeze. Bakugou crossed to the window, planting a foot up on the desk to push himself onto the ledge and peering outside.

You tried to ignore the way his thighs bunched powerfully in his breeches as he did so. Now was so not the time.

“You okay?” Sero asked kindly, helping you to your feet.

You nodded. “Yes. He didn’t have enough time to hurt me, just pushed me over and ran.”

Bakugou turned back to you, fixing you with an unblinking crimson stare. The hair on your arms stood up at the intensity of his focus. “What did he look like?” he demanded.

You shook your head. “I couldn’t see. He wore a cloak and it covered everything. He was tall, maybe just shorter than you, but that was all I could tell.”

Bakugou’s mouth twisted in a scowl. “How did he move?”

You thought for a moment. “He was faster than me - trained in basics, I think. He used a lot of the standard strikes we go through in drills. And he was notably...violent? He put tons of power into each blow, he was definitely trying to kill.”

You could feel Sero shudder behind you.

Bakugou regarded you impassively, eyes flicking up and down over you. “Every time something happens, it seems like you’re involved, pretty boy. Want to tell me why that is?”

Your heart leapt into your throat. “What? No, I didn’t--! Sero was with me, I--!”

Bakugou leapt down from the desk, prowling over to you. “Not the whole time he wasn’t.”

Your eyes widened. “Captain, no! I didn’t--you think I let him escape?”

Bakugou leaned into your space, his face inches from your own. Your breathing shallowed and you froze up, locked in place as if by some unseen force. His eyes were so, so red, burning into you like hot embers. You felt like he could see straight through you to your skeleton, the ferocity of his focus carving through you like a hot knife through butter.

“You tell me, pretty boy,” he said, so quiet that you could barely hear it, even scant inches from him. It was a disturbing turnaround from his usual violent screaming. “I hear you begging your little heart out to keep me from finding something out and then this happens?”

Your stomach dropped. “Captain, I swear I wouldn’t.”

He smirked. “Or maybe, you’re just so incapable a soldier that you couldn’t help but let him escape. Which is it?”

Anger crashed over you like a river breaking through a dam. “I did my best, sir," you said slowly, meeting his eye. "I didn't choose to let him go.”

Bakugou considered you for a moment, scarlet eyes darting over your face like he was cataloguing your every feature. Finally he drew back from you, pushing you into Sero’s chest.

“Take the shrimp back to the barracks,” he said dismissively, turning back to the room. He scanned over its contents with a keen eye. “I’m done with you.”

Sero saluted, gently taking your elbow. “Come on, L/N,” he said quietly.

You bit your lip and let him steer you towards the door, trying to quell your anger. Before you could exit, however, Bakugou called back over his shoulder.

“Careful what you do next, pretty boy,” he said, the hint of a sneer in his voice. “I’ll be watching you.”

With that, Sero tugged you from the room and you followed him closely back towards the barracks, Bakugou’s threat weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Fucking great.

[washymylifeaway]

SakuAtsu Fanfic recs pt2 leggo

I promised a pt 2 and here it is! Link to pt 1 here :) I was lazy so given summaries (I cped this time, but in the future I might paraphrase), and ofc these aren’t all of the ones I loved, just some :D So in no particular order, have some SakuAtsu <3

As always, pls check WARNINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES for fics before reading (esp cause I didn’t put individual warnings PLEASE make sure you’re okay with the content!!!!!!) and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves (since mental health is key!) Stay healthy loves <3

Teach Me, Tune Me, Tempt Me by Anonymous (E) 38.8k // Sakusa Kiyoomi needs to conquer many lifelong fears in order to enter his first romantic relationship. Miya Atsumu is there to guide him every step of the way, even if the one Sakusa desires is someone else.

Flowers Bloom In Our Masks by UnicornFlowers (G) 24.5k // "Mysophobia, also known as verminophobia, germophobia, germaphobia, bacillophobia and bacteriophobia, is a pathological fear of contamination and germs." "You read that off of Wikipedia." "That's the point, Omi-kun. I read up on it fer you."

the art of folding a handkerchief by Emlee_J (T) 5.6k // “Atsumu-san’s just realised he likes Sakusa-san,” Shouyou says simply, as though announcing the weather. “Ahh,” Bokuto nods sagely, standing up straight and nodding his head, as though this was a perfectly normal thing to hear and not monumental in any way. “'Ahh?'” Atsumu protests, indignantly, “what do ya mean ‘ahh?’” “We were wondering when you were going to notice,” Bokuto shrugs, and Atsumu gawps at him. “'Scuse me?” He splutters, and whips his gaze around to Shouyou, who bobs his head at him in confirmation. “How did you two notice before I did?” Atsumu blurts out. "Most people do," Shouyou says softly. -In which Atsumu develops something annoying, like feelings for a teammate, but at least he has a couple of wingmen and Tobio's seemingly infinite resources to help him out.

for whom the heart beats by cielelyse (T) 1.6k // Atsumu's heart keeps skipping a beat whenever Sakusa's around - so often that it's baffling and honestly downright concerning. "I think I might have a medical condition," he says into the phone. "Good," says Osamu, and hangs up.

as you are by papertulips (G) 5.8k // Kiyoomi learns that falling for Atsumu is the easiest thing in the world.

Hide and seek by badreputation (E) 10.5k // It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.

People Will Say We're in Love by tirralirra (T) 9.5k // “Saku...Atsu? What does that even mean?” Atsumu says, squinting at the device. People seem to think that Sakusa and Atsumu are in love, so they come up with a list of things to do to deter that. Maybe it would work...if they weren’t in love.

do not separate! by aalphard (T) 5k // He knows he likes peanut butter and the tuna onigiri Uncle Shamu makes for him. He knows he likes volleyball and the way his daddy looks so, so cool when he’s on court. He knows he likes drawing and playing with toy swords. He knows he likes reading and it’s even better when Atsumu is the one reading for him. He knows he likes to have pancakes in the morning but he also really, really likes tamagoyaki and he knows his daddy can’t make those at all. He tries, but fails every single time. He knows his daddy’s teammates like him and he knows they’ll help him if he wants to play with them one day. But the thing is he likes Uncle Omi-kun more than he likes the rest of them and that is a secret he won’t tell anyone that’s not his daddy. He doesn’t like to make people sad.“Omi?” “Yeah?” “Nao said he likes you more than he likes the rest of the team. Don’t tell’em.” or atsumu is a single dad and kiyoomi can't help but fall for him.

you make my heart burn by myhopeisjhope (G) 9.2k // “What’s up with that awful expression?” Atsumu asked. He leaned against the counter with his hip, looking directly at Kiyoomi, his regular fox-line grin plastered on his face. Kiyoomi made eye-contact with him then, his eyebrows knotting in annoyance, but Atsumu was too interested in the cute pair of beauty marks above Kiyoomi’s eye to care about the glare that was sent his way. “What’s up with that awful hair?” Kiyoomi shot back. And that was exactly when Atsumu decided he liked the guy. 

somewhere in the middle (i think we lied a little) by akanemnida (E) 4.3k // “Body worship,” Miya said instantly, after Kiyoomi asked him what he wanted as reward as the winner of their service ace competition. “I can do that,” Kiyoomi said with a frown. “God, you really are the vainest person on this planet—”Miya shook his head, smirking. “Nuh-uh, Omi-kun. I meant I wanted ‘ta worship ‘ya.”(Or: Sakusa and Atsumu and all the blurred lines in between.)

san'yō expressway, 6:17 pm by yamabato (T) 8.1k // Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe. Kiss him again, maybe. They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

affection by papertulips (G) 2.1k // "I gave you the key to my house for emergencies only." “This is an emergency.” “What?” Atsumu pouts, looking up at him with wide eyes that definitely work on Kiyoomi but he will never admit it. “I missed you.”

love could be labeled poison and we'd drink it anyways by myhopeisjhope (NR) 21.3k // "Huh?" is Atsumu's response, and it's seemingly the only thing the man could think of after the minute-long silence that stretched between them. "We should break up," Kiyoomi repeats, more clearly now. He doesn't let any emotion seep into his voice, keeping it neutral and detached, as if breaking up with Atsumu was the easiest thing ever, while in fact it's the complete opposite.

And I'll Ask for the Sea by meeks00 (T) 6.9k // When a couple of his teammates reveal that Atsumu has feelings for him, Sakusa doesn’t react well. It doesn’t help that Atsumu is his typical petty and salty self. --“Come on,” Atsumu is saying in a wheedling tone behind a bright grin. “Just stop,” Sakusa snaps suddenly. “Will you just leave me alone for once? I don’t even like you!”Normally, Sakusa’s words don’t phase Atsumu at all. He’ll talk over Sakusa or brush off any harsh words easily enough and might turn to someone else for the attention he apparently craves. But this time, Sakusa’s words seem to stop him cold, the smile freezing for just a moment on his face.

the Definition of Miya Atsumu, by Sakusa Kiyoomi by orphan_account (G) 4k // Miya Atsumu is a self-centred prick who thinks he's top shit. Underneath the word 'asshole' in the dictionary is a picture of his stupidly pretty face. Sakusa Kiyoomi's definition is, according to him, 100% correct, until he takes a closer look.

i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by liliapocalypse (T) 7.6k // Seeing Sakusa stressed out, Atsumu writes random letters on Sakusa’s skin to soothe him during the team’s assisted stretches. Somewhere along the way, the touches shift from barely tolerable to something Sakusa actively craved for. One day, though, Atsumu accidentally writes a confession instead.

it ain't no matter of 'if' honey, it's just a matter of 'when' by irleggsy (M) 2.1k // With a beer in one hand and an accusatory pointer finger on the other, Sakusa slurred, shouted even, “Atsumu. If you wear those godforsaken cutoff camo jorts one more fucking time I’m breaking up with you.”Atsumu made a noise in his throat caught somewhere between a wheeze and a squawk that came out more of an avant-garde honk noise than anything else. He stared up at Sakusa with wide eyes, a bewildered smile just barely glued onto his face. Or: The MSBY Black Jackals go to a bar. Sakusa likes to run his mouth when he's drunk.

dog eat dog eat dog world by perennials (T) 8.4k // You are your first and only line of defense against the universe.

Who Could Have Seen This Coming? by crone_zone (M) 16.7k // Peering out the side of his eyes at the man walking beside him, Sakusa wondered why he’d impulsively changed his mind about his plans this evening when he’d noticed Miya’s reluctance. Surely he wasn’t worried about this asshole, was he?--In which Sakusa impulsively invites Atsumu over to his apartment when he sees he's upset and something entirely unexpected happens: he realizes he likes this asshole. Cue [off-camera]sex, mutual confessions, insecurity, and adorable losers who are opposite in all the right ways.

Miya Atsumu's unwavering love for Sakusa Kiyoomi and an unholy amount of terrible food analogies that should not have the right to Exist by aiviloti (G) 5.6k // Five times Miya Atsumu talks to (harasses) his friends and sibling because he has feelings for Sakusa and doesn't know what to do or how to deal with them and the one time he talks to Sakusa about it. “How do you make friends apart from showering them in praise?” Atsumu wails one night, and Osamu thinks, oh god, here we go again.

Sakusa's Secret Admirer by TwilaFrost (T) 20.2k // Every day after practice, Kiyoomi finds another letter inside his shoe locker. It's only every signed: -❤ He's determined to find this person. Is it crazy to fall in love with someone you've never met?

take what's yours and make it mine by claudusdiei (T) 5.9k // (this has a second fic hehe) atsumu falls in love four times in his life (or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

School Bus Yellow by yuuki (G) 4.9k // Atsumu has a crush on Sakusa, and it’s kind of ridiculous how much he likes a guy who wears ugly colored jackets and is afraid of germs.Though, Atsumu’s probably not all that great himself. He’s still figuring that part out.

show me how by emeraldpalace (G) 2.9k // Sakusa isn’t sure when or how it happened, but the fact remains: Miya Atsumu has become a comfortable constant in his life.

touch me (i want you to) by melstar (G) 3.9k // He should have seen it coming, really. Spend six months tip-toeing around the line of domesticity with the team’s resident germaphobe, and there was no way he’d be able to think of the guy the same way anymore. Or, Atsumu touches Sakusa's arm once and thus begins a downward spiral into the inescapable jaws of attraction.

Dreaming of You, Talking About You by kitkatwrites (T) 1.1k // Osamu learns that Atsumu talks in his sleep, especially about a certain wing spiker from Tokyo.

If your world falls apart, I'd start a riot by Serendipity (jenjaemrens) (NR) 3.1k // "It was Atsumu who was the older brother, but it was Osamu who was more protective of him. He would always protect Atsumu from things around them that could hurt him. "Or, the story of Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu through the eyes of Miya Osamu.

but soft what light by min_mintobe (T) 2.1k // "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, Bokkun—" Atsumu drawls, "—hot. "In which Miya Atsumu woos Sakusa Kiyoomi by (gratuitously, seductively) quoting Shakespeare. One-shot.

sakusa kiyoomi's fixation on (miya atsumu's) lips by catsoncocaine (E) 3.7k // Everything about Atsumu is fucking beautiful, but there is one specific part of his that is like kryptonite for Kiyoomi. It is both his curse and his remedy, rendering him useless and yet egging him on to move at the same time. Kiyoomi hates it as much as he loves it.

The Jacket In Your Closet by dai_naning (T) 8.6k // According to the gossiping players around him, Miya Atsumu is an asshole. He's an incredible player in court and an obnoxious person off the court. He taunts people, points out their weakness, and doesn't give a shit if he's disliked or not. Some even say his teammates ostracize him. Sakusa looks at Miya Atsumu and can only see a player who keeps his eyes firmly forward, demanding the same to the players who want to stay on the court. Sakusa can't fault him for that. (That doesn't erase the fact that he's an asshole though. And that he's still the one who gave a jacket to a stranger.)

sakusa kiyoomi is....an uncle? by miyaudrey (T) 5.9k // “Oh, by the way, my nieces and nephews are going to be there.” “Your what now?” Or, Atsumu finds out three hours prior to a Sakusa family gathering that Kiyoomi is an uncle.

Confessions of a V-League Setter by Anubis_2701 (T) 3.3k // "Never?" Sakusa's lips thinned. "No, never. Now stop talking to me." Or, Atsumu discovers that Sakusa Kiyoomi, germaphobe and reluctant heartthrob of the Black Jackals, has never been confessed to before. He decides to change that.

Touch Me by cajynn (E) 3k // Sakusa actually likes being touched but he's very picky when it comes to who and how. When the who turns out to be Miya Atsumu he has a crisis.

Please Stop Crying by dauwtrappen (G) 2.9k // Friday starts off well until it doesn’t and Kiyoomi can hear something crash, feel something snap inside him when Miya, about to set him up for a quick attack, suddenly starts crying in the middle of their three-on-three. Kiyoomi doesn’t even react when the ball bounces off his head, doesn’t cringe when his face is smushed against the net briefly because he forgets to land in front of the it. He’s too shocked, too appalled with the tears pouring out from Miya’s eyes to care.

I can't take much more of your hesitating by playexodus (T) 2.7k // The curved sides of Atsumu’s pecs peek through that absurd tank top at just the right angle. Sakusa swallows. “Your entire chest is hanging out of that shirt. We’re in public. You could at least pretend to be a decent, morally upright person. Not to mention that this Los Angeles beach boy aesthetic is terrible on you.”Glancing back down at Atsumu’s chest to glare at his sharp, glistening collarbones is a bad idea. Sakusa wills his eyes to stay fixated on Atsumu’s face. As it turns out, this too, is a bad idea. “Oh?” Atsumu turns his half-lidded gaze onto Sakusa, the corners of his mouth curling. “Just to be clear: you’re definitely not enjoying the view then, Omi-Omi?”

curse breaking by allicanseeispink (T) 9.2k // Nearing the fourth hour of the silent treatment, Kiyoomi’s already frayed nerves began to whittle down to their last fibers. Today, it was raining. A proper Tokyo monsoon tantrum just shy of a full-blown typhoon that left puddles on sidewalks and fell from an angle so wicked it eluded umbrellas. It was raining and they haven’t spoken in almost four hours. (In which Sakusa wanders into the minefield that is Atsumu's feelings and tries not to blow things up.)

Summer Special: Omigiri by mika60 (T) 6.9k // Miya Osamu always comes up with the perfect marketing plan for his shop, even if it involves the two biggest idiots he knows.

a list of things sakusa kiyoomi hates by BrenH (T) 7.3k // “Just fuckin’ write shit down so ya remember it then. ”It was probably supposed to be a joke, just Osamu being as annoying and unhelpful as always, just reminding him that he shouldn’t have bothered trying to count on his brother for help. He’s forgotten about the whole thing until a few days later when he’s shopping and comes across a small, black notebook shaped like a cat, and his brother’s stupid suggestion flashes through his mind. Before he knows it, the cute little notebook is dropped in his basket, purchased, and in his possession. Or, the one where Osamu suggests Atsumu keep a notebook to track all the things Sakusa hates that he does, and he takes it further than he means to.

A Challenge, A Cat, and A Confession by Kitaa (G) 6.2k // Atsumu enjoys bothering Sakusa. One day he bothers him enough to be invited over to his apartment, only to discover that Sakusa has a plant, a cat, and a cute laugh.

Multiples Of Two by yuuki (G) 3.3k // He does everything in multiples of two. The day Sakusa Kiyoomi died, Atsumu checked his pulse twenty-eight times. Okay, so Sakusa Kiyoomi has never died. And Atsumu has never been close enough to Sakusa to be able to check his pulse. So what if Atsumu is just being dramatic again? He’s allowed to be dramatic when he’s in love with a man who has less emotion than a rock.

gold rush by sketchedsmiles (T) 18k // When the MSBY Black Jackals sign their newest team member, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Atsumu makes it his personal responsibility to befriend the indifferent player.

got sand in my eyes (and my shorts too, damn you miya) by luxnoctre (T) 4.7k // On one of their rare rest days, Hinata takes the part of the MSBY team to the beach. Chaos ensures. (or alternatively, do not piss off Sakusa when he is in the middle of relaxing)

mortality is found in the flesh of your sins by citronnes (M) 10.6k // dickhead one, sakusa kiyoomi. dickhead two, miya atsumu. neither understand how to communicate. Pray tell, why are you drawn to him?Are you drawn to him in the way he looks beautiful even when crying? When his eyes are red, shiny tears streaking down, lips quivering, is he beautiful?

This was v long ahahaha.... Anyway, is this finished? No LOL, but I’ll just make small additions via reblogs (?) over time. Maybe :) Sorry if you wanted me to ramble on about SakuAtsu,,,, slide into my messages/asks for that LOL. Maybe over time I’ll add the commentary from other posts I make in the future :’)